There are times when readers have the unquenching desire to melt into the symphony of a writer’s words; their orchestration of sentences and metaphors leaves the audience bejeweled with awe and veneration. Hence, it is not rare to proclaim Toni Morrison as a towering literary genius and exceptional novelist, brilliantly capturing the fundamental human condition and Black experience. In her blazing second novel, Sula, Morrison’s literary themes interrogate white exclusionary politics and celebrate Black girlhood, remaining deeply relevant in the 21st century. Morrison’s words, reading like music, illustrate a stunning portrait of Sula Peace and her hostile environment as she grows up in a generational household of defiant women. As Sula’s subversive acts are curtailed as malevolent and wicked, readers are granted a glimpse into the turbulent nature of growing up as a Black girl in the midwestern United States, witnessing the impacts of trauma, grief, and ostracization. Whether it is the townspeople’s moral repulsion of Sula or Shadrack’s gentle fondness and consideration towards her, Morrison extends beyond the lines of an unbiased, third-person narrator, becoming not only the storyteller of the events but also the insider to each of the character’s innermost thoughts and fears. Hence, she embraces all the wretched and kind, disparaging and encouraging perspectives of Sula, detailing the politics and shortcomings of freedom and rebellion and asking readers if it is worth performing as to what society confines and defines as a ‘moral’ person.
I remember reading Sula for the first time last year; it was harrowing as it was transformative. Through her writing, Morrison truly was a leading figure in combating 20th-century American conservatism and parochial views on Black life and girlhood. We see Sula, a woman who has been exploited and pigeonholed into becoming the pinnacle representation of spite and malice, as an allusion to general society’s demonization of Black womanhood and autonomy. After consuming this brilliant novella, I myself have cogitated on the parallels or contrasts between morality and rebellion, deliberating on the tumultuous nature behind living free and unabashedly despite societal discouragement and denigration. I believe every person should read at least one (or two, or three) Morrison books in their lifetime, with Sula being one of them. You’ll leave with your mouth agape, marveling at her ability to incorporate fires (yes, fires) into the book so seamlessly.
A poignant yet stunning portrait of Black girlhood, love, loss, and defiance, she ultimately examines the politics of insubordination in the name of liberation. We question what it means to be either disparaged or commemorated by those who fabricate the definitions of conventionality and morality.
A literary giant and acclaimed genius, Morrison’s searing legacy laid the path for the long lineage of Black female writers and their commentary on socio-political affairs. In a world where men are not the primary purpose, her novels defy the customary tradition that it is an inescapable tragedy to craft a story in the absence of men. Inventive for the 1970s United States, Sula proves to be a relevant, scintillating story of Black female defiance and power, engaging contemporary readers in continued conversations about ostracized and berated racialized identities.
Chaeeun Yoo is a high school senior studying at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts. Yoo is the Founder and Executive Editor of The Redwood Review and has been recognized by The Kenyon Review Young Writers Workshop, Mint Hill Arts Center, Scholastics Art and Writing, and others. In their free time, they love vermicomposting and tending to their plant garden.