“She comforted him, strengthened him and validated the unfairness of the censure he was feeling from his family” (117).

Rating: 3.5/5

***Trigger Warning: This work deals with sexual abuse***

It took me quite a while to decide on this rating because I am a H U G E fan of Toni’s work. I first read “The Bluest Eye,” back in high school which I really enjoyed. I’ve also read “Beloved,” “Love,” and “Song of Solomon.” Of all the books I’ve read, I enjoyed “Song of Solomon” the most. To put it plain, Toni’s latest book isn’t like the others. It’s different. Different can be good, except for when it isn’t.

I don’t think I can do a standalone review of the work because that just isn’t how I approached it. I had high expectations. Toni usually employs highly metaphorical writing, and magic realism. There is often a degree of compelling ambiguity in her works. No, you can’t totally be sure if everything that’s being narrated literally happened, but her prose is so seductive that you happily go along with things. There were glimpses of that kind of page-turner prose in this work.

For the most part, the work was kind of dull (it started to lag a lot at Part II). I’m blaming that on the absent metaphorical world that she usually builds in her works. Another thing that was unlike her usual works was the lack of characters. Toni’s works are always exploring the inner lives of multiple characters, but this novel kept it relatively simple. We get glimpses here and there. I felt a little robbed.

Still, this is Toni and I respect her writing a lot so for a long time I wrestled with the idea that I might be giving this book a rating that I wouldn’t have given had the book been written by somebody else. The one thing that really kept me invested in this book are the themes, namely colorism and child abuse. This is a theme-driven, rather than plot-driven, action-filled book so if action’s your thing, well, just know this isn’t it. If I’m giving a book less than a 4/5 that means I wouldn’t recommend the book to someone, but I’d recommend this book because in review I found the book to be very well-crafted.

“Don’t you say a word about it. Not to anybody, you hear me, Lula? Forget it. Not a single word” (54-55), Sweetness tells her young daughter, Bride, when she reveled to her that she has seen their landlord molesting a young boy–a scene that the young Bride does not comprehend too well. Sweetness shuts her up for good, and the damage Sweetness has done to Bride by withholding her love is explored throughout the text. The message is clear: We’ve all got scars from our childhood that we can’t escape (especially if nobody knows). After Bride confides in Booker about the child molestation she witnessed, Booker tells her,”Now five people know. The boy, the freak, your mother, you and now me. Five is better than two but it should be five thousand” (55).

I’d argue that the text suggests that love cannot endure when the parties involved haven’t dealt with their childhood baggage. Bride and Booker are both battling through their childhood scars and their love suffers for that. Through both of their respective childhood stories, the text highlights a paradox between how much we love children and how we silence them when they are hurting. If we learn anything from Bride and Booker’s relationship, love is listening to your partner’s inner child, sharing their hurts. Booker’s aunt, Queen cautions against the dangers of repressing these childhood hurts when she posits:

“They will blow it […] Each will cling to a sad little story of hurt and sorrow–some long-ago trouble and pain life dumped on their pure and innocent selves. And each one will rewrite that story forever, knowing the plot, guessing the theme, inventing its meaning and dismissing its origin. What waste” (158).

The emotional hurts that Bride and Booker undergo are all in some way concerned to the sexual violence committed against children. As Booker explains his relationship with Bride worked because they understood one another, she would share her childhood hurts with him, “And he, knowing all about childhood cuts festered and never scabbed over, comforted her while hiding the rage he felt at the idea of anyone hurting her” (134).  These are valuable reflections that I think any reader could appreciate. Bride witnessed a boy being molested, and Booker’s deceased brother was sexually abused by “the nicest man in the world” (118), Brooklyn was sexual assault from her uncle, Queen ignored her daughter’s complaint of sexual assault from one of her husband’s, and Rain’s mother pimped her out to numerous men for money until she ran away. The sad reality that the text points out is that many, many people are victims/survivors of sexual abuse, and all too often these victims/survivors suffer in silence. Why? Because who wants to hear that their landlord, their neighbor or “the nicest man in the world,” brother, or husband could be capable of such evil? Nobody. That’s the kind of revelation that destroys families and communities. It’s easier just to keep quiet — or so we think. We do not consider how deeply damaged  and/or destroyed their inner lives become.

I found the text’s interactions with Rain to be critical to the message that love and listening are connected. Bride performs a true kindness to Rain, whom deeply misses her when she’s gone, in a way that Rain’s adopted parents have failed to do. Bride mentions Rain’s parent’s, complaining:

“They hadn’t asked where she was from or where she was going. They simply tended her, fed her, arranged for her car to be towed for repair. It was too hard, too strange for her to understand the kind of care they offered–free, without judgement or even a passing interest in who she was or where she was going” (90). The parent’s were performing a charity, a service, and not a kindness. On an intuitive level, the young child, Rain realizes that there is a difference. On Bride’s departure, she reflects:

“I feel sad now she’s gone. I don’t know who I can talk to. Evelyn is real good to me and so is Steve but they frown or look away if I say stuff about how it was in my mother’s house or if I start to to tell them how smart I was when I was throw out […] My black lady listens to me tell how it was. Steve won’t let me talk about it. Neither will Evelyn” (104).

On the subject of love, Toni doesn’t let her readers off that easily. Booker reflects on his abrupt departure from Bride’s life, Booker asks himself, “What kind of love is it that requires an angel and only and angel for its commitment” (160)? Just let that sink in. Its hard loving imperfect people, but that is what love does. Love is hard.

In closing, I have to admit it took me for a spin trying to justify the reason why Bride’s metamorphosis into a child was so frequently and overly explained, but I remembered after finishing the book and revisiting it that being a child is scary. Plain and simple. Adults have a lot more agency than children. The fact remains that children are most likely to be abused and the most vulnerable to censure. Only in review did I allow myself to think — yes, it’s absolutely necessary to reinforce the image of a scared, unloved, alone, and silenced little black girl as often as the work does.