"...men who carry their frail but indefatigable shoulders
the best of two worlds -- and who,
amidst confusion and stagnation,
seek desperately for a home for their hearts:
a home which, if found,
could be a home for the hearts of all men"
Reading this, I was drawn back to my first impression of Bigger's aimless restlessness in Native Son. I remember perceiving the "red hot iron" Bigger feels, as comparable to a chronic illness without a cure, with an ever-present unarticulated fear that cannot stay at the forefront of one's mind in order for one to maintain their sanity in just getting out of bed every morning and going about daily life. This constriction that Bigger feels reminds me of Paul D's doubts of his own "manhood" and his sealed tobacco tin in Beloved. What Wright suggests in his epigraph however, is a constancy that transcends a daily routine, a truer, deeper constancy people yearn for (or at least believe themselves to).
In my initial perception of Bigger's aimless constriction, I had thought that perhaps Bigger would be "freer" if he knew better how to articulate who the "somebody" pushing the iron down his throat is, who to fear, or who to hold accountable (perhaps even God). This awareness of hate or fear -- which Max is able to articulate to an extent -- is surely a form of constancy and sense of stability; evident in how Paul D is made confused about his own worth and how he should actually feel about Mr. Garner. As in Wright's poem, however, Morrison seems also to suggest that articulating what or who to love and fully believe in is more powerful. Sethe speaks of the beauty of having milk for all her children and this Paul D understands; the freedom of having unlimited love to spare, stronger than his aspen tree. This sentiment is reflected in "Nikki Rosa" by Nikki Giovanni -- which Athena discussed in class on Friday -- in the line that reads, "Black love is Black wealth." In this way, we see how love can be affected by but is by no means defined by circumstance. Circumstance can make someone like Paul D guard his love carefully or it can make someone like Sethe commit to its transcendent power in a dangerous manner.
It is the greatest constancy yearned for by all the characters in the novel and yet there seems to be the implication that this source of stability may be impossible to achieve. In fact, love seems to be one of the most unstable concepts of the novel thus far. Denver waits for a father she doesn't know has gone crazy. Paul D, after moving from place to place with his aspen tree of love was moved by Sethe, thought himself to have finally found a home for his heart only to begin to fall apart; to have his tobacco tin opened. Perhaps, ultimately, at least in the setting of what I have read so far in Beloved -- I'm inclined to believe my conclusion will change -- love cannot conquer all. As evident in Stamp Paid's contemplation, Baby Suggs threw herself into using her heart to heal others, preaching "the word," only to find that "they still came into her yard." Love does not seem to be enough to combat circumstance and the constricting chronic fear that tires their marrow until they can take no more.
At this point, I'm not sure what the conclusion of the book will ultimately suggest, however. The dangerous love between Sethe, Beloved, and Denver, in which they each seem to find a part of themselves in each other may prove Baby Suggs wrong.
You've hit on one of the enduring ambiguities at the heart of this novel: as the title suggests, it's centrally about love and the ability to love another (for them to be "beloved") in the shadow of a trauma as enormous as slavery. You're right that the view often seems pretty bleak, from Sethe's "thick" and deadly form of love, which makes her children afraid of her even as they love her (Denver, at least), to Baby Suggs's abandonment of her community-loving role as "Baby Suggs, holy," in the wake of Sethe's extreme "reaction to the Fugitive Slave Law." As Paul D notes, love is an enormous risk for people in his and Sethe's positions--and yet the novel also seems to affirm this love in powerful ways. We are challenged to understand Sethe's killing of Beloved as an act of love. The history and the laws have distorted that love, made it deadly, but the heart of the novel is still a fumbling love story, as Paul D and Sethe embark on the extremely fraught project of "making a life" in the present, haunted by the past.
ReplyDeleteI feel like Paul D's tobacco tin is like Bigger's attempts at self-distraction; a coping mechanism, as you say, "to maintain their sanity." But rather than a form of falling apart, I'd argue that the opening of Paul D's tobacco tin is vital and inevitable; like a rememory these things will continue to surface and can't be ignored/forgotten permanently. Rather, it is important for him to examine these things and recognize the inconstancy of the past and danger of love. Baby Suggs says in the clearing that you must love yourself, and your heart most of all, a sentiment Paul D seems to repeat in telling Sethe she is her own most valuable thing. Perhaps this is what allows love to be safe or stable; having it be first and foremost of the self which cannot leave itself behind, preventing that sort of dependence on another person, either as a provider or parasitic absorber of love. (Also we hadn't gotten to that point in the book at the time of this blog post, but like everything else in life, it's just interesting to look back at and think about.)
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