Yeah,

This is truly one of the best books I have ever read. I must say that I was completely in awe of the remarkable level of craftsmanship and mastery that was so vividly displayed throughout this novel. Intellectually speaking, I was absolutely engaged from start to finish. The ideas and concepts presented were not only thought-provoking but also highly inspiring. It made me think deeply about various aspects of life and the human condition. However,

emotionally, I didn't quite have the same intense connection. There were moments that tugged at my heartstrings, but overall, it didn't have that overwhelming emotional impact that some other books have had on me. And that is precisely the reason why I am giving it a 4.5-star rating. It's an excellent book, no doubt about it, but it just falls a little short in the emotional department for me.

This was an extremely challenging book to read, yet I found it utterly fascinating and simply couldn't put it down.

It presents a creative approach to telling a story that delves deep into the mistreatment of women, feminism/sisterhood, and the concept of patriarchy within an all-Black community.

I truly appreciate how Morrison crafted each chapter, introducing a new main character and gradually piecing together the story.

It wasn't until I reached Patricia's chapter that everything started to come together in a remarkable way.

Only a genius could write in such a way and manage to pull it off so masterfully.

The book is very well written, and I have a strong inclination that I may have to read it again in order to fully appreciate its depth and beauty even more.

It's a literary gem that offers profound insights and leaves a lasting impression.

I truly, deeply loved this book.

I had never delved into Morrison's works before, and now I find myself wondering what on earth took me so long.

I firmly believe that her writing is nothing short of exquisite.

This was by no means an easy book to peruse. It has left me ruminating on numerous things.

Ordinarily, ambiguity would leave me feeling discontented, but with this book, it somehow feels "right".

It's as if I am destined to be continuously thinking about this book long after I have turned the final page.

Morrison's words have a unique power that lingers in my mind, making me eager to explore more of her literary masterpieces.

Each sentence seems to be carefully crafted, carrying profound meanings and emotions.

I am grateful to have discovered this book and look forward to further immersing myself in Morrison's literary world.

Serpentine, slinky, and always on the move, this narrative is like a miniature epic.

It traverses a vast expanse of time and geography, encompassing multiple generations and a plethora of characters.

Among the many impressions it offers, the one that stands out the most is this: being a woman in a man's world is an absolute nightmare.

You men, with your actions and attitudes, truly make me sick to my stomach.

The story vividly portrays the challenges and hardships that women face in a society dominated by men.

It shows how they are constantly fighting for equality, respect, and a voice of their own.

Despite the odds stacked against them, these women persevere and continue to strive for a better future.

Overall, this is a powerful and thought-provoking piece that sheds light on an important issue.

This was truly more than I could have ever imagined. It's a feeling that I think will continue to sink in for quite a while.

From a seasonal perspective, it had the most perfect magical realism and enchanting vibes that were just right for moving into autumn.

I really appreciated the fact that I had to be completely open and absolutely locked in when sitting with it. This allowed each passage to take me on its own unique journey. The contents and the overall experience of it were emphatically poetic. Reading it and listening to Ms. Morrison's narration simultaneously made it nothing short of perfect.

It felt as if she was speaking to something deep within me, something that is either requesting to be recognized by me right now or needs to be cultivated and shepherded.

I'm extremely grateful that I read this when I did, and I'm also grateful that I'll be able to continue discovering her works. When I eventually reread this someday in my future, it'll be an absolute pleasure to unravel it further and gain a deeper understanding with newfound awareness.

I've never been able to precisely identify the reason why I have such a profound love for this book.

After reading it three times, with countless highlights, pages that are dog-eared, and notes scribbled in the margins, I have finally found a sense of peace with Ruby and its inhabitants.

Many people believe that this book is a failure because Morrison attempted to incorporate an excessive number of questions, themes, and allegories into it. However, I firmly believe that this is precisely where its brilliance lies. Morrison's depth is truly impressive in her remarkable ability to intricately weave such weighty layers within this novel.

During my first reading, I emerged with a somewhat tenuous understanding of what transpired in Oklahoma. I clearly grasped that power has the potential to corrupt even those who consider themselves to be incorruptible. There will always be individuals who cast stones from within their glass houses. Additionally, women require a safe haven to unburden themselves of the things they didn't even realize they were carrying. She masterfully illustrates how convention, fear, and, most importantly, shame can obscure our vision and prevent us from seeing the truth by drawing parallels between the Convent women and the townspeople of Ruby.

By my third reading, I ended up focusing on the various forms of pride and the consequences of leading a reactionary life. There is simply an abundance of valuable insights to be gleaned from this book.

Furthermore, a nuanced understanding of race serves only to enhance the book; it does not determine its success or failure. This is an outstanding achievement, although it seems like an ordinary feat for a writer of Morrison's caliber. Race was central to the foundation of the plot, but not to the understanding of the people. How much more American can a story get?

Difficilissimo da seguire...
This phrase implies that something is extremely difficult to follow. It could refer to a complex argument, a convoluted story, or a difficult task.
The numbers 2.5 ~ 5 might suggest a range or scale. Perhaps it indicates the level of difficulty on a scale from 1 to 10, with 2.5 being moderately difficult and 5 being quite challenging.
It could also imply a time frame or quantity. For example, it might take 2.5 to 5 hours to complete a particular task, or there could be 2.5 to 5 items that need to be followed.
Overall, the combination of "Difficilissimo da seguire" and the numbers 2.5 ~ 5 creates a sense of complexity and challenge. It makes the reader wonder what exactly is so difficult to follow and what the implications are.

Although this is billed as the third part of the “Beloved” trilogy, the stories are not related. In my opinion, they don't necessarily follow a theme that's immediately clear. Her second novel, “Sula”, in my view, has a much stronger connection to this book. Moreover, it can be extremely difficult to follow as there are numerous characters. The townspeople of Ruby have such a convoluted and intertwined relationship, along with nicknames, that it's often hard to remember who's who. The same goes for the Convent, the house where the violence is centered. (Since the book starts with “They shoot the white girl first,” that's no spoiler.) Nevertheless, there are surprising themes in this book, and not all of them are racial. Race is a part of it, but I think that's missing the forest for the trees.

The two focal points are the town of Ruby and the Convent, both isolated refuges from the outside world, located in a desolate spot in Oklahoma. Ruby is an all-black town, founded by a group of men in the late 19th century. They were trying to escape from a white man's world of prejudice and danger. To put it simply, they moved further west until they founded Ruby, a mostly self-sufficient town with little or no contact with the outside world, except for the men going off to foreign wars and most of them returning to their isolated community. But you can't keep the world out forever. For me, this is the first universal theme. No community, no matter how hard it tries, can keep out the world. The world will find it through its messengers, the young people who come and go. And the young people usually have their own ideas. So, the elders who founded and isolated the town after World War II now find themselves challenged by young blacks influenced by the death of Martin Luther King and the Black Power movement. As usual, the young people want change and aren't about to abide by their elders. The older people, on the other hand, want everything to stay the same and for the young people to mind their manners and places in the town. This is nothing new and can be found in many other parts of the world.

The Convent was originally built by a gambler as a sort of house of sin. He quickly lost it, and it was then taken over by a Catholic order that sought to educate Native Americans. But as funds ran out and nuns died off or were reassigned, there remained one nun and one orphan girl. Then came other women, one by one, who needed to escape and found refuge there, forming a community of women. In this sense, they have more in common with Ruby than the men want to think. The women of Ruby find not only some food supplies there but also shelter and solidarity from the cruelty of the town. The men resent the Convent for giving the women refuge from their actions but have no problem finding other purposes for the women. Of course, this is the women's fault, not theirs. Again, nothing new.
This is the fundamental story for me. It's a resistance to inevitable change, a blindness to the effects of all this internecine living. One family has four children born with serious birth defects, but the question of inbreeding never crosses their minds. And the final resort is to scapegoat the women for all the problems they've brought on themselves. Again, this is not a particularly racial issue, but race runs through it. Even if at least two of the women at the Convent are black, there is a devilment going on.
As I said, it's not an easy book to read. Toni Morrison's books never are because they are so full of imagery that sometimes it's hard to take it all in. But it's powerful. It may be necessary to put it aside for another time, but I think it's worth the trouble. It requires a lot of concentration and attention due to the layers upon layers of currents flowing through the story. But I think it's worth the time if you have the time to invest. If you've never read Toni Morrison, I wouldn't start here. But if you have, then this will be one more magical journey for you.

Paradise is one of my favourite words.

I believe it originated from an ancient Farsi word that simply means a park. Perhaps this reveals something about the Iranian concept of a park.

I envision paradise as a place of welcome, peace, and love. In this book, I think the founders of the town Ruby aimed to create such a place, far away from the vertical and horizontal racism and related violence.

However, those in power are too inflexible in defining and enforcing their idea of paradise. They establish a closed society where some can thrive, while others are harmed, completely rejected, or so desperate that they walk for miles down a freezing road, going nowhere but away.

At the outskirts of the town, some outcasts find solace in each other, work through their trauma, care for one another almost without judgment (or at least offer care along with judgment and keep the harsh verdicts to themselves), and tentatively explore their creative impulses. The convent is filled with pain, but its anarchy is loving, and healing occurs there.

Yet, the powerful men of Ruby cannot tolerate the outcasts even on their borders and seek to destroy them.

Here, by the way, is a minister in Ruby scolding a couple at their wedding:

Love is divine only and difficult always. If you think it is easy you are a fool. If you think it is natural you are blind. It is a learned application without reason or motive except that it is God. You do not deserve love regardless of the suffering you have endured. You do not deserve love because somebody did you wrong. You do not deserve love just because you want it. You can only earn – by practice and careful contemplation – the right to express it and you have to learn how to accept it […] if you are a good and diligent student you may secure the right to show love. Love is not a gift. It is a diploma… conferring certain privileges: th[at] of expressing love and [that] of receiving it.

Could any speech be more精心 designed to terrorize people for and out of their feelings?

In this novel, I recognize, I think, much of the cultural critique and appreciation expressed in the work of bell hooks and Audre Lorde. The patriarchal and authoritarian flaws of Ruby contrast unevenly with what Audre Lorde calls the erotic, which includes but is not limited to sensory and sexual pleasures.

Not only the traumatized exiles but also many of those who stay are subject to the violence of prejudice and narrow-mindedness within the town. Yet, the town is in a state of change, examining and reworking its relationship to memory, to God, to the outside world.

Maybe the future will open with some intervention from the exiles, who are seen as witches in the town's imagination and thus absorb and reshape a potentially powerful patriarchal mythology.

Billie Delia was perhaps the only one in town who was not puzzled by where the women were or concerned about how they disappeared. She had another question: When will they return? When will they reappear, with blazing eyes, war paint and huge hands to rip up and stomp down this prison calling itself a town? A town that had tried to ruin her grandfather, succeeded in swallowing her mother and almost broken her own self. A backward noplace ruled by men whose power to control was out of control and who had the nerve to say who could live and who not and where; who had seen in the lively, free, unarmed females the mutiny of the mares and so got rid of them. She hoped with all her heart that the women were out there, darkly burnished, biding their time, brass-metaling their nails, filing their incisors.

But the novel doesn't end with this… I think its answer to Ruby's violence is that paradise is within us and between us in all the ways of love (which is easy, natural, and a gift). It's heartening that one of the perpetrators, one of the twins, realized he was in the wrong and found the will to change. Here is work to be done…

Paradise by Toni Morrison is an intricately woven and complex novel.

It begins with a chilling description: "They shoot the white girl first, but the rest they can take their time. No need to hurry out here. They are 17 miles from a town which has 90 miles between it and any other. Hiding places will be plentiful in the convent, but there is time, and the day has just begun. They are nine. Over twice the number of the women, they are obliged to stampede or kill, and they have the paraphernalia for either requirement--rope, a palm leaf cross, handcuffs, mace, and sunglasses, along with clean, handsome guns."

In my view, this is one of Morrison's most challenging works to review. I've read it twice, yet I still feel I need a few more readings to fully understand it. This second time around, I was happy with what I managed to glean, but putting it all into words remains difficult.

The story revolves around the black town of Ruby, Oklahoma, founded by former slaves who face rejection from both white people and lighter-skinned black people. Ruby was established to protect the townspeople from the outside world, which they refer to as "Out There" where their children are sport, their women quarry, and their very existence can be annulled.

Reading about the founding of black towns through this fictionalized account made me think more deeply about how they were formed. It's clear that towns like Ruby, despite being founded with high hopes, are far from utopian. It becomes insular, patriarchal, and filled with strife due to inter-generational quarrels and the presence of the women in the Convent.

The Convent is a haven for women who have endured trauma and hardships. The women there are enterprising and self-sufficient, and they actually benefit the town. However, their labor and kindness are taken for granted and unappreciated. In fact, when things go wrong in the town, the strong, independent women of the Convent are scapegoated, almost like in a witch-hunt.

Morrison is a master at using human stories to illuminate different aspects of African-American history. This not only helps me appreciate the history more but also makes me think about the people involved, rather than just the dry facts and figures we are often taught. I highly recommend Paradise to those who enjoy challenging reads.

I don't think I can say anything intelligent about this novel without a stronger background in women's & Black lit. There are numerous stylistic choices that gave me pause.

Perhaps, due to my capital-p privilege, the purpose of these choices remains hidden from me. Foremost in my mind is the constant revision of established narrative. We revisit the past from a new perspective, changing, clouding, and clarifying our perception of particular events.

It's not to say that women's lit is the only tradition to capitalize on multiple points of view. However, oral narratives and the ways they alter our opinions about people and the past seem especially crucial in many of the major works by women that I've read.

If the canon, the written language, has been controlled by men, then for women, the spoken language must be a powerful antidote. This is especially true when dialogue (understood not only as words between inverted commas but as the intermingling of worldviews and dialects) suffuses the novel.

Rather than continue with these clumsy fumblings, I'd rather unpack the words "challenge" and "difficulty" that many commenters have used to describe their experience of reading this novel.

What is our physical and emotional response to a text that we later describe as challenging? There is muscular tension. If we're especially theatrical, there are sighs and furrowed brows. We adjust our position in our chairs. Suddenly, we find ourselves uncomfortable. Our pleasure has been interrupted.

If an unchallenging story is a clear, well-marked country lane, then a challenging work is a 5 o'clock cloverfield snarl. Our eyes and thoughts had been cruising along, and then unexpected obstacles forced us to tamp down on the brake pedal.

Though we may not experience the same sickening stomach plummet that accompanies an urgent application of brakes, there is still a kind of shock that follows the interruption of our readerly pleasure.

These obstacles consist of confusion: the inability to connect, associate, and synthesize the present words with the previous words. Disappointment follows confusion, disappointment in ourselves for not "living up" to the text. Or there is frustration if we feel the text has played us unfairly, if we feel it has pretensions that don't merit our energy and time. In this regard, it threatens us, or at least our image of ourselves as intelligent readers.

Consider: under ordinary circumstances, the text and the reader integrate with each other. When the story is humming along, we don't think of it as an object separate from ourselves. It's simply there, and here is where we are.

The shock I described before can be likened to the shock a fish experiences when removed from water: the sudden realization of otherness, a thing other than ourselves whose pleasures we took for granted until this moment. Suddenly, in our hands, we find something strange and unfamiliar, a thing that threatens us, or at least our opinion of ourselves, and which, most shockingly, has been there all along!

For myself, when confused or frustrated by a text, I've found it useful to plunge deeper into it. Often, the momentary confusion resolves itself a page or two later. The author may have intended the confusion to inspire a certain emotional response in the reader.

Occasionally, I've missed a fact as I read, causing me to misread successive sentences. I've also found myself treading water when confronted by an unfamiliar style, approach, or worldview. It only becomes familiar to me, becomes "easy," after much exertion and patience.

In summary, the words "challenge" and "difficult" do not describe a text. They describe one's experience of the text. All texts are easy in that they comprehend themselves.

I've read a significant portion of Morrison's novels, and this particular one stands out as my absolute favorite.

Why is that? Well, it does something truly spine-tingling and thrilling with its structure, something that I've had the pleasure of witnessing.

In the first 30 pages, we are presented with a mysterious and myopic scene. There is no immediate explanation, just the scene itself. It's like the calm eye of a hurricane.

As the novel progresses, it spins you further and further away from the eye and into the storm. This allows you to see and understand more and more of what was actually happening in those first 30 pages.

At the end, when you reach the outer rim, the final swirl of the hurricane, and the full horror of that initial scene is revealed, you can't help but applaud the stylistic craftsmanship. It left me in awe, much like Faulkner's structures do (irrespective of the stories they tell).

For those who prefer a linear plot or who desire to understand everything as they read, this novel may not be for you. However, if you have a penchant for more experimental works, I highly recommend giving this one a try.