Beloved

Als ich Toni Morrisons Menschenkind las, hatte ich das Gefühl, in einen Text einzutauchen, der sich weigert, mich unbeteiligt zu lassen. Es ist kein Roman, den man einfach liest und wieder weglegt – er fordert, dass man mitfühlt, dass man die Last der Geschichte zumindest ein Stück weit mitträgt.

Im Zentrum steht Sethe, eine ehemalige Sklavin, die mit ihren Kindern aus der Gewalt des Plantagenlebens geflohen ist. Doch die Freiheit ist nicht frei. Die Vergangenheit verfolgt sie, buchstäblich in Gestalt des Geistes ihres toten Kindes, das zu „Beloved“ wird – zu Menschenkind. Dieser Geist ist nicht nur ein Gespenst, sondern auch ein Symbol für das unaussprechliche Trauma der Sklaverei, das sich ins Leben der Überlebenden einschreibt. Beim Lesen empfand ich Beklemmung, aber auch Bewunderung für Morrisons Mut, diese Wunden so unverstellt darzustellen.

Mich hat besonders berührt, wie Morrison Sprache als Erinnerungskörper benutzt. Ihre Sätze sind poetisch, manchmal fragmentarisch, oft voller Schmerz – wie Atemzüge, die stocken und doch weitergehen müssen. Ich fühlte mich hineingezogen in die Verwirrung von Schuld, Trauer und Hoffnung, die Sethes Leben bestimmen.

Was mich nicht losließ, war die Frage: Wie lebt man weiter, wenn man Unvorstellbares getan hat, um seine Kinder vor dem Schlimmsten zu bewahren? Sethe hat ihre Tochter getötet, um ihr ein Leben in Sklaverei zu ersparen – eine Tat, die zugleich grausam und erschütternd verständlich erscheint.

Menschenkind ist für mich mehr als ein Roman über Sklaverei. Es ist ein Werk über Erinnerung, Mutterschaft und die Geister, die wir alle in uns tragen. Am Ende war ich tief bewegt, aber auch aufgewühlt – als hätte Morrison mir gezeigt, dass Vergangenheit nie abgeschlossen ist, sondern weiterlebt, solange wir sie nicht ansehen und anerkennen.

I read this book for a book club in April 2021. I did not start the book until I had submitted my term papers for the previous term, which only left me a few days to read this—I ended up not finishing it in time for the meeting, of course. (I had about 4 days, and this ended up taking me 13 days to read. I was in the hospital for some of that and very reluctant to pick this back up, but still.) Well, I at least appreciated the group discussions as they helped me understand the themes and plot of the novel a bit more. The first part of Beloved, I was completely ‘lost in the sauce’ as they say. Morrison loves to drop you in the middle of things without any warning or acclimation period. I had read The Bluest Eye, so I thought I would not succumb to the same confusion this time around… but while the The Bluest Eye was still somewhat sensible, Beloved really takes it to a whole other cognitive level. At least in the former, Morrison gives the reader the structure of the plot from the very beginning, so you aren't completely scrambling for purchase. The second part of the book completely ditches conventional writing standards and becomes more like a fever dream. The third is a mix of both, with some normal narrative tossed in so you do not go insane, presumably.

Let me be clear—I enjoyed the themes and plot of the novel. I love dark, gritty novels, and Beloved is not pulling its punches when it comes to the brutality and horrors of slavery and its legacy. However, in order to understand anything, you have to read the book several times, which takes a lot longer than you’d expect, because the prose is in such an overtly literary style. (And that’s only the prose—not counting the random moments Morrison jumps into verse or rhyme or paragraphs that go on and on for pages.) I guess some may call it postmodernist. What I do know is that this style is definitely not for me. I appreciate Morrison’s uncanny ability to manipulate the English language, so versatile and dazzling. But when I read a book and come away with not understanding what has happened at all, it can either be very good or terrible. Unfortunately this was the latter. I ended up glancing at SparkNotes every so often just to make sure I was ‘interpreting’ this book correctly. I also had a hard time keeping track of characters or understanding their motivations and perspectives.

If you enjoy stream-of-consciousness style writing and heavy-handed metaphors, you’ll love Morrison’s style. Unfortunately while I was able to get through The Bluest Eye feeling somewhat like I understood the point of the book, with Beloved I was just frustrated and confused. I wished I would have DNFed it several times throughout the book. For what it’s worth, Denver is my favorite character—perhaps because she has the clearest and most optimistic character arc, and possibly also because sections in the book from her perspective tend to have some semblance of coherence and normalcy. Then again, I suppose you could say that the disorder and disarray of the novel reflects the inner psyches of its characters, understandably traumatized by slavery—which is brilliant for a writer, of course, but not terribly fun for this reader.

I read this book once, 10 years ago, and to be honest I dreaded having to reread it for a class. My first experience was frustrating. I felt confused and alienated to the story. Then again, I felt confused and alienated about most things: I was in my early twenties.

I'm so glad this book gave me another chance. After a decade of digital, this book was like vinyl. Funny how I couldn't connect to the story a decade ago, yet today, the raw and powerful feelings of emotional desperation coursing through these characters have resounded in me like an echo of some familiar, intimate history of my own - though, admittedly, a milder, bourgier one.

There are complicated scenes in this book. By that I mean, scenes that aren't meant to be passed through quickly, but can stay with you and resolve themselves through you as you live, if you're interested. I love these kinds of novels. They are the best kind. They are more like companions than stories, companions who start up long conversations with you and continue asking questions long after you've moved past them to other books and other places.