I Don't Buy it . . . And Neither Should You

I guess I wanted to know what the fuss was all about. I also think I wanted to maintain my project of expanding my horizons and engaging the "Great Texts.” So I bore down, took Beloved out of the library, and did my darndest to finish it. I had to fight off the temptation of “Welcome Back Potter” and, I’ll admit, the chick-lit styling known as The Manny. But I persevered, and I made my way through Morrison’s opus.

Should it be called an opus?

I have to say, I’m not quite there yet. But it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, either. I think a great deal of my antipathy concerning the book was that everyone I knew who read it thought it was such a fantastic book. With that much hype, my natural reaction is to be skeptical: If it’s so good, why haven’t I read it yet (What? Is that a completely illogical and immature question?)? Since that’s the attitude I’m trying to rid myself of, I took a deep breath and waded in.

One thing that immediately stands out is the language. Say what you will about the story (and you know I will; just be patient), but Morrison is writing poetry in novel form. It’s impossible not to notice that she is playing around with the words and sentence structure so that at the end you have a lyrical book. Probably the best example of this is when, towards the end, you have the chapters from the point-of-view of the main characters. Not surprisingly, it is Beloved, as the ethereal, is-she-real character, who has the most poetic chapter. Another good example is the power of names themselves: Beloved, Baby Suggs, Denver, Stamp Paid, the Pauls – stories are being told every time a character graces the page.

While I appreciate the uniqueness that this play on language brings, it also makes for cumbersome reading. When you mess around with syntax, you scream at the reader to PAY ATTENTION, for good or for ill. If your goal as a reader is to do close readings – which this book pretty much insists upon – then this is fine. But that means that the book is almost invariably a text book – it simply is not meant for pleasure reading. Sure, people may be excited by the writing, may revel in Morrison’s skills, but does that translate into enjoyment? Do they love the book because they find it pleasurable to read? I can’t think anyone does. Since the vast majority of readers are casual readers, than how great is a book that is anything but casual?

Again, though, I don’t want to come off as simply negative. Because there are moments (moments) where the story captures you. For all the hifalutin’ notions, Beloved is still at its heart a ghost story. The blending of the slave narrative and the supernatural combine to make a powerful impact. There is a profound use of setting, the house being as much of a character as anyone. The Clearing, Denver’s green room, Sweet Home, the prison camp – Beloved is a story of trying to find home and doing anything to preserve it. Morrison, as a craftsman, is certainly a master.

Her mastery just didn’t connect with me. I’ll be the first to acknowledge if I don’t “get” something – and maybe I don’t get it. But for those who do “get” it: isn’t the story incredibly repetitive? Yes, it’s a story about reliving the past and “rememory,” but I get it: Sethe had her milk stolen! The impact of such acts gets diminished with each retelling. Even Sethe killing her children gets told more than once. Maybe the idea is to say that, with all that, there was something even worse that cannot be described, but that feels like a reaching interpretation.

Finally, the story itself didn’t impress me. I don’t remember thinking to myself: ooh, what happens next? Instead, all I can remember is that I said I was going to read this book, so I’m going to finish this book. And I simply refuse to get in a tizzy over something I didn't care if I finished.

So, sorry, but no glowing recommendation for Beloved.

But I'd love for someone to change my mind.