Author Tribute (Toni Morrison

Our Beloved, Toni Morrison

By Francisca Lam Photography by William R. Ferris 1 Layout by Natalie So

e rst time I picked up Toni Morrison’s work was when I was fourteen. Back then, I had barely developed healthy reading habits. I stumbled upon Song of Solomon in an attempt to cultivate better literary habits, yet I admittedly wasn’t able to comprehend the sheer beauty, pain and authenticity in her works.

Toni Morrison (1931-2019) was an American essayist and novelist, amongst many other titles. Morrison attended Howard University and received her master’s degree in English from Cornell University. Later, she returned to Howard University to teach Literature. In 1958, she wed Harold Morrison and divorced him within 6 years. During this period, she changed her name from Chloe to Toni; more notably, this period spawned e Bluest Eye, a novel about a black girl who develops an inferiority complex because she is regarded as “ugly”, fuelling her desire to have blue eyes.

Morrison’s career didn’t take o instantly— albeit praised, the novel failed to garner large success. She became an editor at Random House, where she was largely credited for introducing black literature in her capacity to the mainstream. She fostered a new generation of AfricanAmerican writers, such as the likes of Angela Davis and Toni Cade Bambara. Morrison never stopped writing, later penning the works Song of Solomon and Beloved, for which she won a Pulitzer Prize in 1988. She was successful, garnering many accolades such as the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1993 and the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2012. Regardless of her awards and recognition, for nearly half a century, Toni Morrison’s works have been looked up to for guidance—helping us think through literature, as we nd our bearings in the world. She rendered and embodied the complexity and beauty of the black experience through grace and wisdom. Her works are crucial to breaking the routine, easy colourism that becomes the cultural norm—the black subject being seen irrespective of white perspectives.

Upon rereading Song of Solomon, an insurmountable wave of emotion washed over me. I couldn’t personally relate to these books—a er all, I’m not black nor American—but I could feel the glory in the joy of her language.

As a reader, I trusted in the lucidity of her writing, even when she dared to invent her own syntax. Her lucidity translated into her thinking, demonstrating thoughtfulness in her works. Song of Solomon, like her other works, cannot be categorised as a black or a woman’s novel

COLOR because it simply transcends any expectation. e novel weaves the magic of history, language and myth and encompasses the spirit of Morrison’s beliefs.

In her ction, I discovered the compassion in her writing, even when she discusses the contradictory quality in humans. Her writing was di cult, but o en necessary in giving redemption for the people who needed it the most. I admired her candour in her works, never failing to look pain in its face. Her works discussed what was important, and what needed to be discussed. She never apologised for her culture, for her being black, and never simmered the painful and harsh truth about being black in America. e beauty of her language truly functions to expose and destroy sexism and racism. I recognise the empowerment that her works give readers to claim their agency to recognise how literature needs to switch focus from the racial object to the racial subject. Morrison did exactly this— her works chose to focus on black characters and black lives as the key focus, demonstrating her commitment to revealing their inner lives.

I began reading Beloved a short while ago. Since developing regular reading habits, I was drawn into American Literature—the likes of John Steinbeck, William Faulkner and Don DeLillo. Yet, Beloved was the rst book I read that truly shook me to my core. I had a general understanding of the civil war and slavery, yet I never fully comprehended the magnitude of continuous abuse and its emotional consequences. Beloved tells the story of Sethe, a slave who was tortured under her sadistic owner. Ironically, despite being released from ownership, she is relentlessly tormented by ashback of her earlier life that continue to haunt her present life. Her memories of killing Beloved, her third child, serves as one of the most grappling scenes in the book. Killing Beloved would spare the girl from living a life of a slave, perceived by Sethe and perhaps Morrison to be worse than death. Readers are le pondering whether or not there is an actual spirit interfering with Sethe’s life, or if her sanity is collapsing because of carrying the trauma. Although lead to believe that the spirit haunting Sethe is Beloved’s, there is an aura of mystery around the malevolence of the spirit. Rede ning the limits of language, she de ed those to transform the landscape of the English language in order to show the yearning of how Sethe wanted to be set free.

Beloved is not only shocking in its intricacy of language, but the topics of slavery that Morrison tackles head on. She candidly retells the dehumanisation of slaves and the atrocities committed against them. Her versatility in technical and emotional ability knows no boundaries; as seen from her other works, it o en ventures into di cult themes. In Beloved and her other works, elements that concern slavery and its everlasting e ects and legacy o en discuss how the past can manifest into a harrowing present, a not so ctious world plagued by the diseases of alcoholism, sexual abuse and murder. e past, as presented by Morrison, manifests in strong bonds of family, community and race that allow identities and sense of belonging to be transferred from generation to generation. Generational links, as displayed from Beloved form salutary chains, arguably the only ones, in our human experience. Her writing in all her works include intricate narrative layers that weave the voices of men, women, children and even the supernatural

Great novels, however, kindle a fre that urge us to take fight, to take action—to merge with something created by the novelist, and to act as a proxy of the work, or often the novelist themselves. “

together. In Morrison’s work, the supernatural inexplicably seems normal in its intertwining with regular lives.

Despite not fully comprehending the magnitude of her work, I know the impact of a great novel. Good novels are trans xing—they recon gure a person’s mind and impact the way they feel and perceive the world. Great novels, however, kindle a re that urge us to take ight, to take action— to merge with something created by the novelist, and to act as a proxy of the work, or o en the novelist themselves. O en, great literature allows us to feel accompanied and recognised. Her works eliminated the white de nition of black Americans, and showed that they can encapsulate a plethora of innate qualities that ranged from good to sadistic. rough her lens, humans are wholly unapologetic.

As months slowly pass, I nd myself distraught with the realisation that there will no longer be essays, novels and occasions for Morrison’s voice to transcend boundaries to deliver insight. e consolation I nd in the wake of her death is the paramount of works that her legacy leaves. Her works grappled with notions of race inspired by sel ood and nationhood. I commend her bravery—in her home where the fallacies of dominion versus enslavement and superiority versus inferiority reverberate through aspects of daily life even in this era. ere is no conversation that needs to be had any more urgently than this, and no topic more pressingly relevant. Despite the urgency, said topic continues to be mishandled and contested.

Morrison was not only a great novelist, but she was an opener of doors. She swung open doors sealed so tight that they were once thought to not be able to be opened. Her con dence in her work and her activism allowed her to succeed not just in our minds, but in reality. Her being and legacy will not be looked through a prism of her being a black female author.