The Bluest Eye

The Bluest Eye
by Toni Morrison
read: 2012
Guardian 1000 Novels

Toni Morrison wrote the following paragraph in the introduction to The Bluest Eye:

One problem was centering the weight of the novel's inquiry on so delicate and vulnerable a character could smash her and lead readers into the comfort of pitying her rather than into an interrogation of themselves for the smashing.  My solution - break the narrative into parts that had to be re-assembled by the reader - seemed to me a good idea, the execution of which does not satisfy me now.  Besides, it didn't work: many readers remain touched but not moved.

There are two things of interest to me here.  One is the notion that I as the reader should be interrogating myself for the "smashing" - which Morrison elsewhere in the introduction refers to as "psychological murder" - of major character Pecola, as her self-image and sanity are destroyed under the pressures of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse and the way society perceives her.  The second item of interest is that the arrangement of the story factors into how I feel about the fate of this character.  Taking the second part first, it is interesting to hear an author talk specifically about this element of the craft.  Whether in novel or in film, I often feel that showing the narrative out-of-order is a cutesy trick that makes the story more confusing without really adding more depth.  Morrison's explanation is convincing, though; in linear order the sequence of events that conspires to Pecola's downfall would have felt like a runaway train out of control, almost fatalistic.  Instead we can treat each individual malady that befalls her separately, and wonder what kind of environment she exists in that this can happen to her.

The environment brings me back to the first point, about interrogating myself for personal blame for Pecola's suffering.  I didn't know what Morrison meant, and I probably still don't completely.  But I was in a Baby Gap the other day and noticed that the posters they had on the walls were angelic white children, nearly all with blue eyes.  That's no crime of mine, but I felt guilty when I realized I hadn't even noticed.  Of course the children were white.  Of course they had blue eyes.  How else would they look?  That's the society we live in, boys and girls, and our casual, even unconscious acceptance of it is a big part of the problem.

I have a lot of sympathy for the struggle for gay rights that is going on today.  Aside from the overt prejudice gay people face, I find the denial of self tragic.  Gay folks that are "in the closet" don't feel free to be who they are openly.  I never saw the struggle for African-American rights on the same level.  Black people are black people; it's obvious, and they can't hide it, right?  Then a year ago I listened to Roots on Audiobook, and realized that white slaveowners eradicated African roots from black slaves, taught them they were worse, taught them they were ugly, barred them from practicing their religion, barred them from speaking their own language, and robbed them of their family history.  Malcolm X makes the point powerfully in the first minute-plus of this video:

Morrison makes a strong effort, here and in Beloved, of trying to reclaim an African-American sense of identity, of beauty, of purpose.  There are so many white assumptions that we make in our society; Morrison does a great job breaking these down.