This is the worst book that I have ever read.

It perfectly epitomizes what elite academics seem to love about literature. It is dark and nasty, which, in the eyes of an academic, means it is realistic. Moreover, it is obscure and incoherent, and to an academic, this implies that it is deep and profound.

This is similar to the deliberately hideous painting that intellectuals call "art". Common-sense individuals question its merit, only to be told that it is complex, beautiful, and beyond the untrained understanding and crass sensibilities of the uneducated.

I disliked everything about this book. Its leftist message, disgusting characters, and grotesque writing style, which is a conglomeration of broken grammar rules, disorganized structure, and ungainly narrative, all contribute to its awfulness.

It is mired in filth with its references to bestiality, sexual assault, psychological torture, violence, and infanticide. "Beloved" is the quintessence of the literature embraced by academics, and in my opinion, it is morbid, uninspiring, and completely worthless.

This is probably the least favorite book I have ever had the misfortune to read.

I think my loathing for it is even more intense because of the vast number of people who seem to hold it in such high regard.

Unlike truly trashy novels that are easily dismissed, this one has people actually attempting to argue that it is a great work.

However, it blatantly embodies all the elements that make me detest books.

The message is delivered in a heavy-handed manner, which ultimately spoils some otherwise spectacular imagery.

It is also a giant pastiche of the styles of those who can actually write, resulting in a disjointed and annoying reading experience as it clumsily switches between standard narration, stream of consciousness, and surrealism.

It's not that the idea of switching between different narrative structures is inherently bad, but this book does it in the most ridiculously annoying way I have ever encountered in any book.

Adding to the heavy-handedness is the fact that the entire book seems to be trying to make me feel guilty for being white.

While it is undoubtedly one of the top 3 most unfortunate things in the history of the world that slavery not only existed but endured for so long, I already understand and accept that.

So really, Toni, there is no need to drive that point into my head with a metaphorical bloody axe.

Seriously, just thinking about the entire month I spent reading and analyzing this colossal piece of trash gives me a headache.

I am firmly convinced that this book represents the ultimate low point on the acclaim vs. enjoyability graph.

It is nothing more than artsy-fartsy nonsense for those who want to delude themselves into thinking they are reading real literature when, in fact, they are not.

I'm quite certain that I lack the appropriate words to fully express my hatred for this book (or rather, if I were to express my hatred, my words might not be considered appropriate), so I'll simply leave it at that.

‘Something that is loved is never lost.’

Every so often, a remarkable book emerges that has the power to shake you to your very core. It's as if it pries you open, leaving you emotionally exhausted in its wake. Yet, through this turmoil, you come to realize the profound importance and impact of storytelling. Such is the case with Nobel Prize-winning novelist Toni Morrison's Beloved.

Storytelling serves as a vessel for memories, carrying them forward into the future. However, as Morrison shows in Beloved, memories can be excruciatingly painful to revisit. The horrors of slavery are brought to life in this novel, addressing the collective memory of violent acts that were physically, emotionally, and spiritually destructive. The term 'rememory' is coined by Morrison's character Sethe to describe memories that not only affect the individual but also those around them. Through the rememory of Beloved, Morrison not only mourns the death of Sethe's child but also acknowledges the countless lives lost to slavery and racial violence, all of whom are beloved.

Beloved is an essential classic that revises and revitalizes the slave narrative. It does so through a chorus of voices that explore both the psychological and physical suffering endured by slaves and how this suffering persists over the years. While those who encountered Beloved seem to fall silent later, Morrison makes it clear why these stories must be told. Sethe's character is based on the real story of Margaret Garner, adding another layer of authenticity to the narrative.

The novel is not an easy read, especially emotionally. It contains graphic depictions of sexual and physical violence, recounting some of the darkest moments in US history. However, Morrison's exquisite prose makes it impossible to look away. Her work draws a direct line between the past and the present, forcing us to confront the lasting effects of slavery. We cannot simply dismiss it as a sin of the past but must recognize it as a lasting trauma that still impacts us today.

‘Who would have thought that a little old baby could harbor so much rage,’ say those who live in the house at 124, haunted by the ghost of Sethe's unnamed child. This ghost, known only as Beloved, represents not only Sethe's individual memory but also the collective memory of all those lost to slavery. Critics have compared her to the collective pain of those who endured the Middle Passage. Beloved is both a figure of Sethe's daughter and a symbol of the countless others who suffered and died.

The sexual encounter between Beloved and Paul D is another significant aspect of the novel. It not only awakens Paul D's memories but also reconnects him to his body and emotions. While it can be seen as a recurrence of his sexual assault, it also leads to his healing. This encounter also highlights the theme of the focus on the body in the novel. We see the violence against the flesh of slaves on the plantations, as well as the healing power of touch. The bruises around Sethe's neck serve as a reminder of the lasting mark of slavery on the body.

Motherhood is another crucial theme in Beloved. Under slavery, the bonds between mothers and their children were often severed, as children were sold away. Sethe's relationship with Denver and her connection to Beloved are central to the novel. Denver feels betrayed by the closeness of Sethe and Beloved, but through her experiences, she grows and becomes more involved in the community. The climax of the novel, when Sethe sees a white man as a threat to her freedom and the freedom of her children, juxtaposes the past and present narratives and emphasizes the importance of community.

‘Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another.’ Toni Morrison's Beloved is a masterpiece that examines the long-reaching effects of slavery. It shows how memory can be a source of pain but also a path to healing. We tell these stories to remember and honor those who suffered and to ensure that their voices are not silenced. Beloved is a towering achievement in literature, both in terms of its craft and its importance. It is a must-read for anyone interested in understanding the history and impact of slavery.

5/5

Beloved has truly amazed me in every sense. I had expected a harsh work on the horrors of slavery, but it is so much more than that. It is a novel with a heart-wrenching and disturbing magical realism, a highly demanding and nebulous story, filled with symbolism, suffering, gaps, remorse, and unanswered questions.

Beloved is a rare, dark, partial, and unpredictable work that disconcerts you, makes you uneasy, and moves you in equal parts.

When your eyes become accustomed to its unfathomable darkness, you may catch a glimpse, among other things, of the diffuse shadow of a mother's crime to save her offspring from a life devoid of freedom, the timid shadow of a young woman who has grown up in the perennial melancholy of a house haunted by a ghost of the past, and the patient shadow of a man who struggles with the few forces he has left to introduce a bit of tomorrow into a tired heart tied to yesterday by the roots of a scar tree.

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**Expanded Article**

I got a tree on my back and a haint in my house, and nothing in between but the daughter I am holding in my arms. No more running - from nothing. I will never run from another thing on this earth. I took one journey and I paid for the ticket, but let me tell you something: it cost too much! Do you hear me? It cost too much.

What's the difference between tragedy and melodrama? To me, Sethe is one of the most tragic heroines in literature, but not everybody feels the same. The most peculiar critical comment I have come across after reading the story of this runaway slave and her children claimed that Toni Morrison didn't take a necessary step back from her characters. She was too passionate and fierce about her subject, lacking in proper academic detachment and biased towards pointing out only the horrors of the institution of slavery. To me, it seems like somebody is trying to demonstrate that the Holocaust wasn't all that bad, that there were reasons for the actions of the killers, that not all Germans were bad. I know I have come across in the past over-portrayals of the coloured people in a paternalistic manner, arguing that the slave owners were doing them a favour by giving them shelter and food in exchange for work, liberating them from a savage life back in Africa and so on. Since the first generations of slaves were mostly illiterate (and insistently kept that way by their masters), there are very few direct accounts to challenge this self-serving theory.


Eighteen seventy-four and whitefolks were still on the loose. Whole towns wiped clean of Negroes; eighty-seven lynchings in one year alone in Kentucky; four coloured schools burned to the ground; grown men whipped like children; children whipped like adults; black women raped by the crew; property taken, necks broken.


For Toni Morrison, this is part of her personal history, and she makes herself the voice of this legion of ghosts whose stories some people would like to remain buried and forgotten. With her artistic sensibilities, she takes a real case of a woman pushed beyond the limits of endurance by the system (Margaret Garner) and makes it a poem of pain and redemption, of the awakening of individual conscience and of the sense of belonging to a community of the oppressed.


The terrain, slavery, was formidable and pathless. To invite readers (and myself) into the repellant landscape (hidden, but not completely; deliberately buried, but not forgotten) was to pitch a tent in a cemetery inhabited by highly vocal ghosts.


The inspiration for the novel and the focus on the meaning of freedom, according to the introduction written by the author, has its source in the moment of release of the mind from the petty concerns of holding on to a job with limited satisfactions, of being for the first time sole master of her own life after she gave up an editing job to dedicate herself to full-time writing.


I think now it was the shock of liberation that drew my thoughts to what "free" could possibly mean to women. In the eighties, the debate was still roiling: equal pay, equal treatment, access to professions, schools... and choice without stigma. To marry or not. To have children or not. Inevitably, these thoughts led me to the different history of black women in this country - a history in which marriages were discouraged, impossible, or illegal; in which birthing children was required, but "having" them, being responsible for them - being, in other words, their parent - was as out of the question as freedom. Assertions of parenthood under conditions peculiar to the logic of institutional enslavement were criminal.


Encapsulated in this passage is the core of Sethe's tragedy: born into slavery, denied the care of her own mother, sold to a "liberal" household that was still part of the system, Sethe is tricked into believing she can have a normal life, that she can love another slave and have his children. When the farm changes ownership to a more severe patron, Sethe has to choose between running away or abandoning her children. Without going into details, her love for the children drives her to an abominable act, and for eighteen years she has to cope with the trauma and with the neighbours shunning. The ghosts of Sethe's past are manifest in the novel, given first an invisible, malefic presence in the house she lives in, and later given flesh and breath in the form of a mysterious young woman who calls herself 'Beloved'.


The structure of the novel is non-linear, with the revelations about Sethe, about her children and the men in her life presented gradually, in painful flashbacks, reflecting the tortured mind that shies away and denies the painful memories, approaching them obliquely and fearfully, lest they shred her sanity once more. The question whether Beloved is a ghost or a real person is never settled, leaving the possibility that she is either a figment of the mother's imagination or another victim of the persecution and torture of the coloured people by the system. Seen as an exercise in magic realism, Sethe stands as a mythical figure in the liberation movement, together with her mother-in-law, another former slave who gained her freedom through the sacrifice of her son, Sethe's partner, the only one of her eight children that was allowed to stay by her side and work towards paying her manumission. Baby Suggs is a religious figure to the new community of escaped slaves on the banks of the Ohio, and for me she is special because she steps away from hate. Through her improvised sermons, urging her people to put down the sword and the shield of revenge and learn how to love themselves and the world they live in, Baby Suggs is probably the only character in the novel who really believes in the future.


She told them that the only grace they could have is the grace they could imagine. That if they could not see it, they would not have it.


Baby Suggs is a dreamer, drunk with the unexpected awareness of freedom, leading a wild dance of happiness in the midst of a forest clearing, but the world has this nasty habit of crushing visions of utopias of fellowship and understanding under a tide of greed, hatred, envy. The same events that set Sethe's blood boiling with helpless rage killing her own children rather than allowing them to be returned to slavery, broke the belief of Baby Suggs in that better future.


... in all of Baby's life, as well as Sethe's own, men and women were moved around like checkers. Anybody Baby Suggs knew, let alone loved, who hadn't run off or been hanged, got rented out, loaned out, bought up, brought back, stored up, mortgaged, won, stolen or seized. So Baby's eight children had six fathers. What she called the nastiness of life was the shock she received upon learning than nobody stopped playing checkers just because the pieces included her children.


A powerful metaphor captures the tragic destiny of these two women, a play on colours and light and darkness on a quilt made from scraps, a reflection of a life put together from things other people have thrown out as useless, of a long series of defeats and disappointments that are interrupted by a feeble hope only once every twenty years or so:


The walls of the room were slate-colored, the floor earth-brown, the wooden dresser the color of itself, curtains white, and the dominating feature, the quilt over an iron cot, was made up of scraps of blue serge, black, brown and gray wool - the full range of the dark and the muted that thrift and modesty allowed. In that sober field, two patches of orange looked wild - like life in the raw.


Can a day of eating wild blackberries in the company of friends or another one spent with an unexpected kind man at a country fair compensate for the long years of drudgery and loss? What if this is all that Fate can offer you in a lifetime? Sethe can either accept it or go crazy:


Was that the pattern? she wondered. Every eighteen or twenty years her unlivable life would be interrupted by a short-lived glory?
Well, if that's the way it was - that's the way it was.


While doing a little more background reading on Toni Morrison, I have come upon another remark of hers that I admire: when asked why she is focused so much on women issues, she replied that she doesn't consider herself a feminist, that she doesn't want to replace patriarchy with a matriarchy, but only to promote understanding and respect between sexes. 'Beloved' is for me a fine example of this stance, with the men shown both in their strength and in their weaker moments, both as cruel dictators (the schoolteacher) and as angels of mercy (the abolitionist). Two of them, Stamp Paid and Paul D, are central to the story of Sethe and carry their own trees on their back and their own ghosts from the past to haunt their every waking moment. Victims of brutality, of denial of education, denial of family ties, of every decency and mercy that makes life worth living, these two men have refused to be broken and have gained passage to the land of freedom.


Tell me something, Stamp. Tell me this one thing. How much is a nigger supposed to take? Tell me. How much?
All he can, said Stamp Paid. All he can.
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?


Sethe will need their strength and their kindness if she is to exorcise her own ghosts. The tension between man and woman is not one of dominance, of demonstrating who is stronger, but one of learning to accept the imperfections of the other and of admitting your own need of help in a time of crisis. The only sure thing for these people, at this moment of their history (the aftermath of the Secession War) is that the birth of conscience is accompanied by pain, that the price of freedom is paid in blood:


'It's gonna hurt, now' said Amy. 'Anything dead coming back to life hurts.'


I feel humbled after turning the last page, painfully aware of the sheltered life I have led and of the numerous things I took for granted - like growing up in my parents' house together with my brother and sister, going to school for free, not having to worry about food or safety at night, getting paid for the work I do... As long as women, and men, are still struggling in the third millennium with these essential freedoms of life, the story of Sethe and of her 'Beloved' remain relevant and remind us that it is not enough to do no evil, but we must speak out and push back against intolerance and abuse.


Beloved
You are my sister
You are my daughter
You are my face; you are me.

The sadness resided at her core, in that desolate center where the self that was not truly a self found its abode. As tragic as it was that she had no knowledge of where her children were laid to rest or what they might look like if still alive, the reality was that she knew more about them than about herself. She had never possessed the map to uncover her own nature.

I am accustomed to hearing diverse stories and living among different lives. I am more familiar with beauty than ugliness, with songs than silence, with satiety than starvation, with justice than unfairness, with freedom than servitude, and with love than hate. I am used to living life on my own terms. But it wasn't always like that. In my youthful and naïve conceptions, I used to include 'us' when my innocent imagination was untainted by any negativity and everything seemed just and equal for all. That is no longer the case. It never truly was. As the years accumulated, the real picture gradually revealed itself. Now, you had better look at me. Now, you should know my name. Now, you are ready to feel my pain. It never sought sympathy or endeavored to make me feel guilty. It simply demanded recognition, and I am still in the process of recognizing. It is a long path ahead, where each milestone is equivalent to a tombstone of the unfortunate around the world. Some of them are fortunate enough to have names, while others are nameless. Some lived to tell their tales; others passed their stories on to others. Some left only faint traces of their existence, while others departed without a trace. Some waited to be loved, and some perished because they were loved.

Beloved. A book like Beloved is not merely a captivating work of art or just another attempt to achieve something distinct in novel writing. These aspects are secondary. First and foremost, it is a resounding slap in the face of humanity. It is a testament to the atrocities endured by those whose lives were never easy. All of this has been said, written, and witnessed before, yet it is a disgrace that things continue to be so bleak. In such a desolate situation, we need such books to extract memories of a past that is not part of our own, to see what lies beyond our sight, and to understand the value of the things we have received without paying any price.

Beloved. Toni Morrison has crafted this novel around the proclamation "I'm free." She is a shrewd writer who knows how to convey these stories. The stories of Sethe, Denver, Baby Suggs, Paul D, Sixo, and Beloved. She weaves their lives together in slow, piercing steps, and by the time the reader grasps the gravity of her words, it is too late to escape. Morrison employs a circular form of narration in Beloved. Each circle is marked by a center, a profound abyss of human cruelties and the extent of human suffering. The deeper one looks, the more darkness one will encounter. The language of the characters is characterized by the amount of pain they carry in their hearts, and in the pauses between their words, one can sense the breaths they have saved for a life when they will be reunited with their'self'. In the meantime, their lives present a despicable definition of slavery. The scars on their backs are euphemistically called "Chokecherry Trees." The milk from a mother's breast is meant to nourish her children, but when her defenses are down, she is violated and forced to feed the demonic mouths with mossy teeth. And when nature is defied, the supernatural must intervene. With metaphors, symbolism, pain, death, and resurrection, Beloved implores us to listen to her silent tears. Her story merits being passed on.

With Love. Beloved.

3.5 stars

"Beloved" is a piercing and poetic exploration that delves deep into the horrors of slavery and its far-reaching aftereffects. The story revolves around Sethe, a woman who was born into the shackles of slavery and managed to escape, but at an exorbitant cost. Among the many traumatic memories that plague her, the decision born out of fear to kill one of her own children haunts her the most. Now, 18 years later, the ghost of this deceased baby returns to haunt Sethe and all those she loves who are still alive.

Toni Morrison tackles a plethora of themes in "Beloved": racism, trauma, slavery, family, the supernatural, and much more. She weaves a harmonious tapestry by creating rich, detailed characters who drive the plot forward. Morrison invests great thought into her characters and what they represent, both within the confines of the book and within the broader context of history. Her unique voice and intelligence shine through Sethe, Paul D, Denver, and others, endowing "Beloved" with a subtle yet powerful emotional intensity.

Of the numerous topics Morrison raises in "Beloved", I particularly appreciate her commitment to addressing the abuses of the past and what it means to love and be loved. She handles trauma in a profound and thought-provoking manner, respecting the pain of her characters while offering readers just the right glimmer of hope. With tenacity and heart, she also confronts the challenge of loving and being loved after an experience as brutal as slavery. Morrison provides no easy solutions, but rather emotions and questions that compel us to search deeper for the truth.

Overall, "Beloved" is a great book, although I did not have a great affinity for the magical realism aspect. I have a crucial final exam for my Social Protest Literature course approaching in a few days, and I look forward to immersing myself in Morrison's prose for the next 72 hours. I would highly recommend "Beloved" to those with an interest in slavery, family, or simply those who want to read the works of one of America's most celebrated and influential authors.

Beloved is a truly remarkable and harrowing piece of literature.

On the surface, it may seem like a simple haunted house story, but it delves much deeper into profound themes such as generational trauma, PTSD, and the complex nature of freedom.

The author, Toni Morrison, has a gift for language and prose that is nothing short of magical. The way she weaves this story together is both captivating and unforgettable.

It is a hard read, filled with triggers and difficult content, including slavery, racism, torture, and the loss of loved ones. However, it is also a story of hope and redemption, showing how community can sometimes be the greatest gift in the face of such trauma.

I highly recommend this book to anyone who has yet to pick it up. It is one of the best stories I have ever had the honor of reading, and it will stay with you long after you turn the last page.

Just a few days before Super Bowl LIX, Kendrick Lamar performed another masterpiece of art that, in my opinion, paralleled the themes of Beloved. America was built on slavery and white supremacy, and these issues continue to persist today, even if they are given different names.

Beloved is a powerful reminder of the importance of confronting our past and working towards a more just and equitable future. \\n  

“She just flew. Collected every bit of life she had made, all the parts of her that were precious and fine and beautiful, and carried, pushed, dragged them through the veil, out, away, over there where no one could hurt them.”

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