Talk about the elements which keep interpretative possibilities open in Beloved. How far are these resolved or not by the end of the narrative?
‘… definitions belong to the definers -not the defined.'(Cherished, p. 190)
When Sixo offers a description for shooting shoat on Mr Garner’s home, this is teacher’s immediate and uncompromising reaction to the slave’s attempt at self-justification. In the eyes of the white man, the servants (‘the defined’) are not entitled to the benefit of providing, or perhaps creating, their own perspective on events. The phrasing of his viewpoint also suggests that there can just ever be one entirely true version of everything: each event can eventually be ‘specified’ in one indisputable and limited account (his). This in itself is just one perspective, however, a truth that Morrison’s complex story technique suggests discreetly and yet unquestionably. Rebecca Ferguson observes that ‘while the language of the dominant culture and the composed word itself have all too often been potent instruments in the oppression [of black people], not to have mastery of them is to be rendered impotent in manner ins which matter significantly’. Morrison is extremely aware of this paradox which she herself deals with as a black writer, and the force of language and communication is greatly stressed in Beloved. The text vividly provides the substantial level of interpretative possibilities associating with issues such motherhood, slavery and black history in particular, by using a range of stories which focus on the very same events. While Morrison hence shows gloriously that contrary to schoolteacher’s stance, black people are many-dimensional human beings with a complete range of feelings and worths, her most striking accomplishment is at the same time to show the ways in which unlimited interpretation can end up being futile. Sethe’s expression of maternal love in the killing of her child, for example, is misinterpreted as a savage act by both black and white characters in the book, and likewise potentially by the reader: just she can describe it. This sense of struggling to reach the correct analysis is likewise experienced by the reader on a different level, as he tries to grasp an understanding of the centerpieces of Sethe’s life from an often confused and chaotic narrative.
Morrison, who never contributes her own personal viewpoint or judgement directly to the text, depicts the scaries of slavery in a variety of imaginative ways. She enables all her characters to provide their own accounts of slavery, and it is the differing levels of eagerness with which they reveal their interpretations that are very telling. The white men of Sweet Home farm are always impassioned in their desire to share their viewpoints of slavery, while the servants themselves hesitate to speak of it at all, even after their release or escape. The extent to which Mr Garner prides himself on his treatment of slaves is ridiculous; it becomes clear that he is more worried with disputing the issue than with the servants’s real welfare. He believes himself to embody ‘what a real Kentuckian was: one difficult sufficient and smart enough to make and call his own niggers males’ (p. 11). While this might seem a more humanitarian outlook than teacher’s listing of ‘animal qualities’ in Sethe (p. 193), the comparison becomes essentially unimportant when the real treatment of the servants is considered. The following exchange in between Child Suggs and Mr Garner brightens this discrepancy of standards:
“Ever go starving [at Sugary food House]”
“Anyone lay a hand on you?”
“Did I let Halle purchase you or not?”
“Yes, sir, you did,” she stated, thinking, But you got my boy and I’m all broke down. You be renting him out to pay for me way after I’m gone to Splendor. (p. 146)
Mr Garner is overwhelmingly pleased with his non-violence towards Child, which he sees as an expression of his extreme kindness, instead of as a confirmation of her standard human rights. This passage strikingly communicates his failure to consider (or acknowledge) her shattered spirit, and the effect of the loss of her son, suggesting that his perception of the servants is hardly distinguishable from schoolteacher’s. ‘Mr Garner acted like the world was a toy he was expected to have a good time with’ (p. 139), observes Sethe, and in this light, his supposedly benevolent position on slavery can be seen as a self-indulgent attempt to make himself appear subversive.
Mr Garner’s tedious passion to develop his own analysis of slavery is rendered particularly insignificant by the hesitation experienced by Sethe to face her own past. Due to the fact that she was so carefully and chaotically immersed in the real experience of slavery and escaping, she was never ever offered the chance to show and form her own interpretation of events and their consequences. For this factor she struggles with undesirable ‘rememories’ which are terrifyingly concrete:
Where I was prior to I came here, that location is real. It’s never going away.Even if the whole farm -every tree and glass blade of it dies. The pictureis still there and what’s more, if you go there -you who never was there if you go there and stand in the location where it was, it will occur again; itwill be there for you, awaiting you …(p. 36)
This ‘image’ has been eternally lodged in Sethe’s mind, and is so powerful that she is, apparently irrationally (considered that slavery has actually been abolished), scared of Denver being soaked up into the image. Like the reader, Denver can not completely value the precise details of Sethe’s past and the haunting result they have on her mom, however she understands their weight and significance. ‘Denver disliked the stories her mom informed that did not concern herself … the rest was a gleaming, powerful world made more so by Denver’s lack from it’ (p. 63). Denver is jealous of this other world purely since her mother’s accounts are accompanied with such overwhelming force, of which the girl can not understand the source.
This idea of picking up the significance of something which can not be described or represented with mere language is especially pertinent to Beloved’s treatment of black suffering. Jan Furman refers to Morrison’s ‘titanic obligation [in] continuing an incomplete script of slavery started over 2 centuries earlier by the very first slave narrative’, and interestingly, the author’s most effective extension of this ‘script’ is when she powerfully withdraws the value of language in communicating the pain of slavery. Paul D’s account of the silent fraternity between the blacks who wandered around uneasily after the Civil War is particularly moving:
Odd clusters and strays of Negroes … counted greatly on each other. Quiet, other than for social courtesies, when they satisfied one another they neither explained norasked about the sadness that drove them from one place to another. The whitesdidn’t bear speaking on. Everybody knew. (p.52-3)
There is no space for analysis, ‘everyone knew’ the gruesome fact and anyattempts at spoken description or sympathy would be redundant. Morrison herself credits this mute understanding, and so ‘sorrow’ is the only term she utilizes to describe their situation; its simplicity meaning the presence of so much unutterable feeling. A comparable sense of community is recognisable at the opening of Infant Suggs’s sermons, when all the listeners are told to ‘let loose’ and ‘laugh, cry and dance’ (p. 89) together. Her inspirational words belong of their own, but this big physical and common release is striking in its sense of suggested joint understanding. The specific perspective is unimportant as everyone is catching the same sense of -short-term -freedom (simply as Paul D’s pals have actually mutually come across the same ‘grief’).
The character of Beloved, who can be said to represent in certain ways the ‘Sixty Million and More’ of the devotion, and who certainly has much to interact, demonstrates most considerably the drawbacks of language. ‘how can I say things that are images’ (p. 210), she muses, and the reader experiences a similar aggravation through endeavouring to understand her muddled story. Troubling discoveries such as ‘the guy on my face is dead his face is not mine … someone is thrashing however there is no room to do it in’ (p. 210) reveal confusion and panic, especially concerning her sense of identity. The reader’s effort to reach a clear analysis of her disjointed phrases will never ever be fully successful, however a sense of her bewilderment will be obtained through this extremely disjointedness. If her references to ‘the sea which is the color of bread’ and ‘the crouching others’ (p. 211) are viewed as representing the Middle Passage suffered by numerous servants, a parallel might be drawn in between the reader’s failure to understand Beloved’s narrative, and his failure -as someone who has actually never ever undergone the experience -to understand the effects of slavery. In both cases, no matter the degree of interest or application, an exact analysis will be impossible. The uncertainty surrounding the reality will only indicate that limitless impressions of it can be reached, nevertheless.
The most effective presentation of stopped working interpretation in the book is Sethe’s killing of her child, the focus of several stories. In the same method that Paul D can not quite appreciate the degree of Sethe’s humiliation when her milk is taken (‘”they used cowhide on you?” “And they took my milk.” “They beat you and you was pregnant?” “And they took my milk!”‘ (p. 17), just she can describe the logic of her apparently savage act. For as soon as concurring with the whites (a reality which can just magnify the sense of betrayal felt by Sethe), her family and friends label her an animal. The ordinarily gentle Paul D is surprised into announcing that ‘You got two feet, Sethe, not four’ (p. 165); her previous pal Ella proclaims that ‘I ain’t got no pals take a handsaw to their own kids’ (p. 187); and most saddening of all, her daughter Denver lives in the silent worry that ‘there sure is something in her that makes it all right to eliminate her own'(p. 206). Moved by a worry for her own security (and later on Beloved’s), Denver misinterprets her mother’s action as an indication of a frighteningly vague ‘something in her’ which can not be controlled. Denver’s long spell of temporary deafness, a subconscious decision to protect herself from Sethe’s account, is proof of the strength of her horror of the fact (as she sees it). Teacher’s gleeful assumption that it was ‘all testimony to the outcomes of a little so-called freedom troubled individuals who required every care and assistance in the world to keep them from the cannibal life they chose’ (p. 151) takes on an especially undesirable resonance when contrasted with Denver’s account, for she really does believe animalistic tendencies in Sethe. His appallingly smug stance (he doesn’t even attempt to comprehend) and her childish fear (a desperate failure to comprehend) demonstrate the varied nature and consequences of misinterpretation.
Sethe’s own account, which appears almost incidentally in the text, discusses her actions in a style which is absolutely distinct from the other performances:
… And if she thought anything, it was No. No. Nono. Nonono. Simple. She justflew. Gathered ever bit of life she had actually made, all the parts of her that wereprecious and great and gorgeous, and brought, pressed, dragged them through theveil, out away, over there where no one could harm them.(p. 163)
Her aesthetically allegorical description of this incredibly instinctive, decisive and fluid behaviour is packed, to the cold observer, with seemingly unclear and confusing recommendations to ‘the veil’ and ‘over there’. Simply as it is challenging to comprehend Sethe’s illogical worry of Denver reliving her experience of Sugary food House, the mental thinking which equates murdering her daughter with motherly love can only be comprehended by Sethe.Two things do emerge when reading her account however: firstly, that her motive was certainly love; secondly, that any effort to truly comprehend this is useless.
The interpretative possibilities open up to the reader of Beloved are unlimited, mainly due to the existence of a number of different narratives. Linden Peach keeps in mind that ‘the fragmentary nature of the text suggests that even if readers prosper in creating the events of Sethe’s life given that 1855, it will not permit them to achieve a grasp of the whole text’. His usage of ‘prosper’ and ‘enable’ intriguingly insinuates that Morrison has developed a complicated puzzle for her readers, who are challenged into reaching one correct service. After numerous readings of Cherished it becomes apparent that this does not exist. Morrison never ceases to stress the value of interaction (celebrated in Denver’s strategy at the end of the book), revelling as an author in the diversity of her characters’s viewpoints. The relative merits of language and of a vaguer, more significant sense of understanding are sensitively explored, especially when dealing with slavery. Morrison’s relationship with her reader is rather coy: while tempting him towards an all-inclusive understanding of the text, she extremely slowly reveals that no such thing exists. Instead Morrison shows that while pursuing understanding is an unavoidable and required human trait, searching for the perfect interpretation is challenging, never-ending and often useless.