Skip to main content

Why don't the women fly?

The fathers may soar
And the children may know their names

The opening epigraph to Toni Morrison's epic Song of Solomon establishes three themes that persist throughout the novel -- flight, names, and paternal relationships. These themes systematically exclude women, highlighting problematic gender dynamics.

First of all, none of the women in Milkman's world are physically able to fly. Morrison describes Mr. Smith's flight, Solomon's flight, and Milkman's flight; all three aviators are male. It's clear that flight is a skill reserved for only the men in Milkman's world. Rather than experiencing flight themselves, the women are forced to deal with the consequences of male flight. Just as Solomon leaves Ryna to care for twenty-something children, Milkman leaves his mother, his sisters, and his cousin Reba to cope with his absence. In these examples, Morrison shows a pattern of seemingly heroic men who leave their female family members behind.

The women's names are also fundamentally different from those of the men. In the Dead family, the misnomer Macon is carefully passed from grandfather to father to son. Even though the name is a mistake, it connects generations of men and makes them recognizable to others. Other men in the novel, such as Guitar Bains, use nicknames that highlight their unique qualities. Meanwhile, women in the Dead family are named by flipping through the Bible and randomly picking whatever name looks nice. This naming practice is especially ironic when one considers the Dead family's non-relationship to Christianity and the Bible. Because they're not that religious, choosing a random name from the Bible is basically the same as choosing from a phone book.

In each of the families that Morrison writes, the men are clearly shown as failing in their familial duties. Solomon drops his son but manages to escape himself. Macon I dies protecting his land, leaving his two children to manage by themselves. Macon II beats his wife and terrifies the rest of his family. Milkman treats his sisters like shit, hates his mom, drives his cousin/girlfriend to insanity, and attempts to rob his beloved aunt. In all of these examples, women are left to deal with the consequences of men's actions.

Comments

  1. I like the connections you drew between naming and flying. I also wondered even in the first quote why Morison chose "fathers". The theme of flying is fascinating because it isn't explicitly good, in that solomon's flight is tied to Ryna's gulch or Milkman's actions hurt the women in his family. I wonder why Morison used gender roles in this way. Perhaps there is a certain realism to her writing since gender roles are not perfect or fair in real life and she depicts this, or maybe she was trying to point out the hypocrisy or pain milkman and other men caused.

    ReplyDelete
  2. it's interesting to see how in the beginning of the book, men are kind of depicted as the heroes but later on, it's proven that the women really are -- namely Pilate. she's proven to be basically the only character who is the true hero of the story. she was willing to do anything for the people she cared about.

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is a really interesting observation that I hadn't noticed before. I do think that Milkman didn't make the best choices in the novel, but out of all the men in the Dead family he didn't seem to be the worst one to me. Honestly, we don't actually see a lot of how Milkman treats his sisters -- we just hear about it when Lena tells us. He also wasn't too interested in robbing Pilate. As soon as Guitar became interested, Milkman didn't really care anymore. The only truly malicious act I can find of Milkman's is his treatment of Hagar.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This is a good point, Milkman wasn't really trying to be malicious towards his sisters. He was just so completely ignorant to all they did for him, and he wasn't especially kind or grateful. I would argue that his snitching on First Corinthians was pretty rude, even though he claimed to do it for her own well-being.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

breaking the cycle

Ross Wilcox embodies toxic male violence. Ross' violence has no purpose other than to continue a series of pointless conflicts sparked by his own fear and insecurity. The cycle of violence goes back to Ross' father, an abusive man who put his own wife in the hospital for losing a couple postage stamps. But how did Ross' father become so violent? It's likely that he also had a traumatic past that forced him into a pattern of male violence. Jason struggles to cope with Ross' ruthless bullying because it seems that there's no right way to respond: anything he does will get him more hurt. In fact, there is no possible response that could make Ross stop because he is so firmly entrenched in a violent system. Ross is incapable of gratitude, even when Jason kindly returns his wallet, because he doesn't know how to express those emotions. But no matter how badly Jason has been bullied, he is able to empathize with Ross because he recognizes that Ross is trapped. ...

Painting metaphorically

Ellison often uses metaphorical language to convey subtler points about his narrator's situation. My favorite example of this technique is when the narrator is hired to paint samples of Optic White for the Liberty Paint Company. First of all, the company's emphasis on complete whiteness is a play on how the white world expects conformity. The paint helps to enforce society's "white is right" rhetoric by whitewashing universities and government monements, which symbolizes how education and public history are controlled by white power. The narrator points out that black-owned space such as the Golden Day are free from this whitewashing because they don't accept white authority. During the paint factory scene, the narrator must navigate the same questions of submissiveness and subversiveness that his grandfather raises. He ruins the second batch of samples when he attemps to do his job right, and Kimbro is only satisfied by the samples that appear to have be...

Butler's postmodernism

Octavia Butler's Kindred might not appear as startlingly postmodernist as other novels we've read ( Mumbo Jumbo, for example) but her writing presents a powerful challenge to the kind of unilateral, hegemonic narrative that postmodern texts sought to deconstruct.  The story unfolds on a Maryland plantation decades before emancipation, grounding Dana's experience in a time when slavery would have felt virtually inescapeable. Dana realizes that the rift between her time and Rufus' time is more than temporal or spatial, but the two environments she's pulled between demonstrate completely different assumptions about humanity. She and Kevin first seek to understand their new environment through their history books from back home, which provide essential information about past laws and regulations. However, the knowledge found in history books can't capture the real experience of living as a slave on Weylin's plantation. Recounting facts about such a brutal era...