Toni Morrison's "Song of Solomon"

 It took me a while to get into Toni Morrison's "Song of Solomon," not until the first part ended and the quest of Part II gets going. I'll admit that I fell asleep a couple of times with the book on my chest, but it didn't help that I was reading late at night. It also didn't help that the first part tracks the growth and maturity--or rather the lack of maturity--of the protagonist, Milkman Dead, who is a haughty, selfish and unremarkable man-child. The name Milkman is indicative of this. It's not his profession but rather it's a reflection of a man who has not set aside childish things. He gets the name when a nosy townsperson spies on him suckling from his mother's breast at an age when most children would not be. The nickname sticks and the book tracks his "growth" as a ne'er-do-well only son of the most prosperous man in town.

What Morrison does in the first half of the book is lay the foundation for the quest Milkman embarks on in the second half. Milkman's Odyssey, complete with an encounter with an old crone named Circe, provides him an opportunity to grow and learn. Like most quests, what he's seeking turns out to be less valuable than what he actually discovers. Here Morrison unwinds the mysteries and myths she introduced in the novel's first half and the themes of identity, masculinity and the weight of the past come into focus. 

As a reader, I'm guilty of wanting to empathize with a novel's protagonist. Initially, I found it hard to empathize with Milkman and I dreaded thinking that this was a book I was not going to like. But as I read on, I realized that my initial disinterest and dislike of Milkman was actually due to my deep identification with his complacency, selfishness and lack of connection to his family. Milkman awakens during his quest and finds within him the ability to connect with his family and their past, his community, his race, his masculinity and even with those who wish to do him harm. Understanding where you came from, Morrison argues, is integral in knowing one's self. As Milkman journeys deeper into his family's history, the more he comes to understand himself and his desires.

One other thing I notice and love about Morrison's books is that they decentralize white people. Her stories leave them and their influence in the periphery. They are there, but the fates and destinies of her characters are not dictated by their presence. Reading Morrison is to read about race beyond what we commonly think of when, to paraphrase the title of a popular book about the matter, we want to talk about race. Morrison is not dismissing white people from the discussion but rather focuses on the lives and desires of black people. Her novels can function as accounts of black lives that have mostly gone unexamined or untold. I want to describe it as refreshing, but the way Morrison does it feels so natural that you wonder why it's not done more often. 

Morrison's books are not easy reads. They are not very demanding, but they do demand something from readers: patience. Give "Song of Solomon" time and the reader's patience is rewarded.