on
3.5/5
Non-Fiction
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Rating: 3.5/5
Pages: 337
Started: 1 April 2023
Finished: 26 April 2023
Summary:
Milkman Dead has never worked for anything in his life. His father, Macon Dead II, is the richest Black man around, with countless properties and a ruthless maintenance of his influx of rent checks, while his aunt lives in joy and squalor nearby with her daughter and granddaughter. Yet Milkman's easy life has made him indifferent, passionless, miserable, and he spends years undervaluing his life and the life of those around him. When his father asks him to to steal a fortune from his aunt, Milkman takes the opportunity to learn more about--to finally connect to--his family, his history, and his roots.
Thoughts:
This was a fascinating book. I don't know if I could necessarily say that I liked it, but I really enjoyed thinking and talking about it. It was crazy. It seemed like a perversion of the hero's journey, with elements and scenes that fit the journey but not the details to match. The book was so rich in symbolism, but I got very frustrated at times with how convoluted that richness made the plot. I don't need simple books, but I do prefer ones that have more continuous characterization. I am really glad I read this book though. It challenged me in a way very different from Pride and Prejudice, and I think it was helpful in pushing me to grow in my abilities of analysis.
Classwork:
By naming her protagonist’s romantic partner Hagar, alluding to the biblical woman, Morrison foreshadows scorn and redemption, themes that are emphasized by the action that surrounds the character. In the bible, Hagar is an enslaved maid to Sarah, the wife of Abraham. When the couple cannot conceive, Sarah gives Hagar to Abraham as a sexual object in the hopes of finally having a child. Morrison makes clear that a similar sense of inequality is present in Milkman’s relationship with Hagar: “the stupefying ease with which he had gotten and stayed between her legs had changed from the great good fortune he’d considered it, to annoyance at her refusal to make him hustle for it” (91). A partner should be thought of as an equal, yet this thought of Milkman’s thinks only of Hagar as legs, and the innuendo of what’s “between” them. Metonymy in such a sexual context is distinctly objectifying, and thus Morrison presents Hagar as lesser than Milkman, a subordinate position at least parallel to Biblical Hagar’s. Furthermore, When Biblical Hagar became pregnant, she began to act, in Sarah’s eyes, spoiled, and so Sarah cruelly forced her out into the desert. Similarly, Morrison describes Hagar as acting spoiled and then being rejected: “She began to pout, sulk, and accuse him of not loving or wanting to see her anymore [...] he tried to think of a way out” (99). Again spoiled and abandoned; by this point, Morrison has made the parallel abundantly clear. Therefore it is important to consider Biblical Hagar’s return to Abraham, her second casting out, and then the success of her son. Since Hagar has followed, at least tangentially, in her namesake’s footsteps, it is not unreasonable to predict that Hagar may become pregnant or, in some more metaphorical fertility, beget something great that might eventually lead to Milkman’s downfall.
Morrison combines Pilate’s aphorism about pregnancy with an anecdote about Ruth’s pregnancy to insinuate that Milkman’s indifference is a direct result of his mother’s pregnancy. “‘When you expectin, you have to eat what the baby craves,’ Pilate said, ‘’lest it come in the world hongry for what you denied it.’ Ruth could not bite enough. Her teeth were on edge with the yearning. Like the impulse of a cat to claw, she searched for crunchy things’ (132). “Crave” carries a connotation more intense than simply wanting; it’s an integral and uncontrollable sort of desire; it makes sense that such a craving could either be satiated before birth, or left to fester and grow even more intense. This makes Ruth’s craving for crunchy things especially fascinating. She craves to the point of hyperbole, unable to “bite enough.” Crunchy foods are hard to bite through and require a jaw strength full of conviction that mimics the way jaws clench in anger or determination. Therefore the craving for crunchy food can be interpreted as a symbol for the difficult things in life, the things that require determination and care. Milkman is described several times throughout the novel as an “indifferent” and listless character, one without any desire for success or for accomplishing hard tasks (117). By presenting this explanation of a mother’s craving impacting her child’s hunger, Morrison offers a plausible explanation for Milkman’s lack of motivation, ultimately reminding readers that the actions of a mother can have a greater impact than what is obvious at first glance.
Morrison uses titles with biblical connections to emphasize the importance of events. Guitar tells Milkman about his quasi-militia group: “They call themselves the Seven Days. They are made up of seven men. Always seven and only seven” (155). The Hebrew Bible tells the story of God creating the world in seven days, full-cycle and complete. Though the seven members of the organization do logistically make sense, the formal language of Guitar’s description, the command-like extremes of “always” and “only,” combined with the proud capitalization of the title even in spoken prose, add enough significance to the organization that it seems fair to assume Morrison’s biblical allusion is intentional. Since the organization is creating change in a seven-day rhythm, just as God did, Morrison uses the title to imply that the organization views its actions as nearly god-like. This is further confirmed by Guitar’s description of its creed: “[Killing white people is] necessary; it’s got to be done. To keep the ratio the same” (155). Such a harsh purpose matches the eye-for-an-eye punishment found countless times in the bible, and the idea of maintaining a balance through death is similar to the story of Noah’s arc. By connecting the organization to the Bible—an austere and revered religious text—Morrison gives the organization even more importance. Considering the great and terrible power of God over life, and the power of the Bible over the actions of mankind, Morrison may be using this biblical connection as foreshadowing for chaos and destruction—a true rain of fire and brimstone.
By presenting Michael-Mary Graham as a foil to Corinthians, Morrison highlights the senseless injustice of racism’s impact on everyday lives. Corinthians, a college-educated Black woman, is placed in the subservient position of a maid to an equally-educated, similar-aged White woman: “Other than scrubbing the kitchen tile and keeping a hard shine on the wooden floors, the work was not hard. The poetess lived alone and shaped her time and activities carefully in order to meet the heavy demands of artistic responsibility” (191). Tasks like “scrubbing” and “shin[ing]” carry menial connotations, and Corinthians’ college degree makes her wildly overqualified for such work. Yet despite the drudgerous nature of the cleaning work, it is described as “not hard.” By contrast, Miss Graham’s work seems high-brow and intellectual; to be able to “shape” ones own time is a privilege, as is “artistic responsibility,” since a life tailored to art only becomes possible once other basic needs are met. Yet Morrison describes the need for art as a “heavy demand”—the antithesis of the “not hard” physical drudgery that the equally-educated Corinthians has been consigned herself to. Through this unequal distribution of labor to equally qualified women, Morrison sets Miss Graham as a foil to Corinthians. Considering the menial work tasked unfairly to the Black woman rather than the White woman, Morrison ultimately uses the two situations to comment on the injustice of the racist structures of society in the sixties in the United States.
By demonstrating Milkman’s transition from absolute apathy in the city to passion and hunger for life while near the fertile land that his family used to own, Morrison lauds the importance of celebrating one’s roots. When Milkman is setting out on his journey to find the cave gold, he dispassionately comments on his motivations for the trip: “But Milkman wanted to do this by himself, with no input from anybody” (220). To comment on wanting to do something by oneself is a toddler-like action, with a petulant connotation. This petulance is echoed by the hyperbolic litotes of “no input from anybody.” Childish sulkiness is immature and without complexity; for Milkman’s main motivation for action as drastic as flying across the country to be so insubstantial demonstrates his apathy. Morrison’s emphasis on the lack of passion visible as Milkman begins his journey serves to highlight the importance of the later change. After Milkman discovers that the gold is not in the cave and begins to head home, he becomes ravenous: “Milkman began to shake with hunger. Real hunger [...] He believed that if he didn't get something to eat that instant, he would pass out” (253). Earlier in the novel, Morrison suggests that, because Milkman’s mother ate lots of hard things while she was pregnant, Milkman doesn’t want anything badly enough to fight for it. She continues this symbolism here, finally showing Milkman with “real hunger,” which connotes true desperation. The hyperbole of “something this instant” emphasizes the ferocity of Milkman’s starvation, so antithetical to his earlier indifference. Since between indifference and passion Milkman experiences an extreme change in circumstances, from city living where every need is provided to country land physically rich and laden with family history, Morrison uses this drastic change in attitude to draw attention to the power of nature and the return to a place of belonging.
Through Macon II’s pleased reaction to Milkman’s story of his travels, Morrison suggests that even Macon II’s capitalist desire for ownership is rooted in a wish for belonging. After the tale has been recounted, Morrison narrates that Macon II “liked the story, and the fact that places were named for his people” (334). Earlier in the novel, Macon II seems heartless in his ruthless pursuit of property and income, going so far as to kick out Guitar’s grandmother and her family for missing a few months of rent. Morrison makes his desire for control and ownership evident though that action. Yet while the idea of places named after a person’s “people”---a word which carries a connotation of belonging and family— does connect to the idea of ownership, it’s far more established within that idea of belonging. A place designated for a family is a home. By emphasizing the “people,” or family, side of Macon II’s desire for ownership, Morrison suggests that even the most evil of capitalist desires can be based in a wish for belonging—for roots.
A Few Other Notes:
In our final discussion, I made a really cool point that I want to explain here:
- as i heard in the young historians conference yesterday, the way death is talked about reflects society's values
- milkman's singing to pilate as she dies, and his willingly giving up a piece of his soul for her is an act of love
- guitar said that "everyone wants a black man's life," like it's a bad thing, a thing that makes a person less whole. however milkman at the start of the book was, though technically whole, quite miserable.
- the final lines of the book talk about milkman "giving up his ghost to the killing arms of his brother."
- giving up ghost is an act of death, a voluntary giving of the soul. that sacrifice to his "brother," though, is an act of love just like his singing to pilate was
- this image of passionate, loving sacrifice of self as the final image of the novel is a powerful one, and i think the strongest argument for milkman being changed and becoming a good, heroic person.