The Color Purple

Note: Many thanks to the commenter who pointed out my Celie/Cecie typo! It's been corrected. (Although, I must assure that person that I did, in fact, read the novel!)

This is one of those great American novels that, somehow, incredibly, I'd never read. What self-respecting English major gets 28 years into life without reading The Color Purple?!

So, I read it. I wasn't expecting the format to be epistolary, like Lee Smith's Fair and Tender Ladies, so it took me some time to adjust to Celie's letters to God (and later, her sister) serving as narrative.

The story begins so dismally, with Celie young, poor, sexually abused, and barely literate. It's painful to read. Later, she's a bit older, but still poor, abused, and hardly more literate. Her story takes a hopeful turn at the introduction of some strong, self-respecting women into her life, namely Shug Avery and Sophia. I love these two women. Shug Avery is larger than life, happy, smart, funny, and---after a brief period during which she's unfriendly to Celie---kind. She's a feminist ahead of her time, making money, standing up for herself, and reveling in her sexuality---all with no apologies. She's such a memorable, likeable character. And she's in large part responsible for Celie's developing and growing into a confident woman herself.

Sophia, Celie's stepson's wife, doesn't take shit from anyone, including the bigoted white mayor of her rural, southern town. It's heartbreaking to see her land in jail, then in a kind of modern-day slavery, for years, merely for slapping the mayor after he insults her on the street. Neither Sophia nor Shug are afraid to call out the men in their lives when these men are being mysoginistic, demanding, condescending assholes, which is often.

It's interesting how Alice Walker gradually reveals the the male characters' good qualities throughout the course of the novel (with the exception of the mayor). For Celie's husband, kindness and a more enlightened view of women (and Celie in particular) come only after many years of meanness. He mellows with age and with the continued assertions of independence made by the women in his family. He's a fairly sympathetic, likeable character by the end of the story.

I love the story of Celie's sister, Nettie, who moves to Africa with a married couple to perform missionary work. Her experience enriches her, and she matures into a thoughtful, knowledgeable, educated woman. Her growth is documented beautifully in the detailed letters she mails to Celie, which Celie doesn't even know exist for years, because her husband hides them from her. The demise of Nettie's adopted village is a harsh wake-up call for the reader; this type of greedy, uncaring destruction of remote, "uncivilized" tribal settlements goes on all the time, I'm sure. I wonder if Walker herself has been to Africa and gotten to know groups of indigenous persons there, because Nettie's story seems like it could only have been written by someone who's had a similar experience, it's so vivid and nuanced.

At the end of the story, when Celie and Nettie are reunited, is it real? Or, is the reunion taking place in some sort of heaven? After learning from Celie, who learns from the government, that Nettie's ship was likely lost at sea, I figured Nettie and Co. were dead and gone. I was therefore stunned by the ending, but also elated by it. It just seemed too good to be true that Nettie and Celie might see each other again...this time as older, mature, accomplished, worldly women.

One theme of The Color Purple that resonated with me was the huge significance of family and community on a person's life. Celie was, in part, a product of her evolving and dynamic family. (And by "family," I don't mean blood relatives only.) As her family grew and changed, so did Celie. And through it all, her connection to and relationship with Nettie---just knowing Nettie was out there in the world somewhere---kept Celie hopeful. What power family has over us!

Since reading The Color Purple, I've felt a renewed interest in my own extended family and my ancestral background. How can I possibly know myself if I don't know about the people from whom I came? I know my father and both grandmothers have some documents that can help get me started on some genealogical research. I'd like to pursue that as a hobby...in between books, that is.

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Does anyone actually read this blog? I'm guessing a big fat "no." That's OK, I can live with that. If, however, there's anyone out there reading (maybe S? Or a family member?) who's interested in my other blog, here's the link:
Waxing Prosaic
It's just my observations of (and reactions to) everyday, ordinary things. I can't guarantee it won't bore you silly.

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress: Part II

I've recently finished reading this novel, by Dai Sijie, translated by Rilke, and can recommend it enthusiastically. The story has something for everyone: history, humor, adventure, suspense; heroes, villains, a beautiful girl; warmth, despair, anger. On top of that, it's short, which makes it accessible to young adults, busy grown-ups, and the literature-wary. And thankfully, it's well-written and beautifully translated.

Since my last post, I've blazed through my favorite scene in the novel: Luo and the protagonist working together with a needle, a sewing machine, and some tin to drill and fill the rotten tooth of the village's Communist-party leader. The protagonist finds he enjoys inflicting a bit of physical pain on this man, who serves as a symbol of the political ideology that's forced the protagonist and his friend away from their families and into the countryside in the first place.

Now that I've finished the novel, I can say with full confidence that the sex scenes in this story are mild, innocent, and lovely, and so I'm further baffled by the mother-and-son team in Tacoma, Washington that first recommended their school district ban the book. (Sadly, incredibly, they prevailed. I imagine the English teachers in the district are disgusted with their superintendent's decision.) Furthermore, the irony of censoring a book about censorship is too much to bear. What message does that send the students? It's absurd.

Anyway, this novel is colorful, magical, and absorbing. The ending is a bit cryptic in a way that I appreciate. I don't like a tidy ending. I want to finish reading a story feeling a bit miffed, a bit unsure. Life is messy and complicated, and I like literature to reflect that.

I suppose if I were to offer one critique of Sijie's story, it would be that we don't see the boys suffer enough during their exile to the remote mountain village. We do get one potent peek at their having to haul human and animal feces in pails on their backs, but much of their experience comes across as almost---almost---idyllic. They are, of course, away from their homes and their families and art and culture, which is indeed punishment and abuse. But so much attention is placed on the boys' outings to Yong Jing to view movies and their visits to the little seamstress, we tend to feel a bit detached from the stark tragedy of the situation.

I feels a bit blasphemous, however, to offer such a criticism of a story that is so rich and moving. Besides, the author himself experienced re-education first hand. Who am I to judge his retelling of it?

Suffice it to say that one good thing came out of the Tacoma-censorship situation: I got curious, picked up the targeted novel, and enjoyed an exhilarating, satisfying read.