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Check out my review of the Nnedi Okorafor’s newest book, the sci-fi/speculative/fantasy work Who Fears Death, over at Carleen Brice’s White Readers Meet Black Authors.
Spoiler: I liked it, mostly.
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This post is part of a continuing series celebrating the 40th anniversary of Toni Morrison’s novel, The Bluest Eye. See a complete list of participating bloggers at The Bottom of Heaven.
My skin is black
My arms are long
My hair is woolly
My back is strong
Strong enough to take the pain
Inflicted again and again
- Nina Simone
If I may be so bold: Beyond her contributions to the world of magical realism, in my world the enduring legacy of Toni Morrison will be her poetic destruction of the notion that black American women bear all sufferings quietly, without complaint and without negative result. Although Zora Neale Hurston and others kicked open the door, it was Morrison who got in the room and detonated a neutron bomb on, in and around that stereotype and made people wonder about the effects of the larger culture on black women and girls.
And it started with The Bluest Eye, which was published 40 years ago.
What The Bluest Eye as a work of fiction showed was that the ills of pre-Civil-Rights-Act era racism brutalized the psyches of black women as much as it had the psyches of black men (think Richard Wright) — and to make matters worse, for some of those girls, their own families couldn’t be a refuge from the problems of the larger world.
Then there was a whole generation of writers, black and white, who took the themes of The Bluest Eye and ran with them. Thanks to the invitation of The Bottom of Heaven’s Claudia, I re-read The Bluest Eye for the first time in about 12 years (on Kindle for iPhone!). I was reminded of one of Morrison’s own inspirations and struck by how many elements from this story had been borrowed later by some other works. Although several nonblack authors dug in similar trenches in the years after The Bluest Eye‘s publication (I think of John Irving’s The Cider House Rules and Joyce Carol Oates’s Bellefleur right away), I’ll focus on black authors here. Obviously, I can’t get to everything.
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. – Leo Tolstoy
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