Song of Solomon (original 1978; edition 1998)

16. Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison (1977, 341 pages, read Mar 30 – Apr 13)

There is something fun in the curious way Morrison presents this. Things happen that make us wonder. Every character seems to have a name that is clearly meaningful, and yet it’s never clear what they mean. And, actually, we never seem to be fully in reality. Even the location, somewhere near a not-inspiring Flint, MI and yet where one can look over Lake Superior, is impossible. But why?

Names do come about in a wonderful variety of forms, including three Macom Deads, the second naming his daughters Magdalena and First Corinthians, and a having an estranged sister named Pilate. Pilate, a somewhat goddess like character without a navel, is unmarried with an unmarried daughter and granddaughter, that later one named Hagar. The third Macom Dead, the book’s main character, acquires the name Milkman initially because his mother nursed him too long (till he was about 8?), but Milkman grows up unaware of the origin of his name. His best friend is Guitar. And so on.

The story is a coming of age of sorts, even if Milkman’s coming of age takes place in his thirties. He must somehow be driven to leave his comfortable and stifled middle class life (funded by his father’s success as a slumlord), and travel through his family's past, ending up in a dirt-poor black community somewhere in Virginia. He finds mythical and real roots, perspective, and a very different view of life. But he leaves a kind of wreckage behind along the way. And the ending is a most precarious one.

There are many things going on through out this novel. Some seem to be clear, such as the racially conscious tone and the criticism of middle-class blacks as rootless, soulless imitations of white people. The mythological links to the Odyssey in Milkman’s travels. And again in the opening Icarus-like scene where salesman Robert Smith dives off a tall building intending to fly, leaving behind a note that says something simply like, “I love you all,” and very powerfully illustrating the black glass ceiling, where black professional prospects cannot exceed.

But this only touches the surface. The reader is left to ponder, and ponder widely as there is simply no easy take. This books goes many places, and the tracks are obscured. When I put it down, I simply had no response. A good book, but how good? And what was the point? After much thinking and reading a Bloom’s collection of essays on it, I still can’t clearly answer that second question, although I can say this is a pretty good book. Enjoyed it. ( )

So many layers. One of the most haunting books written in the English language. ( )

This book was my first real introduction to the parallel of a well-known biblical story to a book. I found that this book was provocative but made me evaluate how I viewed people and were they to be judged by appearance or actions? I still remember the connection between the main character and the white peacock, although at the time that image seemed so out of place. This book wove in extreme cases that seemed not to fit at all, yet similar to the metaphysical writing era, one finds that everything fits together quite well. The inability to separate the strange from the truth is what made this book one of my top 25 I have ever read.

4.5/5

There's something to be said for stories. Beyond all the talk of clichés, the bemoaning of stereotypes, the intricate and obsessive breakdown of the latest wave of hyped-up mass media extravaganza that has managed to aggressively worm its way into the mob conscience. Beyond the deep-seated resignation at puzzle-piece popularity.

I don't have anything against the forthright advocates of analysis at all levels of fiction. Far from it. I simply believe that there is a time when one is able to put the microscope back in the drawer and the fine-toothed comb on the top shelf, sit back, and say, Yes. Here is a story.

It is a story of oppression, of hatred, of justified rage and passionate fury fighting against discrimination both big and small, both intentional and otherwise. If you come away from this review with one thing, know that large scale oppression, this horrible racism in the "land of the free" depicted in this book has existed, does exist, and will most certainly exist for a long, long while. Slavery. Martin Luther King, Jr. Trayvon Martin. Facts and faces that may be forgotten or even denied, but the ideology that connects them all will always be rooted out by the plain evidence of its existence.

Every character has some measure of this rage, and every character is given their say in some fashion, fashions that often clash and bite and break the others around them. If the road to hell is paved with Good Intentions, the road to hell on earth is a yellow bricked road bounded on both sides long sparkling walls of Indifference. Indifference is neither black nor white, neither good nor evil, and each of the characters illustrate this innate resistance to quick and easy pigeon-holing. At first you will love them, or you will hate them, and then the tables will switch, and you will be left with the unsatisfying satisfaction of reading about human beings.

Unsatisfied satisfaction. Feeling that one is straddling two worlds due to the color of one's skin, when in reality just stuck in one really fucked up one that makes progress a constant battle. Us versus them. The only guarantee is that a single step out of line will explode into violence.

What can you do with this? What is a human being expected to do with this horrible paradox that is real life?

This story poses the question to a boy-child who reaches and then passes the age of thirty in a safe, contained bubble, his head filled with safe, contained problems. He has no awareness of the context of his life, the family that surrounds him, the history that follows him, the society that defines him. He has long forgotten his dreams of flying.

We've all forgotten our dreams of flying, you say.

Perhaps, I say. Would you like to be reminded? ( )

Obama listed this as one of his favorite books--I can see that the theme of a young man trying to find himself while negotiating different cultures would speak to him. It is a beautifully written book, and perhaps deserves a re-reading. The last part (where Macon goes in search of lost gold, and ultimately, himself) did not seem to fit with the rest of the book. This is only the second book by Morrison that I have read. The first was Beloved, which is one of my favorite books (and recognized by many as one of Morrison's finest)--so anything else will pale. ( )