Addio a Toni Morrison, Premio Nobel 1993. She was the author of a beautiful, intense, terribly painful, and unforgettable novel.

Her work was not a story to pass on lightly. It was a novel where horror and beauty walked hand in hand, just like death and life, hatred and love.

It was a novel that one could not read without ultimately finding oneself dirty, stained by an indelible original sin, a black mark on our seemingly immaculate white skins, but so insistently dirty as to be infected.

It was a novel that was life, birth, the conquest of freedom, because "liberating oneself is one thing, claiming ownership of that liberated self is another."

The clanging of chains. I read it. I reread it.

I try to clarify or further confuse this story that is pure pain and love, where the living and the dead dance together, bound by an invisible thread, or perhaps only by "the best hand-forged chains in all of Georgia."

I try to understand how it was possible for certain things to happen, for men to be treated like beasts, worse than beasts; for women to be used as slaves in their own homes and then to satisfy their bestial instincts, those of men who, while considering themselves human, treated other human beings like beasts; for women and men to be denied even the right to create bonds among themselves, but not the imposition of mating solely for the purpose of reproduction: a market within a market, because every woman capable of procreating, of generating one, five, ten human beings, was an inestimable source of gain in the sale of a future slave, of five future slaves, of ten future slaves.

I try not to think of wives separated from their husbands, of mothers separated from their children, of children who called their own mother "Madam" because they were ignorant of what a mother's love could or would mean, a love that should not mean only possession or exclusive property, but belonging, visceral, a shared destiny: a love that some could only intuit or see disappear quickly from their lives, but that others, the majority, never had the opportunity to know.

I try to imagine that river, that shore, and a crossing that is not only flight but also rebirth and purification.

And then the water: bodies without faces in the water, menacing water, muddy water, thirst-quenching water, water that flows out of the body like a swollen river, like new life; water that heals, water that is born, water that transports, water that washes, water that flees, water that returns, water that falls like tears. And then a city of water.

I cannot. I cannot imagine three thousand meters of land "one and a half meters deep, one and a half meters wide, in which wooden cubicles had been set up. A barred door that could be raised on hinges, like in a cage, opened onto three walls and a ceiling made of scrap wood and red earth."

There were forty-six of these cubicles, but I cannot imagine them, I cannot, not even by reading and rereading.

But I feel short of breath and can imagine forty-six men imprisoned like rats, and the chains, and the irons.

And then the rain.

And then Sethe. What can a mother's love do? What can a mother's love do when she has not known a mother's love, but loves her children with a love so pure that she decides everything for herself, for them, even the most terrible? What can a mother's love do when it is too great?

"Too great? (...) Love either exists or it doesn't. Small love is no love at all." "It doesn't matter to me what it is. Big means nothing to a mother. A child is always a child. It's clear, they grow, they age. Big, though, what does it mean? In my heart it means nothing."

This is not a story to be passed on. This is not a story to be overlooked. How could Baby Suggs, Sethe, and Denver move on?

"Put them down Sethe. The sword and the shield. Down, down. Put them both down. Down by the river. The sword and the shield. Stop thinking about the war. Put all that stuff down. The sword and the shield." How could Beloved forget and be forgotten? "Why do you call yourself Beloved?" Beloved closed her eyes. "Because in the dark I call myself Beloved."

How can life meet death in an endless embrace? How can one continue to live without first coming to terms with the past and forgiving oneself first? How can one live as ghosts in the world of the living or live in a world of ghosts? And we, how can we move on? Toni Morrison does not allow us to, she does not want to allow us to, and she does so by writing a novel that evokes an era when cruelty and inhumanity trampled on human rights, but in which, incredibly, it is possible to glimpse beside the evil and human horrors words full of hope, of poetry, and in which together with life and death, slavery and motherhood, good and evil, white and black, past and present are indissolubly intertwined.

A novel in which nothing is clear, nothing is completely illuminated, nothing is immediate and glaring.

"I wanted the reader to be seized, brutally thrown into an alien environment; I saw it as the first step of an experience to be shared with the characters who populated the book, just as the characters themselves were torn from one place and thrown into another, from any place to any other place, without being prepared to do so or being able to defend themselves."

Perhaps because it would not be possible to bear it, perhaps because we would not be able to fully believe it... Then it is better to shift the focus, allow our eyes, our minds, our hearts, to slowly get used to the darkness, to listen to the sounds, to smell the odors, to listen to the voices that populate this story and, slowly, to understand.

If indeed there is anything to understand.

However.

I did not end up caring much for this book.

I really wanted to like it since it is a classic, but unfortunately, it really was a chore for me to get through.

The story had so much time jumping without obvious breaks, which made it extremely difficult for me to understand the sequence of events.

Moreover, the mix of prose, poetry, and stream of consciousness didn't help matters either.

It felt like a jumbled mess at times.

I can see how some might view this as a must-read book, perhaps due to its literary significance or the unique style employed by the author.

However, for me personally, it just didn't click.

I found myself constantly struggling to stay engaged and often had to force myself to continue reading.

Maybe with a different perspective or a more in-depth understanding of the literary techniques used, I might have been able to appreciate it more.

But as it stands, this book simply wasn't for me.

This piece of poetry is truly very haunting.

The words are crafted with such finesse and skill that it is exceptionally written.

It has the power to draw the reader in and make them feel a wide range of emotions.

The imagery and the rhythm work together seamlessly to create a truly captivating experience.

It is the best kind of poetry, the kind that lingers in your mind long after you have finished reading it.

It has the ability to touch the soul and leave a lasting impression.

Whether you are a lover of poetry or just someone who appreciates beautiful language, this piece is sure to move you.

It is a testament to the power of words and the art of poetry.

I recently re-read this book, a decade after my last encounter with it. I was filled with trepidation, fearing that it might not maintain its status as the best book ever written in my eyes. However, I was proven wrong. It was even better than I had remembered.

When I first read this book, it was like a revelation. I had never come across anything quite like it. I was astounded by the possibility of creating such a poetic and profound story. I couldn't get enough of it, reading and re-reading it multiple times. And then, I delved into everything else that Morrison had written. Just recently, I completed her book of essays about the craft, which made me feel it was the perfect time to revisit this masterpiece.

I won't attempt to describe the book or the story because it's not about that. It's about the enchanting rhythm of the language, the seamless shifting of perspectives, and the rich tapestry of history. (This time, the parts about her milk really stood out for me, as I had just finished reading a history book that detailed how slavemasters sold off the breastmilk of their slaves.) I'm not going to recommend that everyone read this book because I don't believe it's for everyone. It breaks my heart to hear about those who hated it or didn't appreciate it. But this book is what made me a reader, and I will continue to sing its praises.

Déjenme procesarlo y regreso con la reseña.

This simple sentence holds a lot of meaning. It implies that the speaker needs some time to handle or deal with something. Maybe it's a task, a piece of information, or a situation.

By asking others to let them process it, the speaker is showing responsibility and a desire to do a thorough job. They understand the importance of taking the time to analyze and understand before providing a review or response.

We can all relate to this need for processing time. In our daily lives, we often encounter things that require our attention and thought. Whether it's making a decision, solving a problem, or simply understanding a new concept, we need time to process the information and come up with a meaningful response.

So, the next time someone asks you to let them process something, be patient and understanding. Give them the time they need to do a good job, and you'll likely receive a more informed and valuable review or response in return.

(Book 223 from 1001 books) - Beloved, Toni Morrison

Beloved is a 1987 novel by the American writer Toni Morrison. Set after the American Civil War (1861–65), it is inspired by the story of an African-American slave, Margaret Garner. In late January 1856, Garner escaped slavery in Kentucky by fleeing to Ohio, a free state. Morrison came across the story in an 1856 newspaper article titled "A Visit to the Slave Mother who Killed Her Child", which was reproduced in The Black Book, a compilation of black history and culture that Morrison edited in 1974.

The novel has been published in Iran under different titles such as "Delband", "Mahboob", and "Dokhtar-e Beelood". It has been translated by various translators including Shirin Dokht Dehqiyani, Golrokh Seyednia, Sanaz Sahebi, and Marjan Mothnawi. Morrison was the first African-American woman to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature for Beloved. In 1998, a film adaptation of the novel was made, directed by Jonathan Demme and produced by Oprah Winfrey.

The story of Beloved is set in the era of slavery and explores the life of a black woman named Sethe. Sethe kills her daughter to save her from the horrors of slavery. The story is based on the real life of Margaret Garner, who in 1856 escaped from her owner in Kentucky to Ohio, hoping to find a safe haven. However, when her owners caught up with her, she lost hope and killed one of her daughters. Morrison beautifully expands this true story, delving into the forgotten era of slavery, the institution of slavery, and the need for compassion towards black slaves. The complexity of the female characters and the multi-layered relationships between them add a special emotional appeal. The novel also explores social, psychological, and philosophical aspects of human life.

Published on 09/10/1394 Hijri Shamsi; 22/10/1400 Hijri Shamsi; A. Sharbiani

I have long held a belief in ghosts, yet not in the traditional supernatual or paranormal sense. Instead, I firmly believe that ghosts are memories, or what Toni Morrison so aptly names as "rememory." This week, I heard on NPR a man share his profound experience. He was the grandchild of slaves, and when he entered the voting booth and cast his ballot for Senator Obama, he vividly saw the faces of his grandparents. It was rememory at work. I myself once visited Auschwitz in Poland. As my friend and I walked through the overwhelming sadness, she said to me, "they are looking at us, they are in the flowers." Again, it was rememory. I have long believed in ghosts, and Toni Morrison presents us with "Beloved," a captivating story of ghosts and rememory.

I'm not entirely certain if 124 was haunted by the already crawling baby or if it was haunted by the rememory of slavery. However, that really doesn't matter. Rememory is a powerful force. It can be spiteful, loudly demanding our attention, or it can be quiet, lurking in the corners of our minds. Every word Toni Morrison writes is like a razor-sharp blade, and every sentence is a dagger that pierces deep into our souls. "Beloved" is a painful read. It is a story where the past and present blend together seamlessly. It is a story of rememory...

Beloved. Dearly Beloved. "Beloved" is our rememory. It is our rememory of pain and shame. It is a ghost story of an America that is not so long gone. It forces us to confront the past and come to terms with the memories that haunt us. "Beloved" is a literary masterpiece that will stay with us long after we turn the last page.

How to review a book like this? It is truly a great book, and I'm not sure if I can find the superlatives it truly deserves. Morrison based this novel on the story of Margaret Garner, an escaped slave who, upon being recaptured, killed her child to spare the child a lifetime of slavery. The setting is around the time of the Civil War. The plot and storyline are well-known, and it seems that most of my Goodreads friends have either read it or have it on their to-be-read lists.

The writing is outstanding, and there is a strong sense of place. The passage I quoted earlier beautifully describes the protagonist's complex feelings towards the land.

However, this is a horror story in the truest sense of the word - slavery. It has been argued that Morrison is confronting and highlighting things that were not recorded or told by white historians. It is not a comfortable read, and it should be difficult. I think this is where some of the negative reviews come from. The novel is not polemical, and the characters have an enduring humanity with nuance. Some reviews claim this is the worst book ever, expressing hatred and loathing for it. But there are so many truly bad books out there. This isn't one of them. I can understand finding it difficult or not liking magic realism or the use of the ghost motif. But I don't understand the hatred. I wonder if it's because we are being forced to look at something in the past that is still present and that we are unwilling to face. Slavery is now a topic studied in history, but making it too real and present can create strong reactions. We still minimize and gloss over the horrors we perpetrated in the west on other parts of the globe. The European powers and the US killed far more in the slave trade than the Nazis did, and we still have a problem calling it genocide.

Morrison makes it all human and personal, bringing it home to us.

“Darkness is stronger and swallows them like minnows.” - Toni Morrison, Beloved

“Beloved” is an exquisitely beautiful and haunting story that is set in the aftermath of the slavery emancipation declaration. It weaves a tapestry of mystery and the supernatural, all while being a profound love story, a tale that delves into horror, forgiveness, loss, and confusion. The language used is highly poetic and lyrical, rich with metaphors and powerful imagery that paint a vivid picture in the reader's mind.

The book centers around the life of Sethe, a runaway slave who has fled her home in the South but remains trapped in the clutches of her past. Her deceased two-year-old baby allegedly haunts 124, the house where she lives with her daughter Denver. As the story unfolds, we discover the truly awful circumstances surrounding the baby's death, adding an even deeper layer of tragedy to the narrative.

The house itself becomes an ominous character in the book, almost having a life of its own. One can feel the hopelessness that pervades Sethe and Denver's lives, as they have nowhere else to turn.

“So Sethe and the girl Denver did what they could, and what the house permitted for her. Together they waged a perfunctory battle against the outrageous behaviour of that place; against turned-over slop jars, smacks on the behind, and gusts of sour air. For they understood the source of the outrage as well as they knew the source of light.”

The love story in this book is of a unique kind. It involves Sethe and Paul D, a couple who were once slaves. The question of how people can move on from the trauma of slavery and form free relationships is explored. As slaves, they were accustomed to the heartbreak of having their loved ones, whether parents, children, or lovers, sold away or running away. The past has left indelible scar marks, just like the scars in the shape of a chokeberry tree on Sethe’s back.

“And then she moved him. Just when doubt, regret and every single unasked question was packed away, long after he believed he had willed himself into being, at the very time and place he wanted to take root- she moved him. From room to room. Like a rag doll.”

What I found particularly powerful was the term Morrison used, “rememory,” which refers to the act of remembering memories. I had a similar experience when I visited a slave memorial in Zanzibar and entered the dungeons where the slaves had been held. Although the slaves are no longer physically present, I was overcome with a plethora of emotions, as if they still lingered there in some form.

I found it extremely challenging to read large portions of the book at once; I had to take frequent breaks. Toni Morrison truly stands in a class of her own. This book is a masterpiece that is both beautiful and tragic, leaving a lasting impact on the reader.

“En el 124 había un maleficio. Todo el veneno de un bebé.”

In Beloved (1987), the African-American (PNL93) Toni Morrison (1931-2019) shows us the true depth of the scars caused by slavery. Based on a real event, it narrates the life of Sethe, a runaway slave who commits a horrifying and unnatural act in an extreme panic situation. The choice of that event, as well as the author's highly personal way of developing its consequences, is how this novel acquires its singularity and leads us to understand even more the true dimension of this abominable system.

The author opts for the supernatural, the fantastic, as the only response to this irrational and unjustifiable act. A flight from reality where death gives way to the conflicts it causes in the people involved and in how they try to understand it. Beloved also has a strong spiritual symbolism, from the tree formed by the lashes on the protagonist's back, like the Christian tree of sin or the African animist tree, or the unusual incarnation, to the celebrations of the old woman Baby Suggs in the clearing of the forest like a tribal African shaman. This resource does not seem to respond to the search for forgiveness or revenge, but as the only replica in the face of so much atrocity.

“No les decía que se purificaran ni que dejaran de pecar. No les decía que eran los bienaventurados de esta tierra, su mansedumbre ni su gloria. Les decía que la única gracia con que contaban era aquella que fueran capaces de imaginar. Que si no la veían no la tendrían. —En este lugar, carne somos —decía—. Carne que llora y ríe, carne que baila con los pies descalzos en la hierba. Amadla. Amadla intensamente. Más allá no aman vuestra carne, la desprecian.”

In Beloved, a story is told to us, but the author does not seem to care if we follow it. She delays in giving us the details that would clarify it and we feel lost for much of the text. She limits herself to submerging us in a closed, dense, sinister environment (even within the supposed moment of freedom where the novel takes place: the years after the Civil War when the abolition of slavery was decided), an isolated environment that serves the dual purpose of hiding place and protection for our protagonists (the house 124 where they live thus becomes another protagonist). It is within that microcosm where we more easily access their inner world, their feelings, as they try to understand or forget what happened, as they face the contrast between the horror and the innocence caused by the senselessness of slavery.

“-De todos los que Baby Suggs conoció -para no hablar de los que amó-, el que no se había fugado ni lo habían ahorcado, fue alquilado, prestado, comprado, devuelto, conservado, hipotecado, ganado, robado o arrestado. Por eso los ocho hijos de Baby tenían seis padres.”

Morrison describes in a concise but precise way the historical moment, the social conflicts, the way of life…, but Beloved is, above all, a novel of characters. A novel about the relationships between people and about the different kinds of love. The outstanding characters are mainly women. In that era, doubly enslaved because of their added condition as women. Relegated to a mere function of workers, reproducers and caregivers, but here they are shown to us as fighters, powerful and resolute. Women anchored to a place to survive, supporting the family burden, while the men come and go, enter and leave their lives. Simple absent beings, secondary, welcome if they wish, but not essential if they disappear.

“-Un hombre solo es un hombre -decía Baby Suggs – Pero un hijo… bien, un hijo ya es alguien.”

Toni Morrison creates a work of overwhelming linguistic and stylistic force. Everything in Beloved is peculiar: a complex structure, an inverse plot, the use of the stream of consciousness and a multiple play of times and narrative voices of great depth. We find a prickly text, with inconclusive chapters, phrases without apparent meaning or without punctuation, atypical dialogues, etc., but with a tremendously beautiful, raw and poetic prose. A prose full of symbolism (the names of the slaves or their absence in the babies since they were separated from their mothers, from the places, from the animals; the meaning of the colors…). In short, a style that forces you to maintain attention at all times. Nothing is clear in Beloved, it is almost unreal. We are faced with a work of art, a magnificent expressionist painting, where the colorful images are blurred by shapeless brushstrokes or deprived of contours, which, instead of distorting them, manage to highlight their meaning even more.

“…él duele donde yo duermo mete su dedo allí dejo caer la comida y me rompo en pedazos ella se llevó mi rostro nadie me desea nadie desea decir mi nombre…espero en el puente porque ella está debajo está la noche y está el día otra vez otra vez noche día noche día estoy esperando ningún círculo de hierro rodea mi cuello ni pasan barcas por estas aguas ni hombres sin piel mi muerto no flota…”

There is a deep abyss in Beloved that the most intrepid readers should毫不犹豫地venture去探索.

This was my second or third reading of Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book that not only broke my heart but also remade it once again. The tree on Sethe's back serves as a map to both pain and redemption. I feel as if I could quote nearly the entire book if I were to copy out all of my notes. From the initial haunting of Beloved and her return, the tale of Sethe is one of the revolting violence and sexual underpinning of the institution of slavery. The stories from Sweet Home are all heartbreaking, especially once Schoolteacher takes over. And yet, even across the river at 124, those who escaped are not safe.

The novel does an outstanding job of capturing the love between Sethe and Paul D, the emergence of an "I" for Denver, and the pain of loss for Baby Suggs. It is memorable from start to finish and is truly one of the greatest works of fiction of the last century. I loved how it ended with Denver taking control of her life and, in doing so, saving Sethe. Love conquers all.

Sethe is defiant at the beginning of the book when Paul D arrives. She has a tree on her back and a haint in her house, with nothing in between but the daughter she is holding in her arms. Paul D, being the kind soul that he is, listens to the shards of her story. The reader needs to be patient as the full meaning of the loss of milk, the lost sons Buglar and Howard, and the whitegirl are peeled off the story like layers of an onion. The emotion is overwhelming and creates tenderness between Sethe and Paul D.

The afternoon lovemaking of Sethe and Paul D opens up vistas in their memory of the previous slave life they shared at Sweet Home. Most of the memories are filled with the inherent inhumanity and violence of slavery. To survive, the slaves of Sweet Home had to find pleasure in very small, nearly insignificant things. One important thing to keep in mind when reading Beloved is the deep vernacular used by the protagonists, which requires sometimes reading out loud to understand the sing-songy diction. Time is also strictly non-linear, as each of the characters shifts back and forth over memories too painful to bear all at once. There is an extremely sensual aspect to Morrison's writing, where the various senses blend together.

Not long after, Beloved comes to 124, and the heart of the novel is her dysfunctional, fusional relationship with Sethe, her distant, opportunistic relationship with Denver, and her violent, sexual relationship with Paul D, which drives him away from the house. It takes Sethe a lot longer than Denver to realize this because of Beloved's all-consuming devotion. Halle was Sethe's husband and the father of her children before their flight from Sweet Home. Near the house where they escaped to, there was a clearing where Baby Suggs would give open air speeches to the other fugitives and survivors. Sethe bitterly misses the 28 days between her arrival at 124 and the catastrophe that consumes her, especially the comfort of Baby Suggs.

In his reminiscing, we learn of Paul D's incredible journey and the countless acts of violence and predation that he survived. He finds little consolation with the Cherokee, who suffered the fate of genocide at the hands of white settlers. On his way to 124, he notices a red ribbon that comes to symbolize for him the tiniest hope for survival among the ferocious slave bounty hunters and the promised haven of 124. In the wake of Paul D's leaving, things collapse in 124 into complete insanity as Sethe and Beloved become inseparable and push Denver out. However, at the end of the novel, Denver finds a way to banish Beloved definitively by rallying the community of women. Paul D rushes back to the side of Sethe, and the exchange between them is beautiful.

This is truly one of the most painful and beautiful books I have ever read. It should be required reading for high school kids to fully understand the de-humanizing aspects of slavery and how sex was used as a tool for oppression. But mostly, it is for the stunning love story of Sethe and Paul D.

Fino's Toni Morrison Reviews:
The Bluest Eye
Sula
Song Of Solomon
Tar Baby
Beloved
Jazz
Paradise

Words like Holocaust, Slavery, War etc. tend to lose over time the terror they should inspire in one's mind. Reminding us about what these evils feel like is one important role that art plays. Toni Morrison accomplishes exactly that in this book, and in a highly effective way.

She commences her story in the middle, when slavery has already been banned and the worst horrors have already occurred. However, this is far from a happily-ever-after. In fact, for those who have been slaves (or have suffered immensely in any way) for a significant period of time, it is nearly impossible to find perfect happiness - there will always be the ghosts of the past to torment them, shattering the Disney-esque idea of a perfect ending. In this case, we actually have a literal ghost of the past (the Hindi word for 'ghost' and 'past' is the same).

Within the very first few pages, Morrison elevates art's ability to create compassion to a new level as she makes us feel the dark past that the residents of 124 live in, even if, like Denver, we are ignorant of its details. It is terrifying and impossible to ignore, almost palpable - the characters are attempting not to 'look' at it, which is understandable given its darkness:

"To Sethe, the future was a matter of keeping the past at bay."

We are reminded of this past through Morrison's use of (irritatingly unannounced) flashbacks. A normal narration of events would have left readers with only memories of the darkest events, and we wouldn't have realized what it feels like to be a slave for one's entire life. The book is so brilliant because you can see the depravity in the smallest things and how much those tragedies would overshadow any happiness that might come the victim's way.

The past figuratively comes alive in the form of Beloved, all flesh and bones. "She reminds me of something. Something, look like, I'm supposed to remember." Although these are Paul D's words, they convey the experience of many people with Beloved. She is there or is a sort of metaphor for one's efforts to come to terms with dark pasts. You can't run away from it; you need to accept it. The residents of 124 did - and they all emerged from the situation better. Of course, it hurt a little, but "Anything dead coming back to life hurts."

Slavery is an evil that reduces people to the level of animals and denies them the freedom to love freely. How bad must a life be if a loving mother chooses to kill her children rather than have them live in such a state?

As Morrison's prose fuels our understanding, we could continue to explore these themes. However, Baby Suggs' very first thoughts upon being freed seem to sum it up brilliantly:

"What for? What does a sixty-odd-year-old slavewoman who walks like a three-legged dog need freedom for? And when she stepped foot on free ground she could not believe that Halle knew what she didn't; that Halle, who had never drawn one free breath, knew that there was nothing like it in this world. It scared her. Something's the matter. What's the matter? What's the matter? she asked herself. She didn't know what she looked like and was not curious. But suddenly she saw her hands and thought with a clarity as simple as it was dazzling, 'These hands belong to me. These my hands.' Next she felt a knocking in her chest and discovered something else new: her own heartbeat. Had it been there all along? This pounding thing? She felt like a fool and began to laugh out loud. Mr. Garner looked over his shoulder at her with wide brown eyes and smiled himself. 'What's funny, Jenny?' She couldn't stop laughing. 'My heart's beating,' she said. And it was true."