One of striking features of Haitian fiction written since 2010 earthquake has been rise of theme of prostitution and sexuality, including homosexuality. This tendency is most pronounced works written directly about earthquake, such as Marvin Victor's Corps meles, Kettly Mars's Aux frontieres de la soif, and Gary Victor's Le Sang et la mer. For example, Corps meles, narrator is haunted by sexually related trauma, and by her daughter's decision to become prostitute on night they had food. Her daughter's is kind of family legacy because she has inherited her mother's chest, the well-known chest of Fanon (103). Bodies this sense are so much discrete objects or indexes of one's individuality; rather, they are, as book's title, entangled, passed from one generation to next as curse, and literally embody unfinished past. In Aux frontieres de la soif, Mars similarly writes of importance of sexual relations, specifically prostitution of preadolescent girls makeshift camp named Canaan. The protagonist is bourgeois author who seeks form of salvation bodies of young girls and to quench thirst that is obliquely related to earthquake, but also to his inability to write and, most fundamentally, to long-standing patterns of social-sexual relations that earthquake seems to have brought to fore. Fraught sexual and social relations are also main concern of Gary Victor's novel, Le Sang et la Mer, which young, poor woman is sexually exploited, first by her bourgeois lover, who lures her to his uncle's house and leaves her there for uncle and his associates to rape. The uncle sees rape as form of revenge, again tinged heavily with class, race, and color complexes, that he promises her that once they have finished with her she will no longer want to pervert our kids (143). Because of intervention of another young black woman, protagonist escapes and learns subsequently that uncle regularly lures poor black women to his home and rapes them (145). In each of these three books, female is site of conflict, means of exchange, form of currency, and marker of broader social and historical issues. In particular, post-earthquake literary preoccupation with prostitution and female seems to relate to slavery, moment par excellence objectification of human as commodity, primary vessel for imposition and exploration of identity. It is as if earthquake has stripped back two hundred years of history and recast Haitian woman particular as an enslaved object, living still and through body. Importantly this regard, Colin Dayan writes of how post-plantation world remains haunted by its past, by what she terms the enchanted wreckage that was Atlantic (193). Dayan talks of haunt of cruelty, leavings of terror, and how such history the dead do die (193). Drawing on Michel-Rolph Trouillot's idea that past is but a position and that in way can we identify past as past (15), Dayan asserts that the codes and sanctions of slavery always resurface and find new places to inhabit (194). Just as it is much of postplantation writing, including recent Haitian fiction, is kind of historical repository. In what Dayan calls the cult of residue, it is that remains, that contains sense its history and that is also form of prophecy. Throughout Americas, Dayan writes, the concept of personhood could be eliminated for enslaved who were condemned to live and through body (195). In what she calls landscape of death, nothing ever dies, not oppression nor disfiguring of persons placed outside pale of human empathy. Haunting continues, she says, and old forms of terror maintain themselves as they find new content (195). …