The Bluest Eye (Vintage International) (original 1970; edition 2007)

I love this book, which may sound like a strange thing to say given the terrible things that Pecola endures. In my opinion, it is a very moving account of discrimination and marginalization, economic enslavement subsequent to literal slavery, and the ways in which humanity abuses one another, but written in such beautiful prose that you can't stop reading it, even if you wanted to.
( )

God. This is a novel too monstrous and perverse it has left me cold and nauseated but with exceedingly brilliant intentions. It scrapes the skin until it finds the time to burrow underneath it. It squirms then stings like a fresh, bleeding wound washed by running water from a faucet. My mind still reels not only from how painful and horrific it all is but also with the thought-provokingly cascaded perspectives from multiple point of views.

“There is nothing more to say—except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how.”

What struck me most is the internalised racism in The Bluest Eye which most of the characters manoeuvre in. It is recognisably and frighteningly merciless. In a society that deeply favours Eurocentric features it does an endless amount of harm, especially on women, through the self-hatred it cultivates on the nonconformists. With the word “ugly” dropped objectively, rigidly, and bitterly multiple times, it further widens the already existing rift within minority groups, particularly between black American girls / women here; where in differing shades of black, perhaps even considered better facial symmetry, the lighter ones expectedly get nicer treatment and privilege whilst the darker ones receive damaging taunts and teases. Morrison is compelling and vivid; poetic and poignant. There is never a word wasted. The self-hatred intensifies resulting in an immense need to take any kind of love in whatever—frequently malleable and deceitful—shape or form it presents itself as; and the difficulty to leave these abusive relationships is rooted from unaddressed insecurities and traumas. The body is constantly used, objectified, and bruised. Poverty gives additional weight to the inability to accept the possibility of freedom. But it is hard to recognise love as true and tender when prior loves experienced amount to nothing.

As The Bluest Eye traverses the complications of established notions on physical beauty, it microscopes on dysfunctional family units of a race continuously oppressed where, brutally, oppression also thrives. A number of people may feel the violence in The Bluest Eye is unnecessary and excessive but this opens an important discourse not only on rape culture but also domestic violence and child abuse. These mostly remain unreported due to families and friends doubting the victim, that or turning a blind eye over issues they don’t want to confront once learned. Until the end, the novel is fraught with despair. Hope is nowhere in sight. There is a maddening guilt and self-blame that looms all over the pages. And the ugliest is the pleasure and self-confidence people derive in comparing themselves to the unfortunate ones. Childhood innocence here slips and fleets. It is eventually crushed by the hands of corruption. The Bluest Eye is covered in grit and dirt; in blood and violation. It turns your head and makes you see what's often disregarded: the physical scars go but the emotional ones don’t.

I didn't love the structure and surely thought parts of the book were weak, but a lot of the prose was really beautiful, and it was sobering to inhabit briefly a viewpoint of the world so very different from the privileged viewpoint I've been afforded. ( )

This was a solid four-star read for me right up until the introduction of Soaphead Church near the end that's written in homophobic language. Also, by the end Morrison is fairly beating us over the head with obvious imagery and symbolism. I can't help but think the work would be stronger if it had been molded with a lighter, defter touch. ( )

**