What I’ve Been Doing Lately – Unpacking Jamaica Kincaid’s Mini‑Memoir
Ever stumbled on a short piece that feels like a postcard from a distant shore, yet hits you right in the gut? Jamaica Kincann’s 1993 essay‑like prose drifts between confession and cultural critique, and it’s been buzzing in literary circles for more than two decades. What I Have Been Doing Lately is that kind of work. The short‑form piece isn’t a novel, isn’t a diary entry, and it certainly isn’t a travel brochure. It’s a compact meditation on identity, exile, and the everyday rituals that keep us tethered to a place we can’t quite name.
So why does a ten‑page essay still matter? Because it squeezes a whole life into a handful of paragraphs, and it does it with a voice that’s unmistakably Kincaid: lyrical, unflinching, and oddly conversational. If you’ve never read it, you might think you’re missing a tiny but potent piece of post‑colonial literature that still feels fresh today.
Below is the deep dive you’ve been looking for – the short‑story‑essay broken down, the context explained, the common misreadings cleared up, and a handful of practical take‑aways for anyone who wants to write with that same blend of intimacy and critique.
Not the most exciting part, but easily the most useful.
What Is What I Have Been Doing Lately
At its core, the piece is a personal essay. Kincaid writes from her Antiguan‑American perspective, sketching a day‑to‑day landscape that is part kitchen, part beach, part memory‑laden hallway. She doesn’t label it a “memoir” or a “fictional vignette”; she simply narrates what she’s been doing—cooking, cleaning, listening to the radio, watching the sea—while letting the reader hear the undercurrent of colonial history and personal displacement.
The Form
The essay reads like a series of snapshots stitched together by a single, looping refrain: the act of doing. Each paragraph begins with a verb (“I wash,” “I eat,” “I listen”) and ends with a reflection that widens the scope from the kitchen sink to the Atlantic Ocean. The structure is deliberately flat—no climactic arc, no resolution—mirroring the way daily life often feels when you’re caught between two worlds.
The Voice
Kincaid’s tone is intimate but never sentimental. Day to day, she uses second‑person pronouns sparingly, opting instead for a direct “I” that feels confessional yet oddly universal. The language is peppered with Caribbean idioms, but she also drops in American pop‑culture references, creating a hybrid diction that mirrors her own hybrid identity.
Why It Matters / Why People Care
If you ask most readers what they get out of a ten‑page essay, the answer is usually “nothing.” Yet What I Have Been Doing Lately has become a staple in post‑colonial curricula, creative writing workshops, and even mindfulness circles. Here’s why Nothing fancy..
It Gives Voice to the Everyday
Most literary criticism focuses on grand narratives—revolutions, love affairs, epic journeys. Here's the thing — kincaid flips the script: the mundane becomes the site of resistance. By describing how she scrubs a pot or watches a gull, she reminds us that the small acts of survival are political when you’re living in the shadow of empire Still holds up..
It Bridges Two Cultures
Kincaid grew up in Antigua, moved to the United States, and never quite left either place behind. The essay captures that liminal space—she’s simultaneously an insider and an outsider. Readers from diaspora communities see their own half‑lives reflected in her sentences, while readers who have never left home get a glimpse into that tension.
It Influences Writing Style
Writers love Kincaid’s “verb‑first” technique. Starting each line with an action forces the prose to move forward, creating a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat. That rhythm has been emulated in everything from flash fiction to spoken‑word poetry But it adds up..
How It Works (or How to Read It)
Getting the most out of What I Have Been Doing Lately isn’t about decoding hidden symbols; it’s about letting the piece sit with you and noticing the layers that unfold with each reread. Below is a step‑by‑step guide to unpacking the essay Worth keeping that in mind..
1. Read Aloud, Then Silence‑Read
Kincaid’s sentences are musical. Read the first paragraph aloud; you’ll hear the cadence of the Caribbean sea. Then read it again silently, focusing on the punctuation. The shift from spoken rhythm to internal pause reveals how she uses commas and dashes to mimic breath.
2. Map the Verbs
Grab a highlighter and underline every verb that starts a sentence. You’ll end up with a list that looks something like:
- wash
- eat
- listen
- watch
- think
Notice the pattern? That's why the verbs are all present‑tense actions, anchoring the essay in the now. This technique keeps the reader from drifting into nostalgia; it forces us to stay present with the narrator And that's really what it comes down to. And it works..
3. Spot the “Outside” References
Every few paragraphs Kincaid drops a reference that isn’t domestic: a radio station from New York, a newspaper headline about a Caribbean hurricane, a mention of a British novel. These serve as punctuation in the domestic flow, reminding us that the personal is never isolated from the political.
4. Follow the Sensory Thread
Kincaid is a master of sensory detail. In real terms, she describes the “salty sting of the sea on her skin,” the “squeak of the old wooden floor,” the “sweetness of ripe mangoes. ” Trace these sensations; they act as anchors that pull the reader back to the body whenever the essay threatens to become too abstract That's the part that actually makes a difference..
5. Identify the “What If” Moments
At the end of several sections she poses an implicit question: What if this routine were a protest? What if the act of washing dishes were a way of cleansing colonial guilt? These rhetorical turns are where the essay shifts from description to critique.
Common Mistakes / What Most People Get Wrong
Even seasoned readers trip over a few easy pitfalls. Here’s a quick reality check It's one of those things that adds up..
Mistake #1: Treating It as a Straight‑Up Autobiography
Because Kincaid writes in the first person, many assume every detail is factual. In truth, the piece is a hybrid of fact and fiction—a literary technique known as “autofiction.” She blends memory with imagination to make a larger point about identity, not to document a day in her life Less friction, more output..
Mistake #2: Ignoring the Colonial Subtext
Some readers skim past the mentions of “British tea” or “the old plantation house” as decorative flavor. But those details are intentional signposts of the lingering colonial economy. Overlooking them strips the essay of its political weight.
Mistake #3: Expecting a Narrative Arc
If you’re looking for a climax—“the moment she decides to return to Antigua”—you’ll be disappointed. Think about it: the essay’s power lies precisely in its lack of a tidy resolution. The absence of a conventional arc is a statement: exile isn’t a story with a neat ending; it’s an ongoing negotiation.
Honestly, this part trips people up more than it should.
Mistake #4: Over‑Analyzing Every Word
Kincaid’s prose thrives on ambiguity. Trying to assign a concrete meaning to every metaphor can stall the reading experience. Instead, let the images sit, feel their texture, and move on.
Practical Tips / What Actually Works
If you’re a writer hoping to capture that same blend of intimacy and critique, or simply a reader wanting to get more out of short essays, try these tactics.
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Start Sentences With Action – Begin each line with a verb that reflects the present moment. It creates momentum and forces you to stay grounded Surprisingly effective..
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Interlace Local and Global References – Sprinkle in a line about a distant news story or a foreign song. It reminds readers that personal lives are never isolated That alone is useful..
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Use Sensory Details as Anchors – Pick one sense per paragraph (sound, taste, touch) and describe it vividly. This prevents the prose from feeling too cerebral.
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Leave Gaps – Don’t explain every thought. Let the reader fill in the blanks; it creates a participatory reading experience.
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Write in the Present Tense – Even if you’re reflecting on past events, present‑tense verbs keep the narrative urgent and alive And that's really what it comes down to..
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Embrace Hybrid Language – Mix dialects, idioms, and standard English. It mirrors the lived reality of many diaspora writers.
FAQ
Q: Is What I Have Been Doing Lately a short story or an essay?
A: It’s best described as a personal essay that leans into literary techniques typical of short fiction. The form is fluid, which is why it resists easy classification.
Q: Do I need to read Kincaid’s other works to understand this piece?
A: Not at all. While familiarity with Lucy or A Small Place adds depth, the essay stands on its own. It’s designed to be a snapshot, not a chapter in a larger narrative.
Q: How does the piece fit into post‑colonial literature?
A: It exemplifies the “everyday resistance” model—showing how daily chores become acts of cultural preservation in a post‑colonial context. It’s often taught alongside works by Chinua Achebe and Edwidge Danticat.
Q: Can I use Kincaid’s verb‑first technique in academic writing?
A: Yes, but sparingly. In scholarly prose, the technique can energize a paragraph, but overuse may appear gimmicky. Reserve it for introductions or concluding reflections.
Q: Is there a “right” way to interpret the ending?
A: No single “right” answer. The final lines leave the reader with a lingering sense of unfinished business, mirroring the ongoing nature of diaspora identity. Your personal take is part of the piece’s design And it works..
What I Have Been Doing Lately isn’t just a literary footnote; it’s a compact lesson in how the ordinary can become extraordinary when you stare at it long enough. Whether you’re a writer trying to capture that same intimacy, a student dissecting post‑colonial texts, or simply someone who enjoys a well‑crafted paragraph, the essay offers a roadmap: observe, describe, and let the small moments speak for the larger story Worth keeping that in mind. No workaround needed..
So next time you find yourself washing dishes or listening to a distant radio station, pause. In real terms, ask yourself what you’re really doing—just cleaning a pot, or quietly negotiating the space between two worlds? The answer, like Kincaid’s prose, is both simple and endlessly complex.
