Realizations

Chapter eleven of Song of Solomon marks a very important change in Milkman. In a tiny southern town, he hunts with a group of men who seem to have everything figured out. In the dark, which literally opens him up to his inner blindness, and with nothing left to distract him, he slowly begins to understand the people who make up his life. He finally opens up to the possibility that he is at fault for most of his own blunders: "it seemed to him that he was always saying or thinking that he didn't deserve some bad luck, or some bad treatment from others," (Morrison 276). As his realizations continue, he ceases to describe others as "devious, jealous, traitorous, and evil," and instead recalls "intimate" gestures and replaces hatred with "affection" (278).

When Milkman realizes that his hunting companions and their dogs are speaking to each other, he uses instruments to describe their communications; music does not present a concrete picture, but anybody who listens carefully enough can draw abstract meaning from its nuances. In this way, where words are different in every part of the world, music is universally understood; as Milkman reasons, "It was what there was before language," (278). As its primitivity suggests, music is a simpler form of communication: the speaker is unhampered by words with nuanced meanings, and instead speaks only to the emotions.

Later, Milkman also realizes that meaning can be gleaned from the land and the animals that inhabit it: in the wild, none of the qualities that society worships matter, and a person is only defined by his ability to survive and understand other living things. Nature gives Pilate her mystery and her awareness, and it helps Milkman to see, "As a blind man caresses a page of Braille, pulling meaning through his fingers," (278). Though Milkman starts out on a chase for money, the meaning he reaches for is discovered in both familial and natural roots.

Internalized Racism

In elementary school, how many times did you find yourself assigning the blame to someone else when you were caught? How many times did you utter the words "he started it"? Sometimes, the only truth we see is our own, and the formation of a grudge is inevitable. The degree to which Macon Dead demonstrates this childish behavior leads him to unconditionally accept his version of reality, painting a disgusting picture of Ruth "'laying next to [her father on his deathbed]. Naked as a yard dog, kissing him. Him dead and white and puffy and skinny, and she had his fingers in her mouth,'" (Morrison 73). His life is consumed by a material pursuit that gives him the notion that he has the power to get rid of anyone who stands in his way; he shuts out both Pilate and Ruth, though the latter is simply underloved. In reality, however, he only has power over those weaker than himself.

Perhaps Macon's desire to rise in the social ranks is a result of internalized racism, the destructive subconscious acceptance of racial inferiority; thus, any person who acts in a socially unacceptable way is unworthy of remaining in Macon's life. The term hints at self-destructive behavior, though, in truth, if it eats at one person, it affects all who surround him; at one point, Macon is willing to kill Ruth because she kneels in her slip at her father's bedside and kisses his fingers, and he gladly convinces himself of a worse truth in order to justify his motives (126). Furthermore, Macon is also willing to alienate his own sister for fifty years when he thinks that she has run off with his gold; clearly, money is worth more to him than blood. He believes that, as a black man, the only way to be respected in society is to be wealthy, because white society considers African Americans to be poor and indelicate, yet this destroys his family and warps the universal symbol of love and acceptance into a group filled with unhappiness and constant tension. Also, he punishes his tennants when they cannot pay their rent in order to further distance himself from the lower class, as a slave master would with his slaves.

The Watermark

In the first few chapters of Song of Solomon, Ruth seems like the incredibly damaged victim. Her husband hates her, the only person she ever loved is dead, and her only source of pleasure is embarrassingly snatched from her when Freddie the gossip spreads word around town that she is nursing her four-year-old son. Furthermore, there are two whole pages devoted to the description of a large, grey watermark on her dining table which she looks for like a "prisoner automatically searching out the sun as he steps into the yard for his hour of exercise," (Morrison 11). This mark is a toxic symbol of her father's death, as well as the mess that is her family. And yet, she is drawn to it. 

Her life has become so unbearable that she nourishes the idea of death: "once exposed, [the watermark] behaved as though it were itself a plant and flourished into a huge suede-gray flower that throbbed like fever, and sighed like the shift of sand dunes," (13). This image is far from pleasant, though it describes her affliction well. "Suede-gray" brings to mind a pair of expensive shoes, which is something Ruth can easily afford. She does not need to worry about money or status, so her concerns are largely self-centered; her complete isolation makes her very lonely, and gives her plenty of time to think. The color grey also symbolizes death and the dullness it has brought to Ruth's life. "Throbbed like fever" paints a picture of some great sickness; perhaps the one that killed her father, or the one that continues to eat at her after his death. It seems like some grotesque version of a heart, steadily pumping poison through her veins. The enormity of her helplessness is clarified through the watermark's comparison to the shift of sand dunes. Overall, the image consumes Ruth, but it also serves as a painful reminder that she is still alive.

grey flower

Was Fitzgerald a Hypocrite?

If you were writing an autobiography, would you choose to exclude somebody you absolutely hated? What if they had made a monumental contribution to society, to the point where it touched your life in a positive way? Ultimately, what I'm asking is, are you selfish enough to feel that you have the right to determine someone else's worth? 

Though The Great Gatsby is nationally recognized for its "scrupulous representation of cultural details very specific to the time and locale in which [Fitzgerald] places his characters," the book's author was apparently too racist to cover a key part of the 20s: Harlem's African Americans ("African American Criticism" 396). Today, it's difficult to understand what drove him to do this; most likely, anybody you ask will point out that, at the time, racism was practically encouraged. But, why? The Jazz Age blossomed from the destruction of World War One, bringing many people immense wealth and initiating widespread change. Though many people changed practically everything about their lives, from their modes of transportation to the social circles in which they found themselves, racism somehow remained rooted in the mix. Fitzgerald himself would exploit people of color: at one point, he "made his African American chauffeur, who had a speech impediment, repeat over and over again a sentence filled with words he was unable to pronounce correctly," (408). It is strange to think of Gatsby's author, as someone who was hyperaware of the materialism and superficiality that surrounded him, being amused by this. It's especially unsettling that his failure to include African American contributions in the novel was fueled at best by an extreme form of petty dislike. Ironically, the author who wrote about the dangers of being obsessed with the past retained beliefs that had, at one point, been a part of an argument that almost tore apart the country.

Thankfully, more and more of society continues to refute white supremacist ideology; indeed, today, many are absolutely indignant when a movie contains an all-white cast. However, the cost of arriving at this point has been great. Unnecessary suffering was prolonged for selfish reasons. Had Fitzgerald mentioned Harlem in his book, perhaps his readers would have changed their views: perhaps people would have responded to logic earlier if it flowed from the pen of a respected author.

Harlem, 1920s