The siren call of the city, the immense energy of the people, the mesmerizing music, the flavors to be savored, the temptations to be felt, all swirl and pulse to bring power and life to Jazz, Toni Morrison’s superb evocation of black life in Harlem in the early 1900’s.
The plot, all of it, is told in the first paragraph. Violet’s husband Joe has taken a very young woman, Dorcas, as his mistress. When she tires of him, he kills her. Violet, full of rage, tries to stab the girl in her coffin. Whew! But this is not a violent novel filled with nasty characters; it is a heart-breaking tale about vulnerable struggling people.
The story is told from Violet’s point of view, then it is retold considering her upbringing. The story is told from Joe’s point of view in the present, then retold considering his past. The story is told from Dorcas’s point of view, then retold considering her childhood. All in gorgeous musical metaphorical language. Individuals take turns playing solo, taking the lead. Each time the plot, or theme, reappears, it is related slightly differently, underlining the major influence of the city and jazz.
We learn a lot about the black experience of the time – men beaten down by racism, women working at menial jobs, children searching for unknown parents; but the desire for love, completeness, and connection that emerges is universal. When Joe and Violet, together again at the end, dance to music floating through the window, there can’t be a dry eye.
Throughout the book is the omniscient narrator who interrupts the plot to comment. But can we rely on this narrator to tell us the truth? When the story is over, the narrator is not finished and speaks for an additional chapter. Critics have different ideas about who or what this narrator is. I would suggest that it is “book” itself as an object or art form that talks directly to the reader about the lack of one true reality and differences in interpretation. No two people will read – or live – the same experience.
The ending of the novel is wonderfully ambiguous, “If I were able I’d say it. Say make me, remake me. You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look, look. Look where your hands are. Now.” Is the book talking to the reader? Or to the lovers?
Everything Inside by Edwidge Danticat is a collection of short stories, each one depicting an incident typical of current life in Haiti. There is a kidnapping, a desperate attempt to flee by boat, serious illness treated by a fraudulent “doctor,” assassination of a prime minister, earthquakes, despair.
The stories are unrelentingly depressing. It is even more painful to realize that similar articles can be read in Al Jazeera. Together, they are a representation of a country in chaos.
Is this a collection someone should read? It is very informative as news about Haiti is not easily found; if you like to read for information, you will get it. Is it well-written? Most of the stories are tightly constructed around one emotional incident, as a short story should be.
Often, Danticat creatively broaches her subject by describing the aftermath of a horrific incident. In “The Gift,” a woman meets her lover after an earthquake has killed his wife and small daughter and he has lost a leg. He is wracked with guilt and remorse and can no longer be with her. She goes home alone and pours a glass of wine from a special bottle they had put aside to enjoy together. It has gone brown and rancid.
My favorite story reminds the reader that amidst all the misery particular to a devasted country, there are also the normal problems of life. In “Sunrise, Sunset,” a grandmother’s Alzheimer’s makes staying at home untenable at a time her daughter suffers from postpartum depression. Is her dangerous behavior to the new grandson one of the last gifts she will be able to give her beloved daughter?
Danticat has used her talents to express anguish over the state of the country she was born in. If the first step in solving a problem is to recognize it, she makes her reader do this in a vivid unforgettable way. Read all at once, the collection is almost numbing in its sadness, but the individual stories are haunting and memorable.
An unusually good-looking man is invited to visit an English country estate where he endears himself (at first) to the inhabitants. When he disappears from a canoe trip with the wealthy nephew, Detective Inspector Grant of Scotland Yard is called to solve the mystery in To Love and Be Wise by Josephine Tey.
Has he disappeared because of a love triangle? Maybe it was because a British matron has ensured her daughter and her estate stay in “good” hands? Not until the very end does Grant solve this mystery with its unexpected ending.
Sometimes when the tension in a mystery builds, I like to skip to the end and have a peek at “whodunit.” I can then read in a leisurely manner and enjoy the other offerings, such as character and setting, and not gallop through the plot. In this book, it was lots of fun to do that and enjoy the very discreet, almost imperceptible clues that Tey drops throughout her story.
She is one of those British authors whose intricate plots and comfortable English characters have made her one of the favorites in this genre. In the past, I would have easily given her an A+. Now, there is a little twinge when I read about the privileged closed world of the British upper class. I’ve been reading too much Morrison and Danticat.
As to the Tey mystery, maybe what you’ve been reading too much of is English mysteries, not too much of the agonizing novels describing how so many people live who aren’t privileged in any way? Just a thought. I do think you did a great job describing Danticat’s short stories, which were depressing in the information they conveyed about Haiti and the burden Haitians are under.
Well yes, I agree about Tey. What I was trying to say is that reading the voices from the other half, or other ninety percent, has broadened my horizons and I am no longer so content with those entitled Englishmen.
So do you recommend Danticat’s book or not? I’m not sure you came to a conclusion.
Did a good job of hedging, didn’t I? I would talk about it…and maybe…to the right person…with warnings. This is a book someone should choose knowing beforehand what they are in for. Most likely, I would suggest reading two or three of the stories as they do deal with a situation we should all know about.
Toni Morrison’s Jazz was already on the top of my reading stack because of what I thought would be its connection with the Black experience in Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns. Now I can’t wait to dive into it as an experience (or five or six!) in itself.
What did you think of the Wilkerson? I thought Caste was excellent.