I swear, there is nothing more fulfilling than when you read an author and have ambiguous feelings towards them and their writing. As an unbiased, fair, and desperately enthusiastic reader, you come back to give it a second try. And it is with that second book that you make your definitive judgment towards the author - either you like them or don't. You may respect their writing but just can't get into it, or you may think their writing is crap.

I thought I didn't like Morrison. I respected her as I could tell from the first book I read by her that she knew what she was talking about. And as far as I could tell, there was no propaganda in her writing. She wrote to educate about Afro-American life, not for personal gain. But with Morrison's writing, I wasn't sure I was gaining much information or insight into the past. I thought she hid too much behind a fantastic plot, with more magic than reality.
This second and last time proved to be the second and best, and proved it definitely won't be the last. While I really did like and appreciate Beloved - the focus on family and the description of fear turned to desperate measures - I could not really get into the vignettes that depicted the slave life. I didn't discount it, but I felt I could read about it somewhere else and get a stronger emotional impact.
I got a much stronger picture of life through Paradise. I have no idea if it was because there were more references to things I had more knowledge about, such as the civil rights era. But either way, I learned several lessons from this book. I'll list them off so this reverie can be over:
1. Not all self-righteous people with a cause are doing it for the right reasons.
2. Some African-Americans felt just as privileged and pompous as whites.
3. Dark-skinned African-Americans felt hatred towards lighter skinned ones, although this is misdirected anger.
4. Fear of integration will only cause unhappiness.
5. Don't judge a woman without knowing what in her past caused her to act/behave in a certain way, no matter how vulgar you may find it.
6. Don't judge a book by a well-written synopsis or by the first chapter, no matter how confused you are.
Of that last lesson, my thoughts on this novel evolved constantly. The first chapter, which begins in medias res, not only confused me - it made me think "this won't be good". Even now after finishing it and loving it and understanding its meaning/purpose, I don't know how to classify it. It's a feminist book, a story of how women can embrace, let go, and rise above their horrors and achieve a spirituality that is both not understood and, even more so, feared. It's a story of how you can live a clean life and people will make up the dirtiest story about you, taking your life into their hands. It's a story about judgment and justification to feed a personal (and destructive) agenda. It's a story about one's duty as an African-American towards their race. It's a story of a corrupted, delusional people that only destroys itself and hurts its descendants.
Most importantly, it's a story about us vs. them - young vs old, progressive vs traditional, open-minded vs close-minded, free spirit vs stuck, male vs female. It's about there not being a right way to live, only one's own individual way to live. And that way is only destructive if you're living for the wrong reasons.
(10/18/21) some notes I found:
p. 137-247
Patricia
- 8-R feels seniority over being there the longest but are upset to see light-skinned people reject them. “They knew there was a difference in the minds”
p.194
- Why do you think it’s called Disallowing?
- Scattering
- Technically the “New Fathers” weren’t disallowed — want to duplicate
- But Convent is very helpful and accepting. Convent is most likely all light-skinned girls — and why Ruby hates them.
p. 100-102
- Consolata
- Soane’s “sin”
Turning point.

A second reading after countless years.

Certainly, at my current advanced age, I have a far deeper appreciation for masterful prose. And can there be anyone more masterful than Ms. Toni Morrison?

One aspect that you simply never forget about this novel is the plethora of characters. Years ago, I thought a scorecard was necessary, and that still holds true.

However, she skillfully weaves each character into the story, providing the reader with sufficient personal history to maintain our engagement.

The remarkable way in which they are all connected to Ruby, Oklahoma is profound in its construction.

I'm certain I didn't fully absorb all of this in the first reading, and I recall feeling frustrated by the various happenings.

But time and maturity have transformed that frustration into fascination.

This is truly an unrivaled and excellent accomplishment.

It's a testament to Morrison's genius that her work can have such a profound impact, even upon a second reading.

The layers of the story and the complexity of the characters continue to unfold, revealing new depths and meanings.

It's a reading experience that enriches and challenges, leaving the reader with a sense of awe and admiration for the author's talent.

Toni Morrison is undoubtedly the freaking GOAT.

Her sentences are like absolute scull crushers, leaving a profound impact on the reader.

Her books are among the most challenging materials I've ever come across, yet I simply can't stop picking them up!!!

I had a great time reading the first half of this book, but then I hit a wall around page 200.

However, I'm really glad I persevered because the ending was incredibly unexpected and well worth the buildup.

Now, it's time to move on to the next one... the year of Toni Morrison continues, and I'm excited to see what else she has in store for me.

Overall, I would rate this book 4-5 stars. Her writing is truly masterful, and I can't wait to explore more of her works.

Why did I read this book before reading "Beloved" and "Jazz" when it is supposed to complete the trilogy? I'm really bummed by that. I just couldn't help it. I found the book on my shelf and decided to read it along with "The Bluest Eye."

As I was reading, I couldn't help but think, why wasn't this book titled something like “Beware the Furrow of His Brow,” or “Furrow of His brow,” or “The Oven?” I won't spoil it for you. You'll have to read it to see why I say that, and you'll probably agree with me. (I did hear though, that Toni Morrison wanted to call it “War” but her editors disagreed.)

The story is set in Oklahoma during the 1950s. A group of people settle there and form an all-black town they name Ruby, after one of the founders who died on the way when she was refused medical attention because of the color of her skin.

At first, Ruby was a conservative town. The women wore no makeup and went to church regularly. But later, the town faced intergenerational issues. The young people were harder to identify, and when friends or relatives visited, they didn't always attend services like people used to do. Then a mansion-turned-convent came in, which later became housing for women running away from all kinds of issues. The town considered these women wild.

Oh my, change is so hard. What do these men do about it? They go on a shooting spree! You can get an idea of these men during their town meeting. They don't like change and want things to remain the way they were decades before. But if Morrison hadn't introduced their psychotic move at the beginning of the book (like she does in her novels: announce what's going to happen and then tell you later), I would have been like, what just happened? You don't want people in your town, so you come up with a plan to kill them off and hide the bodies? Okay, then.

Every single character in this book had an issue. I didn't mind that. I could understand them through their backstories and empathize with them at times. But then I would forget about them once other characters were introduced. And then, they would show up again, interacting with someone else. But they still hadn't redeemed themselves. And then, whoosh, they would be smashed by another character, and I would forget about them again. I would have to remind myself, what was their background again? Still no redemption?

This book wasn't as lyrical as "The Bluest Eye," but the plot between the backstories was amazing. I just wanted more from the characters. For example, I wanted more of Consolata (the nun who has an affair with a married man), Billie Delia (the girl painted as the “wild one” because she wanted to ride a horse so badly as a little girl), and Mavis (the mother who kills her twins by leaving them unattended in a hot car). These characters all had jaw-dropping stories that made you want to stay with them, hear their stories, and see them move the plot forward through their narrations.

A magnificent novel that shouldn't still be relevant in 2020.

Paradise is a captivating work that delves into the isolated black rural community in Oklahoma. Founded as a refuge from the racist mainland, this town, located ninety miles from anywhere, uses its geographical distance to alienate itself from the perils of being black in America. The natives here are spared the random lynchings, the suspicious looks everywhere they go, the treatment as second-class citizens, and the witnessing of staggering inequality and injustice. As described in the book, they don't have to wipe the spit off their children's faces.

After slavery was abolished, black towns emerged across the US. Millions of black people were on the move, either trying to融入 existing settlements or forming groups to establish new towns. Some of these towns, like Ruby, became insular and discriminatory. Ruby was founded by families rejected by other black towns due to their skin color. This past rejection haunts the citizens and shapes their public consciousness. As the town grows successful, its cultural isolation and intolerance of outsiders increase exponentially, leading to a God Complex among its influential men and a plan for mass murder of non-conformists.

I had previously tried reading Toni Morrison but was put off by her cryptic prose. However, when I picked up Paradise again without much hope, I was surprised to find a connection with the prose this time. It was a dazzling experience, and I now understand why Morrison is a legend. The non-linear narrative is used to great effect, selectively revealing and withholding information to create tension and sustain suspense. Despite the technical sophistication, my emotional attachment to the book was not impeded. The success of Ruby was exhilarating, while the past failures of its founders were heartbreaking. I found myself rooting for the town's prosperity but was nervous due to the premonition of possible destruction.

Morrison's writing is fabulous, with some of her phrasing and lyrical descriptions being drop-dead gorgeous. The town's geography and seasons are well-described, and the story is told from the alternating perspectives of different families. The past and present collide in the characters' minds, and we cross decades in a few pages. Each character is shrouded in mystery, and Morrison's deliberate vagueness about some details adds to the allure. The identity of the White Girl, who is shot in the first sentence, is never revealed.

The novel begins with a shooting at the Convent, 17 miles from Ruby. Slowly, the tale of the town unfolds, including its founding, the families that make it up, their stories, culture, and prejudices. History looms large in Ruby, and the ancestors of its founders are highly regarded. When this remembrance of history clashes with the present, complications arise. Martin Luther King's assassination has a profound impact on the town, with the youngsters wanting to be part of the larger black sociocultural movement while the elders desire to keep Ruby frozen in the past. Intergenerational tensions mount, with the elders' excessive devotion to God instilling a dangerous sense of moral superiority and leading to oppression and bigotry.

I love reading about newly forming towns, and the evolution of Ruby from a barren hinterland to a prosperous town was fascinating. Hierarchies emerge, racial purity is revered, and the town's exclusion from other black communities fuels its growth. However, this reactive hostility takes a dark turn and becomes a form of racism. Patricia's chapter provides valuable insights into the town's families and their hypocrisies. Morrison captures the rhythm and tensions of small-town life with precision.

Religion plays a significant role in Ruby, with four churches in a town of 300. Surprisingly, despite the daily injustice they face, the people embrace God passionately and treat religion with the utmost reverence. Deviations in faith are not tolerated, and everyone is expected to adhere to the moral and spiritual boundaries set by religion. Religion is the source of hope for the town's residents, who believe God is their ultimate protector. Ruby's success is attributed to His protection, and nobody dares to oppose the religious oppression that preserves patriarchy.

The convent stands as a symbol of what organized religion fears: a peaceful haven from the judgmental outside world. It shelters women who have been wronged or don't belong, and they live freely without a care. It is more of a paradise than Ruby, despite the sinister overtones. I wanted these women to live there peacefully forever, but, of course, the shooting of the white girl changes everything. The supernatural element associated with the convent didn't work for me; it seemed like a clumsy metaphor and an easy way to resolve things. The events in the last few chapters were abrupt, and the Connie story was hastily executed.

When reading great writers, the expectations are high, and reality often falls short. However, in Paradise, Toni Morrison has created a masterful novel about the evolution of communities and the anxiety surrounding newfound power. Despite its flaws, the novel's brilliance shines through, leaving readers eager to explore her other works.

I picked this up after Morrison's recent passing. It seemed appropriate to bid her farewell in my own way by finishing her Dantesque trilogy. After the Hell of Beloved and the Purgatory of Jazz, we reach the conclusion in Paradise.

Taking place in Ruby, an all-black farming community in Oklahoma, one might initially think the title refers to the town itself. However, if familiar with Morrison's work, one should know better than to take the title at face value. Alas, paradise is not easily attained. The opening paragraph quickly dashes any hope:

\\n  \\"They shoot the white girl first. With the rest they can take their time. No need to hurry out here. They are seventeen miles from a town which has ninety 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.\\"\\n

Beneath the pious surface, the isolated community struggles with old feuds, generational clashes, and the infiltration of political unrest after the Civil Rights Movement and MLK's assassination. With peace thus disturbed, a scapegoat is needed, and an abandoned mansion outside town becomes the target. It's a haven for women who've endured hardships. Currently occupied by four independent women, they become the perfect target of patriarchal blame. So, the men of Ruby take up arms to cleanse the town and restore their peaceable kingdom.

I don't know if all of Morrison's fiction is like this or if it's a stylistic choice for this trilogy. I love the way she constructs her novels. The narrative is never linear but built from all angles and perspectives, circling back to the same events, fleshing them out. It's like looking at mosaic pieces and then seeing the larger picture. With a touch of magical realism, it feels all the more wondrous. The women at the Convent are the centerpieces, and their lives and relationships are so intimate, they feel real.

I can appreciate her mastery, but I admit this novel was harder to follow, especially with the large cast of characters and shifting perspectives. Morrison's work isn't light reading; it's a harsh truth in beautiful words that demands complete attention. I'm not a believer, but her work makes me wish I was. There's a saintliness about it, like catching a glimpse of something Divine. And because of this, the words to describe her stories always elude me.

—————

My other reviews of Morrison's Dantesque trilogy:

01: Beloved · ★★★★★
02: Jazz · ★★★★
03: Paradise · ★★★★★

In 2017, it was the year dedicated to Virginia Woolf. In 2018, Marcel Proust took the spotlight. And in 2019, it will be the year to honor the female Nobel Prize laureates. Hurrah!

August was a special month as it was the time to celebrate Toni Morrison, the 1993 winner. She was the first female winner in two years, and her novels were lauded for their visionary force and poetic import, which gave life to an essential aspect of American reality.

Surprisingly, this month became not just about commemorating her Nobel win but also her entire remarkable career. Her novel had that unique blend of harrowing and beautiful honesty, much like "Beloved," which would surely stay with the reader for a long time.

For this book, the reader should have done what they did when reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude": create a personal family tree and jot down quick notes about the character personae. Similar to Márquez' novel, Morrison's story delved into the complete history of an entire town, including the families' families and their intricate inter-relationships. That means there are numerous names to keep track of. A little help in remembering each new character would be beneficial.

It requires great skill to write a story about hopelessness and then find hope in the end. About trying to escape the evil in the world but still having that dark stain seep in, and yet finding joy in dancing under the rain. It's best to approach this novel with an open mind and as little preconceived notions as possible. Your stomach might churn at the beginning, but it will be well worth it as you let Morrison's plot slowly unfold before your eyes. When I said "some skill," I really meant a whole world of abilities, all embodied in a single woman. Just relax and let her work her magic.

Paradise, published in 1997, faced a rather lukewarm reception initially. Influential critics like Michiko Kakutani, James Wood, and Zoë Heller were not kind to it, and even Oprah's audience, tasked with reading it for her book club, had their reservations. Oprah had to call Morrison to encourage the viewers. One audience member was confused by the novel's multiple perspectives and non-linear chronology, getting lost on page 19. Morrison's response, "Read page 20," was simple yet profound advice.

Boris Kachka, in a 2012 profile of Morrison, summarized the case against Paradise. He compared it to Philip Roth's American Pastoral and Don DeLillo's Underworld, both published in the same year. While Roth and DeLillo addressed historical eras and themes and spoke directly to contemporary anxieties, Morrison seemed to be in a cross-racial dialogue with long-dead Modernists. This view is both right and wrong. Morrison does reject nostalgia for the postwar consensus, but she also speaks to contemporary anxieties. The problem was that many readers didn't like what she said or how she said it.
The novel's epigraph from a gnostic gospel and its conclusion with the theophany of a black madonna suggest an "apparent ideology" that could be described as "New Age." It parodies the Bible and entertains the idea that religious sensibilities should expand to include female divinity. This view, along with other dissident religious approaches, was reflected in late-twentieth-century Anglo-American culture. However, it was embarrassing to the liberal intelligentsia, which legitimates itself through secular knowledge and materialist or orthodox intellectual methods.
Paradise has no single viewpoint, clear chronology, central character, or reliable perspective. The narrative's basic facts remain in doubt even at the end. The novel begins with the famous line, "They shoot the white girl first," and its opening chapter is actually the penultimate one, narrating the climax. The next eight chapters tell the stories of four women who assembled in a former convent. These stories are interleaved with the story of the founding of Ruby, an all-black town.
In the 1960s and '70s, Ruby is torn by social conflicts. The town elders see the convent women as the source of their troubles and go on a witch hunt. Just before being hunted down, the women form a quasi-religious order. The novel ends with Consolata in the arms of a black madonna, suggesting a holistic spiritual view that embraces both flesh and spirit.
Despite its flaws, such as being too short and relying too much on poetic prose, Paradise is a significant work. It sits on the shelf without embarrassment next to the most ambitious fictions of its time. After twenty years, it can be seen that its first critics may have judged it too hastily or too ideologically. It is a novel that demands to be read and interpreted, and readers should "see for themselves" what it has to offer.

Paradise is a complex and multi-layered novel that rewards careful reading and analysis. It challenges readers to think about race, gender, religion, and history in new ways. While it may not be to everyone's taste, it is无疑 an important contribution to American literature.

The novel's use of multiple perspectives and non-linear chronology can be disorienting at first, but it also adds depth and richness to the story. By presenting the events from different viewpoints, Morrison allows readers to see the complexity of the characters and their relationships.

The themes of Paradise are relevant today, as we continue to grapple with issues of race, gender, and inequality. The novel's exploration of female divinity and its rejection of nostalgia for the past offer new ways of thinking about spirituality and social change.

In conclusion, Paradise is a novel that should not be missed. It is a powerful and thought-provoking work that will stay with readers long after they have finished reading it.

Help, I can't stop reading Toni Morrison! Just kidding. That is not a problem I'm looking to solve. Morrison is a remarkable writer who never holds your hand and walks you through her stories. Even though sometimes you (read: I) wish she would. This finale in the Beloved trilogy has so much to say about violence and oppression. It delves deep into the lives of the residents of a town and a convent as we witness their journey towards the act of violence that shatters the life they know. However, I was jarred by the act itself and how quickly and confusingly it was over. The writing, for some reason, didn't seem to be of the same high standard that I've come to expect from Morrison. The ending was a strange abrupt "where are they now" moment, almost like the credits rolled too soon. The overall vibes were just off. Bottom line: This is my least favorite Toni Morrison book, but I still liked it. (3.5)

While my first attempt at reviewing this title was a challenging task, as I'm not sure anyone can truly do justice to it, this is not my first encounter with the novel. That initial reading took place many moons ago during my graduate school days.

Fast forward two decades, and now I'm teaching it to my oldest child. I've long anticipated days like this, introducing a deeply layered, complex, and literary gem, and watching those critical thinking and analytical wheels in the mind start to turn. If you've never read this, I hope my words will inspire you to give it a try.

In all honesty, I didn't immediately fall in love with it on my first read. Back then, I was certain that Song of Solomon was my favorite by Morrison, and Paradise hadn't yet replaced it. Now, I'm not so sure. It's different from her previous novels and doesn't necessarily wow you at first glance. It requires some digging to uncover the hidden luster beneath the murky surface impressions. Therefore, I believe this is one of those books that demands multiple readings. Notice I didn't say simply twice.

This might be one of those limitless reads because with each reading, you'll continue to pick up more pieces of the 10,000-piece puzzle that Morrison seems to scatter on the living room floor. Some pieces may be turned upside down, and perhaps an edge or two is hiding under the couch. Given the way math plays out in the storytelling, it's likely that a few of the 10,000 pieces are missing, or maybe there are actually 10,005. Regardless, this story is a challenge, one that even some literary scholars and book critics struggle to fully piece together. Some might have even inserted the wrong pieces. And who knows, perhaps only Morrison has the box with the complete, uncut image. But once you start making enough connections to form a semblance of a picture, the true beauty of this jem will begin to shine through, even if, like many truths, it's still buried in the earth.

If you haven't guessed by now, there isn't a neatly linear plot. It's not meant to be skimmed. If you read this book in that way, you surely won't understand it. Nor is it meant to be read simply for its surface value or just for the story (or stories) alone. You can try that, and you might still enjoy it, but it's a tale about what lies beneath the surface, about what's really happening not only with the five displaced women (Mavis, Gigi, Seneca, Pallas, and Connie) who reject the need for men or God, break the mold of acceptable society and decorum to find wholeness, but also with the men and the community they offend. In fact, be prepared to encounter an eclectic and at times disjointed history of the town and its residents, as it's intertwined with the arrivals of the women at the Convent - a building that was once a house of worship, a school, and a playboy mansion. (Yes, you read that correctly.)

While the premise (depicted here on Goodreads and on the book's cover) sets an accurate tone for the tale, imagine it playing out on screen as the lovechild of The Wild Bunch and Lost in an all-black Peyton Place.

And then, every now and again, Morrison throws in a doozy of a moniker or a backstory tidbit that might even make you feel a little bit like you're watching Soap!

Ruby is a town of second chances, both literally and figuratively, although it's debatable if some people ever had a first chance. It was founded by nine families, only seven of which are represented in the children's Nativity play, which combines town and biblical history after their first safe haven stopped prospering. On a seemingly daily basis, the town's elders wax nostalgic about anything and everything that's not happening in the present. That is, except for everyone's interest in the only spare Morgan heir, the womanizer K.D. A marriage to Arnette Fleetwood, whom K.D. got pregnant four years ago, would appease his twin uncles who are eager for him to settle down; but he really wants Gigi, who showed up in town looking for an obscene rock and has never left. Arnette's best friend, Billie Delia, can't stand K.D., but she is in love with two brothers. Despite the town's certainty that she's interested in a ménage, Billie Delia is purer than Arnette. Billie Delia's mother is one of only two women in town whom the handsome new minister might consider courting, but the widow Pat Best is more interested in her town genealogy project, which is filled with convoluted (and in some places incestuous) family trees and 'quiet as its kept' tidbits about the branches. What's not quiet is the old reverend, who can deliver a fire-and-brimstone sermon at a wedding that's sure to make any young couple want to elope, if the youngsters in town weren't more concerned with hanging out at the Oven, which is only flaming a fire over its faded inscription rather than cooking any meals. Meanwhile, out at the Convent, Connie, who was blinded by the light and annoyed with her roommates, has an awakening where art supplies and yoga poses create what must be some interesting chalk outlines, foreshadowing the carnage that's to come while at the same time freeing the girls from the pasts that haunt them. When the town men let the seven deadly sins (or at least five of them) get the best of them, they grab their guns, gum, and sunglasses and let their testosterone take over. It all unfolds as history usually does. Or does it?

Lost? You might be, but I don't believe Morrison wrote any of it for shock value. There's a message and plenty of social commentary scattered throughout all that happens, at times almost poetic and lyrical, at times comical. There's also enough misfortune, heartbreak, and injustice to make you cry from the tragedy of it all, flinch at the ignorance and baseness in people, and seethe when you consider or simply realize that while this story is fiction, it's also the story of generations and generations of a not-so-pretty history, not just of America but also of mankind. There's enough intrinsic commentary on religion, race, misogyny, gender relations, myth-making, memory, history, hypocrisy, and so much more to make the whole puzzle of it all worth it without hitting you over the head with the heavy themes. While some are blatant like the opening line, others are subtle, and if you rush through the pages too fast, you might miss them.

It's not a book to worry about spoilers. After all, Morrison starts the story with the climax. She tells you right from the start, "They shoot the white girl first. With the rest they take their time." But who is the white girl?

You never know.

And if another reader tries to tell you they're certain which one it is, they're as unreliable as the narrator of this story.

I'm guilty myself of trying to solve the mystery of the opening line, as well as a few other intriguing ambiguities. Knowing there are no definite answers might even make me appreciate it all the more. I still look for clues, just like millions of people who flock to religion in search of answers that are even more unattainable. Ah, look what Morrison did there?

But mostly, this is about the journey within the pages. While the novel begins with the men's arrival at the Convent for the last time and builds to the how and why their quest for purity and peace becomes tainted, bigoted, and bloodied, this is just as much, if not more, about how the women got to where they are, were shaped into what they are, the obstacles that stood in their way, and the ties that bound them and the shackles they broke. Even when they are 17 miles from the town, separate from the community and "unequal," they are central to the world around them. And so, perhaps it's about how all women, marginalized and vilified, got to where they are and still struggle to rise in a world where witness testimony, histories, and religious scripture have been扭曲 to suit those in control, much like the Ruby men's public proclamations for the slaughter are nothing but smoke screens, pathetic and thinly veiled excuses for the real selfish motivations that drive them to their patriarchal insanity.

"the women are not hiding. They are loose" (287).

For my romance reading friends - If you're looking for a break from that formulaic but steamy genre and want something that offers more substance, this is one to pick up and give a try.

Safety-wise...

Well, it's probably not relevant because while the book is about love in extreme forms, there's no romance here. Nor is anything romanticized, which is really crucial. Arguably, there are also no heroes or heroines. You could spend the entire book pondering whether there is a protagonist. Or are there five of them? At least nine are antagonists. Are we getting into Morrison's math again? It's all as puzzling as who the white girl is. I couldn't even decide whether there's a happily ever after. It's like there isn't... or is there?

There may be no right or wrong answers to the questions that will swirl in your mind when you start trying to connect the pieces of the intellectual puzzle that is this book. Morrison herself said in an article back in 1998 that she'd rather have readers "grapple with her work than merely revere it."

And in the vast sea of corruption that has plagued the contemporary romance world, that's a refreshing perspective. It's also a good reason to give this story a chance. Feel free to reach out to me to chat if you do.

*I own a paperback copy of this book. All reviews written by Book-Bosomed Book Blog are honest opinions.

It always takes me 20 - 30 pages to get into any Morrison book. At the beginning, it might seem a bit challenging, as her writing style can be complex and rich. But once I manage to break through that initial barrier, it REALLY all clicks. Toni Morrison is truly such an astounding writer. Her words have the power to transport you to different worlds, to make you feel the emotions of her characters deeply. I am in awe of her talent and her ability to create such vivid and unforgettable stories. Every time I read one of her books, I am left with a sense of wonder and admiration. Her work is not only literature but also a profound exploration of the human condition. I can't wait to see what other masterpieces she will create in the future.

In nearly five decades of reading fiction, I have almost solely concentrated on books that are character and plot driven. This particular book indeed has numerous characters and a plot (with the town being the central plot). However, in this case, the title of the book serves as the driving force.

The characters in the book are all propelled towards the concept of paradise, and the plot revolves around this idea throughout the entire narrative. From the very beginning, I was completely immersed in the idea of paradise and how it would intricately weave and hint its way through the countless storylines.

Ms. Morrison managed to engage me deeply, even when I didn't fully understand certain aspects at times. By the conclusion, I came to appreciate just how masterful she was in capturing the unique search that humanity undertakes for paradise here on earth. She shows how this search sustains us, yet often presents an actuality that has a much darker side than we initially anticipate.

It is truly remarkable how she was able to bring this complex and profound theme to life in such a captivating and thought-provoking manner.