“Public fact becomes private reality, and the seasons of a Midwestern town become the Moirai of our small lives.”

Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye is a clever novel that from the outset makes its intentions clear: its purpose is not to tell you what happened or how it happened—though it does this as well—but to explore the explosive question: why? Apparently this book has been controversial and on numerous banned books lists, and I can see why; despite being required reading for schoolchildren, Morrison does not shy away from heavy topics and ‘adult’ themes. More than a few times I was surprised by the details she had included in the text. Yet nothing is done gratuitously or to shock the reader; everything follows seamlessly from what has been established, and the reader can do nothing but nod along sympathetically as the story unfolds before them.

The novel’s primary concern is Pecola Breedlove, though we see her primarily through the perspective of others—the MacTeer sisters, her parents, neighbors, strangers, etc. Of course, race is a huge theme of the novel, with Pecola’s insecurities lying not only with her apparent ugliness but also her blackness. Hence the title—she wishes she could have ‘blue eyes’, what would then become a panacea for all of her social ills. There are a lot of metaphors in this book, both heavy-handed and subtle ones, but the blue eyes are of course the most significant. I particularly loved how Morrison framed the novel; usually, having multiple perspectives can bog down a story, resulting in a weaker plot. But the novel already told the reader that the plot is not of consequence here, since we know it in its entirety from the outset. Rather, the novel introduces characters slowly, or in the background; then, it gradually takes us through their perspectives and histories, without immediately making it clear whom the book is referring to. This kind of storytelling is brilliantly done, as it beguiles the reader into feeling sympathy and understanding for a certain character before revealing the inner moral complexity of the character, and what role they play in Pecola’s grievances.

However, some of the more literary aspects of the novel were difficult to get through. I am primarily plot-oriented when I go through novels, and I knew it would be an uphill battle for me reading this; but I also appreciate philosophically heavy themes, and Morrison does not shy away from that. However, she does at times cloak these thoughts in repetitive inner monologues or seemingly abrupt textual insertions. Other times, she spends a great deal of the page describing the setting or how a character looks; having aphantasia, I find such passages utterly dull in any book. I can appreciate the lyrical and picturesque language that Morrison employs with such ease, but my brain wanted to speed through to find out what actually happens.

This book is certainly a classic for a reason, and I am glad this was my introduction to Morrison’s corpus. Hopefully, it is the first but not the last!