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Whitepeople believed that whatever the manners, under every dark skin
was a jungle. Swift unnavigable waters, swinging screaming baboons,
sleeping snakes, red gums ready for their sweet white blood ... But it
wasn't the jungle blacks brought with them to this place from the other
(livable) place. It was the jungle whitefolks planted in them. And it grew.
It spread. In, through and after life, it spread, until it invaded the whites
who had made it. Touched them every one. Changed and altered them.
Made them bloody, silly, worse than even they wanted to be, so scared
were they of the jungle they had made. The screaming baboon lived
under their own white skin; the red gums were their own.
(Beloved, I 98-9)
However, the most significant occluded history that Beloved reclaims is
the denial and obliteration of motherhood and mothering in slavery, which
Morrison's novel suggests distorted the whole notion of womanhood for
black women. It is no coincidence that the two main healers in the novel,
Baby Suggs and Amy, are women and that Paul D., one of the most sym-
pathetically portrayed black men in Morrison's work, is associated with
the feminine. Morrison presents us with a black woman's version of
slavery as a counterpoint to a narrative that had until then been told pri-
marily from a male point of view. This is made clear when Stamp Paid
visits 124 and hears, indecipherable to him, 'the thoughts of the women
of 124, unspeakable thoughts, unspoken' (Beloved, 199). The black centre
of the novel, associated with the spiritual and with healing, expounds the
pain, humiliation and violence endured and, in many cases, transcended
by generations of black women.
One of the most powerful 'texts' in the book in this respect is the pattern
made by the scars on Sethe's back. Her own reading of them, since she
has never actually seen them, is a 'rememory' of Amy's reading of them:
Whitegirl. That's what she called it. I've never seen it and never will. But
that's what she said it looked like. A chokecherry tree. Trunk, branches,
and even leaves. Tiny little chokecherry leaves.
I didn't see her but a few times out in the fields and once when she was
working indigo. By the time I woke up in the morning, she was in line.
If the moon was bright they worked by its light. Sunday she slept like a
stick. She must of nursed me two or three weeks - that's the way the
others did. Then she went back in rice and I sucked from another woman
whose job it was. So to answer you, no. I reckon not. She never fixed
my hair nor nothing. She didn't even sleep in the same cabin most nights
I remember. Too far from the line-up, I guess.
For the women to be forced to work by the light of the moon, the tradi-
tional symbol of the female, underlines their brutalisation. The use of the
verb 'sucked' emphasises how the white man's system has reduced black
women to breeding stock - as does the stealing of Sethe's milk. Coupled
with the noun 'job', it also reinforces the denial of the closest of emotional
bonds, that between mother and child, and how slavery was based on a
systemised form of breeding. 'Line' and 'line-up' emphasise the factory-
like nature of the system while betraying its role in supporting a capital-
ist, industrial society. The word 'stick' emphasises the life-denying nature
of the whole process. A stick, like a slave, has been broken off from its life
source and is thereby dry and dead.
Healing is at the centre of Beloved and is centred on Sethe since Amy,
Baby Suggs and, finally, Paul D. all contribute to her healing process. In
traditional African society, moral judgement was invariably a matter for
the community to which the individual was answerable. In Beloved the
community which initially betrays Sethe significantly comes together at the
end of the novel and rescues her from killing Edward Bodwin. They, too,
of course, can only achieve absolution for betraying Baby Suggs and Sethe
by saving her. Although at one level the fragmentary structure of the novel
reflects the disunity of recent African-American history and the chaos
which slavery created in the lives of black people, at another level the
black experience is seen as a cycle which returns to the shared suffering
that should consolidate the black community. This is the Word to which
Hi Man refers and of which Baby Suggs speaks. In a sense, then, the
sermon which Baby Suggs preaches in the clearing, which in the novel is
itself emblematic of a homogeneous black community, is the really impor-
tant text which lies buried in this novel.
Morrison herself associates the late-twentieth-century African-
American novel with healing: 'For a long time, the art form that was
healing for Black people was music. That music is no longer exclusively
ours; we don't have exclusive rights to it ... So another form has to take
that place, and it seems to me that the novel is needed by African-
Americans in a way that it was not needed before' (The Ancestor as
Foundation, 340). But Beloved does not underestimate the enormity of the
fracture which slavery and white racialism created. Although it concludes
on a note of healing, there is no definitive sense of closure. We do not
know how completely Sethe will be healed or whether she and Paul D.
have been sufficiently successful in exorcising their respective pasts that
they will be able to make a life together. Their particular narrative ends
with Sethe's incredulity - 'Me? Me?' (Beloved, 273) - while the novel con-
cludes with a pain that's 'an inside kind - wrapped tight like skin ... No
rocking can hold it down' (Beloved,274).
Beloved, then, is not only a novel with a patchwork quilt structure which
the reader has to piece together, but a text which literally demonstrates how
any narrative has the potential to conceal a myriad of other narratives. More
specifically, it challenges and reconfigures the world-views associated with
a number of African-American and Euro-American verbal narratives - the
slave narrative, the plantation ghost story, black folk tales, and the romance
- and is rooted in a realisation that black slave history, like the Bible to which
black slaves frequently turned for solace and inspiration, is a multilayered
text. Ultimately, Beloved develops narratives which have been occluded in
most histories of slavery, such as the psychic and physical violence suffered
by black women and, especially, the brutalisation of the black mother. At
the end of the novel the narrator admits ambiguously that the Margaret
Garner/Sethe story, with all its attendant histories, is not one to 'pass on'.
This may suggest that this is not a story to relay to future generations, but
more likely it means that this is not one to avoid.
palgrave
Selection, editorial matter and introduction © Rick Rylance
*
and Judy Simons 2001; chapter 1 © Stephen Knight 2001;
chapter 2 © Martin Coyle 2001; chapter 3 © Catherine
Belsey 2001; chapter 4 © Thomas Healy 2001; chapter S ©
Nigel Wood 2001; chapter 6 © David Punter 2001; chapter
7 © Judy Simons 2001; chapter 8 © Heather Glen 2001;
chapter 9 © Elisabeth Jay 2001; chapter 10 © RogerWebster 2001;
chapter 11 © Marion Shaw 2001; chapter 12 © Rick Rylance 2001;
chapter 13 © Vincent Gillespie 2001; chapter 14 ©
Peter Widdowson 2001; chapter 15 © Linden Peach 2001.
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