Re-read this for a little literary refreshment and I just feel like Toni can do no wrong.

The ending might be clunky and ridiculous, but this novel is truly a mountain of incendiary ideas about identity. It delves deep into various aspects such as black identity, black womanhood, black manhood, cultural identity, childhood trauma, motherhood, class, sex, and the list goes on.

However, seriously, what exactly is the ending of this novel???

Nonetheless, I live.

This novel manages to explore these complex themes with such depth and nuance that it leaves a lasting impact on the reader. It makes one think and question their own understanding of these concepts.

Despite the flaws in the ending, the overall brilliance of the novel cannot be ignored. It is a must-read for anyone interested in exploring the rich and diverse world of identity and its many manifestations.

Toni's writing is powerful and engaging, drawing the reader in and making them a part of the story.

Overall, this novel is a remarkable work of literature that will continue to be studied and analyzed for years to come.

Tar Baby by Toni Morrison is a remarkable novel that delves deep into the complex themes of race, identity, power, and love.

Set in the Caribbean during the 1970s or 1980s, it tells the story of the relationship between Jadine Childs, an educated Black woman raised by a wealthy White couple with a modern, Western perspective, and Son, a rebellious Black man who disrupts her ordered life. Son represents a more traditional and simpler way of living. Their relationship highlights various issues such as class differences within the Black community, internalized racism, and the challenges of integrating two distinct lifestyles.

The author's use of symbolism and African folklore adds depth and richness to the narrative. The story transitions between a Caribbean island and the cities of Florida and New York, shining a light on wealth and class disparities during that era. Morrison skillfully explores how the characters grapple with their personal and cultural pasts, emphasizing the longing for freedom and a sense of belonging. This novel prompts thought-provoking questions about the meaning of being Black in a world shaped by colonization and Western culture.

Overall, Tar Baby is a profound and engaging work that offers valuable insights into the human experience.

The set-up of Tar Baby is truly brilliant, and it stands out as one of the most remarkable aspects of the novel.

Valerian and Margaret Street spend six months each year in a magnificent house on an island in the Caribbean. She is his second wife, and we suspect she is a trophy wife. However, as they have been married for about twenty years and he is growing old, she is no longer the trophy she once was.

Caring for them is an African American couple, Sydney and Ondine Childs, who have been with them for so long that they are almost - but not quite - friends, communicating with each other in an intimate manner.

Valerian's wealth stems from a candy business owned by his family, but he is no longer involved. He is a wealthy and cultivated man with politically progressive views. If he has a malicious side - and he does - it is evident in how he treats his wife, who seems in some ways older and more demented than he.

Living with this quartet is the Streets' niece, Jadine. Orphaned years ago and raised by her uncle and aunt, the Streets have done a great deal for her, educating her and putting her through college. She graduated from the Sorbonne, an excellent alma mater, and is highly cultivated. She is also light-skinned, which a black man later in the novel refers to as a "yalla," and has made a living as a fashion model. She is gorgeous.

There are various tensions within this unusual family, especially between Valerian and his wife. Additionally, Jadine is much wealthier than her uncle and aunt. For example, she has a seal skin coat given to her by a boyfriend, which - as her Aunt Ondine tells her - costs as much as a house she might buy. Nevertheless, the group is comfortable together.

Into this situation steps an African American man whose name is uncertain (Morrison's previous novel had a lengthy discussion on names), but who calls himself Son. He has jumped ship nearby, wandered onto the island hoping only to survive, and not only steals food from the Streets' pantry - after all, he was starving - but also ends up taking refuge and being discovered in Margaret's closet (she nearly dies of fright at the sight of him). To say the least, he is the opposite of Jadine, as dark-skinned as she is light (the only word Margaret could utter when she first discovered him in the closet was "black"). He is extremely unkempt, with dreadlock hair and a filthy beard. He smells terrible and is offensive in every imaginable way.

Everyone is outraged by his presence in the house, except Valerian, who is so confident in his wealth and politics that he invites the man to stay in his guest room and wear some silk pajamas (after a bath, we hope). It's like Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, but this is definitely not Sydney Poitier. It's more like Mike Tyson.

I'm sure you can anticipate from a distance that Son and Jadine will fall in love. Morrison's first novel was about black girls, her second about female friendship, and her third - ultimately, I think - about the hardships of young black men. This one is about men and women.

Son is more interesting than he initially appears. He was raised in Enloe, Florida, a town where all sixty houses - not shacks, he insists - are owned by blacks. He eventually takes this high-class model and Sorbonne graduate back to meet his people. He is not formally educated but is extremely street smart, knowledgeable about unexpected things. For instance, he shows Valerian how to revive the cultivated plants in his greenhouse and once made a living playing jazz piano. Most intriguingly, in the face of this accomplished woman who is so focused on her career, Son is entirely different. He belongs to a distinct class of men.

"In those eight homeless years he had joined that great underclass of undocumented men. And although there were more of his kind in the world than students or soldiers, unlike students or soldiers, they were not counted. They were an international legion of day laborers and musclemen, gamblers, sidewalk merchants, migrants, unlicensed crewmen on ships with volatile cargo, part-time mercenaries, full-time gigolos, or curbside musicians. What distinguished them from other men (aside from their terror of Social Security cards and cedula de identidad) was their refusal to equate work with life and an inability to stay anywhere for long."

Far be it from me to claim that this is an extreme case of the dilemma many African Americans face - what do I know about it? - but I suspect that's what this novel is about, the highly educated woman and the freewheeling man. Jadine is on the verge of being white, not only in her skin color but also in her attitudes. She refers to the Streets as her patrons, is deeply grateful for the education they've provided, and believes they would assist Son in the same way (Valerian is eccentric enough that he probably would). Son doesn't exactly despise education (though it might be a bit late for him), but he is accomplished in ways Jadine can only dream of and wouldn't accept a dime from the Streets, a white couple who are kind to the servants but refer to the man who takes care of their landscaping as Yardman, not even bothering to ask his name. (Son spends several evenings with the man and his family. It is Yardman - whose real name is Gideon - who refers to Jadine as a yalla.) Son and Jadine do love each other, as is as obvious as anything can be. But their values are in extreme conflict.

They have a significant romantic idyll in New York City - a common ground for these two people if anywhere in the world is - which proves, if nothing else, that they are sexually highly compatible. They eventually have one final argument about their values, Son storms off into the night, and Jadine departs, first back to the island to retrieve her belongings and then to Paris, where she knows she will feel at home and can make a living. Son realizes too late the mistake he has made and pursues her in the only way he knows how, ultimately winding up back in the company of Gideon and the women who surround him. (Gideon cannot understand Son's determination. "Christ," said Gideon, and snapped his cloth in disgust. "I knew it. The yalla.... You sick, man. Not just your head either. Why can't you let her go?")

I must admit that there was a part of me that was hoping they would find a way to reunite at the end. I guess I've seen too many Hollywood movies. But Toni Morrison isn't interested in romantic or satisfying endings. All I can say about the ending of this novel is that it is sublime, one of those moments in Morrison's work that is absolutely perfect but that we would never have guessed in a million years. I don't know where such a moment comes from. I am in awe of the writer who created it.

Every time I finish a Morrison novel, I think I should read it again. I actually did reread Sula, but there's another part of me that wants to move forward to what's next, especially because the next novel is her greatest one, and I've already read it (I had also read Tar Baby. But this chronological reading of her work - suggested by Henry Louis Gates Jr. - is remarkably fruitful). I must admit I'm beginning to think that no other American writer has produced a collection of novels of this high caliber. I say this with full recognition of the work of William Faulkner, whom Gates suggested we read first. Faulkner's sublime moments and great novels are surely on par with hers, but there is some mediocre work in his overall body of work. Morrison hits the mark every time. Comparing these two authors isn't the point; we should be grateful to have them both. But I'm not sure that - even with her Nobel Prize - Morrison has truly received the recognition she deserves.

www.davidguy.org

Toni Morrison's novel set in the Caribbean is a multi-faceted exploration of various themes.

Class, money, island life, skin color, and the class structure all intersect and clash on what is supposed to be an idyllic island retreat. The presence of an interloper from the Southern USA, with a mysterious past, and a wealthy landowner/capitalist who has retired to the island with his younger and attractive wife, who also has a dark secret, adds to the complexity.

The landowner is served by an older island couple who manage the property. The Christmas party, where all these characters gather and eventually break down in recriminations, is the explosive core of the novel.

Their niece, a true New Yorker, struggles to find her place in this insular society when faced with an outsider who disrupts the status quo. In the end, no one emerges completely purified or vindicated in their actions, leaving the reader with a sense of the moral ambiguity and complexity of human nature.

This is not precisely a review. Instead, it is more of a narrative regarding my experience of reading Tar Baby.

I have perused all of Toni Morrison's novels, albeit I read the earlier ones out of the order of publication. Currently, I am rereading them from the beginning to the end. Each time, I discover more to comprehend and relish. I initially read Tar Baby in 2001, when it was already 20 years old. Now, it is over 40 years old. I am a far better reader now than I was in 2001, although I was equally enthusiastic back then. I believe there is a valid reason to read beyond one's level and outside of what one is accustomed to or comfortable with.

In any event, according to my reading log, I found it "a great story with great dialogue, overall a page-turner." It seems I grasped the main plot points. When I commenced reading it this time, it felt as if I had never read it before.

In the forward to the Vintage reprint that I read this time, Toni Morrison makes mention of the well-known Brer Rabbit tale. Oh! Of course. So throughout my reading, I was observing who was Tar Baby, who was Fox, and who was Rabbit.

I recently read Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys and I detected numerous parallels in Tar Baby, not just because the opening setting was in the Caribbean but also in the subject matter and in the women of the two books. I more fully understood this time the conflicts between classes, races, Natives and White intruders. I grieved for both Jadine and her wild lover Son when she made her final decisions regarding their love and her personal goals.

There are many Black writers whom I admire and respect, but in my view, most of them owe a great deal to both James Baldwin and Toni Morrison, both of whom understood the source, the particulars, and the intricate web of racism in America better and wrote about it more adeptly than anyone else.

Selected from my shelf the day after the announcement of the great American novelist’s passing.

And as I was quickly reminded, one doesn't decide how to read a Morrison novel but conforms to the experience it wants you to have. Morrison's writing is beautifully crafted, and it is truly fascinating to observe how she refracts a contemporary milieu through her mythic vision. However, I must admit that I struggled more with this particular novel than any of her others that I've read so far. In fact, I even put it down halfway through and read another novel before returning to finish the second half.

It was a strange experience. After the fact, it almost felt like I had been shut out and forced into that break, as if I needed to be in the proper mindspace before being allowed to proceed. I'm still not entirely sure what I think about the novel overall. But for the last few weeks, it has definitely found a place on the back edge of my mind and made its presence felt at the oddest moments. As the novel itself puts it, it's those "ticky-tack thoughts that fill in the space where sleep ought to be." Morrison's books have a way of haunting the imagination, and assigning a star rating always seems like a feeble gesture, especially in this case.

"The world will always be there—while you sleep it will be there—when you wake it will be there as well. So you can sleep and there is reason to wake. A dead hydrangea is as intricate and lovely as one in bloom."

After reading Morrison's Tar Baby, I felt a sense of slight dissatisfaction.

While I understand that a story doesn't necessarily need a perfect resolution, it seemed to me that she left the conflicts of the primary characters, especially Jadine and Son, unresolved. Perhaps being a hopeless romantic, I desired for them to succeed, for their love to endure no matter where their travels took them, be it from Isle des Chevaliers, New York, Eloe to Paris.

The situation on Isle des Chevaliers, at Valerian's house, appeared a bit more neatly wrapped up. Morrison managed to convey a feeling of wholeness, a sense of finality that provided the reader with a clearer understanding of the characters' fates. However, I found the last scene rather disappointing as it veered into a realm of surrealism that I didn't find appealing within Morrison's otherwise historically and racially rooted themes and subject matter. I had a similar feeling of a surrealistic cop-out in Song of Solomon when Milkman leaps to fly in the novel's ultimate scene. Maybe I'm misinterpreting Morrison's surreal metaphors, but I simply much prefer a more literal and tangible finale and conclusion.

Despite my negative views on the endings, I did thoroughly enjoy both Tar Baby and Song of Solomon. Morrison's language and her ability to effortlessly transition between a variety of characters throughout the narration make for an engaging and captivating story that is a great read. There are certain lines of dialogue that are truly timeless and poignant. Morrison never fails to make me think, reflect, and consider the social world in which we live. I love her for that remarkable ability to evoke social consciousness in her readers through the development, understanding, and speech of her characters.

DNF - I made a genuine attempt to complete it, I truly did.

The narration for the audiobook was of a very high quality. It was engaging and had the potential to draw the listener in. However, the characters were simply awful. They lacked depth and were not developed in a way that made them relatable or interesting.

I found myself not liking the story at all. It seemed to lack a clear direction and the plot was rather convoluted. Additionally, the way it was written did not appeal to me. The prose was not flowing and the pacing was off.

Overall, it was a disappointing experience and I had to give up on it. Maybe it's just not the right book for me, but I cannot recommend it to others.

In my opinion, this is the best novel ever written!

It delves deep into the significance of black female sexuality, exploring a topic that is often overlooked or misrepresented. The author beautifully portrays the complexity and diversity of black female experiences, challenging traditional norms and expectations.

Moreover, the novel also emphasizes the relevance of love in everything that we do and every decision we make. Love is not just a feeling but a powerful force that can shape our lives and relationships. It shows how love can bring people together, heal wounds, and inspire us to be better versions of ourselves.

This novel is not only a great work of literature but also a thought-provoking and eye-opening exploration of important themes. It makes us question our own beliefs and assumptions and encourages us to look at the world from a different perspective. I highly recommend it to anyone who is interested in reading a truly remarkable and unforgettable novel.

This book right here is a captivating exploration of cultural conflict intertwined with an unlikely love story. It's like a modern-day beauty and the beast pairing. Toni Morrison has crafted a narrative that offers readers an abundance of thought-provoking elements.

The dialogue between Jadine (the beauty) and Son (the beast) is not only instructive but almost reaches the point of a moral and ethical flogging. It forces us to confront our own beliefs and values.

You simply have to read this book and be in awe of the beautiful language and the meticulously chosen setting that Morrison uses to tell this love story. It shows how being centered in one's culture can manifest in various ways.

Is there one correct way to be centered? Some might say definitely yes, but Jadine would say nonsense! This is a truly literary novel that never fails to make the reader reflect on where they stand on the literary embracing scale. It challenges our perspectives and invites us to engage with the complex themes it presents.

Morrison's masterful storytelling and deep understanding of human nature shine through in every page, making this book a must-read for anyone interested in exploring the intersection of culture, love, and identity.

It was alright.

You have ended at the Christmas dinner and I would have been happy. However, the ending dragged on a bit and I got bored.

To be honest, it wasn't your best work, Ms. Morrison.

I expected more from you. The story had a lot of potential, but the conclusion seemed rushed and lacked the impact that it could have had.

Maybe you could have spent more time developing the ending or added some unexpected twists to make it more interesting.

Overall, it was an okay read, but it didn't leave a lasting impression on me.

I hope that in your future works, you will be able to bring out the full potential of your stories and keep your readers engaged until the very end.

“Tar Baby” by Toni Morrison is an outstanding piece of literature that demands careful examination from most readers.

Many readers expect a book by the renowned Toni Morrison to focus on race relations. Indeed, she often includes references to historical slavery and other race-based injustices in her works, such as White supremacist violence and racist laws. Between these two extremes of injustice, Black people in America were condemned to living as a permanent underclass for centuries, regardless of their skills or education. However, Morrison does not offer simplistic one-dimensional analyses of race issues. Instead, she delves into the nuances. In every book of hers that I have read so far, she explores how Black people contribute to their “cancelled” status, particularly through the behaviors of Black men. I understand that some Black people may not appreciate her novels because she leaves no aspect of Black culture, whether problematic or historical, untouched. Some readers may not like that she writes about the problems of how some Black people cause economic and social harm to themselves.

Morrison, in all of her novels, does not shy away from addressing the internal social problems within the Black community. I suspect that those of us who review her books, whether professionally or as amateurs like myself, hesitate to discuss the internal problems of Black culture. It is all too easy for White supremacists to seize upon these internal cultural failures as a reason to maintain their racist beliefs. I get it. But Morrison does not avoid these cultural problems in any of the books I have read by her.

I am not Black, but I am of mixed race. My mother, an Alaskan native born in the 1920s, endured terrible discrimination in her lifetime. I found online pictures of stores in Anchorage in 1958 with signs in their windows reading, “No Natives Allowed.” Natives mostly worked in canneries, which was seasonal employment. Very few jobs were available to them. Subsistence hunting and fishing were necessary for survival as most Natives (and many Whites by choice) had no access to wage income. Native children were forcibly educated in schools run by religious Christian organizations, focusing on technical skills and Christian values. The University of Anchorage had a written policy that no Natives were permitted to enroll in any college classes until 1971. Needless to say, there were no prep schools. Educated Natives such as lawyers, accountants, and writers were almost non-existent. Alaskan Native businesses struggled to establish an economic foothold. Knowing how to survive in the wilderness is great, but such knowledge is not a substitute for a good education in creating wealth in the world of business and financial markets.

You may be wondering why I am discussing these issues in a review of “Tar Baby.” Patience, dear reader. I am getting there…

Congress passed the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971, which resolved land ownership issues in Alaska. One of the provisions of the act was the creation of regional economic development corporations and village corporations. Stock was issued, and various businesses were established.

Some Natives have argued that the ANCSA has accelerated the cultural genocide of Alaska Natives. They critique it as an illegitimate treaty since only tribal leaders were involved, and the provisions were not voted on by the indigenous populations. One native described it as a social and political experiment. Critics also claim that Natives were so afraid of massacre or incarceration that they offered no resistance to the act.

Others, however, argue that the settlement was arguably the most generous given by the United States to a Native group. They note that some of the largest and most profitable corporations in the state are those created by the ANCSA. Still, other critics attack the act as “Native welfare,” and such complaints persist.

The corporation system has also been criticized. In some cases, stockholders have sold land to outside corporations that have leveled forests and extracted minerals. But supporters of the system argue that it has provided economic benefits for indigenous peoples that outweigh these problems.

In theory, Alaska Natives could move forward and become integrated into American culture, particularly capitalism, while preserving their Native culture.

But for decades, until recently, the majority of Natives did not immediately become part of the so-called “American melting pot.” Besides the reluctance of Whites to include Natives in anything for a long time, despite the dismantling of racist laws, there were/are also the internal social problems within the Native community that have hindered their progress towards economic well-being. There is also an understandable reluctance among many Natives to embrace White culture. Nobody has ever wanted, and most still do not, to speak publicly about these internal social problems. However, I can assure you that Natives have discussions in family and other private conversations about social ills such as alcoholism, the abuse of women and children by men, the lack of education, and the surprising lack of ambition to become educated among many, which is also a problem in White society. I was the first in my family to attend college, and yes, I became very alienated from my conservative, religious, and alcoholic family.

So, I feel that I have the social capital to discuss the issues in Morrison’s novels. She describes every problem that is holding Black people back in the books I have read by her, and not all of these problems are caused by White racism. The past lack of education opportunities is not entirely the current problem of not having an education in Black communities. Addiction and alcoholism are as destructive to Black communities as they are to Native American communities. Economic opportunities are also splitting families apart. Older generations rarely had any choices of work or education. They were funneled into whatever jobs they could get. These roadblocks are being removed, but it is proving very difficult to remove the roadblocks in people’s minds.

Now, I am ready to discuss “Tar Baby.” Every character in the novel is trapped by an internalized tar baby constructed from their upbringing and education. They are unable to escape many of their internalized assumptions.

What is a tar baby? Briefly, the American version of the Tar Baby tale is based on characters from Uncle Remus short stories. Br’er Fox builds a doll from tar to trap Br’er Rabbit. When Br’er Rabbit meets the doll on a path and greets it, the doll disrespectfully does not respond. Angered, Br’er Rabbit punches the doll, and his fist gets stuck. Then he kicks the doll, and his foot also gets stuck. As he continues to punch and kick with his other limbs, he becomes completely entangled. Br’er Fox then approaches, gleefully gloating at having trapped the rabbit for dinner. The story goes on to show how the clever Br’er Rabbit tricks Br’er Fox into setting him free, similar to Tom Sawyer’s ploy to get others to paint a fence in Mark Twain’s “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.” Both use psychology. Br’er Rabbit pretends to be terrified of being thrown into a briar bush, and Br’er Fox, eager to harm him, throws the rabbit into the bush, which is actually where the rabbit is very competent. The rabbit uses the thorny bush to free himself. I read Uncle Remus’ tales when I was in elementary school.

From Wikipedia: “The term tar baby has come to refer to a problem that is exacerbated by attempts to struggle with it, or by extension to a situation in which mere contact can lead to becoming inextricably involved.” Morrison’s use of the term Tar Baby, I think, refers to how entangled relationships are between family members, whether blood relatives or extended, between long-term servants and employers, or between the Black and White races, due to economic disparities and advantages. Morrison skillfully weaves all of these elements into “Tar Baby.”

Valerian Street is a wealthy White man who has inherited wealth and runs a family business, a candy manufacturer. He lives on an island, Isle des Chevaliers, near Haiti. His house, L’Arbe de la Croix, is built on top of a hill. Normally, he only lives there in the summers, vacationing in the Caribbean to escape the Philadelphia summers. But since he has become older, in his eighties, he has been staying there for four years and counting. Margaret, his much younger wife whom he married when she was nineteen, hates L’Arbe de la Croix. It is boring for her, so she spends most of her time in Europe and Philadelphia. She is now in her fifties. They have a son, Michael, who is twenty-nine and has become an environmentalist and a professional protestor in causes involving race. He never comes home. He might apply to attend U.C. Berkeley, maybe.

The two extremely pampered Streets are waited on hand and foot by two Black servants, Ondine, the cook, and Sydney, the butler, for the past thirty years in Philadelphia and now on Isle des Chevaliers. Ondine and Sydney became responsible for a girl, Jadine, their niece, who was orphaned at a young age. Valerian paid for Jadine to attend the best schools, including university in Paris. She graduated with an art appreciation degree.

Ondine and Sydney feel lucky to be servants of Valerian and are very comfortable in their roles. They are experts at what they do, but they are not as educated as Valerian or Jadine. Neither is Margaret, actually. The extended Street family, including both blood relatives and servants, seems to view Margaret as the least intelligent or the one who does not fit into their little group.

Jadine is incredibly beautiful and has become a model. She is light-skinned, sophisticated, and very pampered, knowing how to handle herself in the most sophisticated circles in big cities. She also finds L’Arbe de la Croix somewhat boring, much like Margaret, although she thinks the house is very beautiful. Jadine is what we would call a metrosexual today or a jet-setter in the 1970s. She is the most educated but also very young for a twenty-five-year-old, shallow, spoiled, and unwary, oblivious to poverty or the dangers of the world. She has no desire to ask questions or upset anything. She enjoys her life and her lifestyle. However, she has returned to L’Arbe de la Croix to get away from a boyfriend in Paris whom she no longer wants to be with. He is a wealthy person, but she feels stifled by him. She doesn’t really want marriage or children. Being a wife, to her, means giving up her freedoms of movement and choice. She wants to be in control of her own life and not under anyone else’s control, as she imagines she would be if she had a husband or children. She loves Ondine, Sydney, and Valerian. But she, like the others, finds Margaret flighty, untrustworthy, and emotionally unstable.

There are two other servants, Black Haitians, who live outside the house. Ondine, Sydney, Jadine, Margaret, and Valerian never bother to find out who they are, not even their real names. They call the man Yardman and the woman Mary. The household is accustomed to calling all the locals they hire to work outside the house Yardman and Mary. The Streets, the servants, and Jadine think of the locals as dirty and primitive.

It is a few days before Christmas. Margaret, who recently arrived from Philadelphia, wants an old-fashioned Christmas despite the difficulties of buying American-type food for the dinner. She also invited Michael to come. She is nervous and defensive in the face of everyone else’s disapproval of her plans for a traditional family get-together for Christmas. But she insists, causing the rest of the household to become upset and argumentative, especially Valerian and Ondine.

Margaret, who returned to her room after dinner, begins screaming, which brings everyone to her outside her room. She claims there is a smelly, dirty Black man in her closet. No one believes her, but Sydney goes to find out what is happening after arming himself with a gun. There indeed is a smelly, dirty Black man in her closet! Inexplicably, Valerian tells him he can stay the night in the guest bedroom. Sydney and Ondine immediately refuse to take care of him, but Valerian orders them to do so. Margaret stays in her room, refusing to eat at all while the strange man, calling himself William Green, is allowed to stay. Jadine becomes lustful towards him after he showers and shaves. Who is he? It is revealed that he has been living in the house for a week, maybe longer. He had “jumped ship” from a ship where he had been a crew member and was without a passport or a true identity, as William Green isn’t his real name. Valerian enjoys his company despite the uninvited guest’s criminality.

The fracturing of the household begins…

Once a personality is formed through education opportunities and experiences while growing up into adulthood, can changes occur later in who a person is? Does race define where a person belongs? Does culture? Does education define, perhaps separate, people regardless of their race or culture?

In the past, I believed that reading books and educating oneself would solve all problems, but of course, that was an assumption based on decades of being taught “Be All You Can Be” by secondary school educators. College and politics taught me one important lesson: most people’s brains become hardwired and fixed by the programming from education and life experiences by the time they become adults - and some brains, regardless of race, culture, and education, are more flexible in learning new things than others. What do you think, dear reader? Comment below…