Dante & Morrison’s Reminders about Control, Communication & Kindness Amidst the Pandemic

Morrison’s Paradise seems more relevant than ever in the face of a global pandemic that emphasizes the need for collaboration, at personal, local, communal, interstate, and global levels. What’s fortunate for this class (while remarking on the privilege that we bask in, being able to keep food on the table and shelter above our heads), is in this time of enormous uncertainty and anxiety, Morrison provides not a blueprint for a way out of this mess but a place for discussion.

Paradise, ironically enough, is not a Paradise. Built off the labour and sweat of many men and women who escaped persecution based off solely their skin, the older generation seem righteously proud and stubborn in the way that they hold onto tradition and markers of progress. Morrison embodies this in the Oven, a device that enabled the Founders of Haven (and later Ruby) to survive. The Oven is a physical manifestation, literally, where the generations collide. It is something that has been with the families of Paradise since their founding, proof of their struggle in the years when the original founders had worked “eighteen-to-twenty hour days Haven people once needed just to keep alive” (111) versus the younger generation who “could hunt quail for pleasure rather than the desperate pleasure needed to meet a wife and eight children at table without shame” (111). As quality of life improves, so does what is needed to thrive, from Haven to Ruby. As time goes on and the people of Haven relocate to Ruby, what is needed in Haven is no longer needed. On page 103, Morrison writes “Minus the baptisms the Oven had no real value. What was needed in Haven’s early days had never been needed in Ruby”. There is also the mention that during its move from Haven to Ruby, the women “resented the truck space given over to it – rather than have a few more sacks of seed, rather than shoats or even a child’s crib”.

These sentiments boil over in the inscription over the lip of the Oven, something that is not even remembered in full, or otherwise transcribed. The older generation states that the message, as they remember it, is “Beware the Furrow of His Brow” whereas the younger generation state that logically, it should be “Be the Furrow of His Brow”. The difference comes down to Beware and Be. The former, touted by the older generation, preaches respect of ancestors (filial piety?) and a fear of straying from tradition, whereas the latter seeks to challenge those same traditions set in stone (or metal).

I think as in real life, each generation has their ways – in a closed off community such as Paradise, these issues become even more intensified. As it says on page 103, in Ruby, the Oven had “no real value”, except for baptisms. As Ruby grew and Haven became a distant memory, “what was needed back in Haven’s early days had never been needed in Ruby”. The Oven had been an essential part of their life – “that had witnessed the baptised entering sanctified life – an was now reduced to watching the lazy young”. What gets lost in the intergenerational communication is perhaps both sides’ refusal to compromise – the older generation refuse to bend their stubborn minds, and the young, in all their haughty behaviour, are bend on being disrespectfully hanging around the oven, climbing it.

So, what to do? Should each generation come together in a mutual understanding that the town they share is something to be treasured, and that everybody has good intentions for the others, at the end of the day? One would hope so, but one does not read Morrison for a bubbly understanding of the human condition. An instance of collaboration (or lack thereof) is in Seneca’s chapter, during the “losing battle with Reverend Misner over words attached to the lip of the Oven … an argument, fuelled in part, what nobody talked about: young people in trouble or acting up behind every door”. The young are misbehaving, coping with past traumas by disappearing into thin air (Billie Delia), getting drunk to deal with memories from the Vietnam War (Menus), not leaving their bed (Arnette) and many others. As each denomination and the town of Ruby gathers around the Oven for this conversation, it is clear that collaboration is out of the question. The young “did not want to discuss; they wanted to instruct” and the older generation emphasizes mannerisms over communication with the young “You say ‘sir’ when you speak to men”, to which the young reply “What is talk if it is not ‘back’?”. That last retort is an all-too familiar reply by those called “smart-mouths” by stubborn adults, something I can empathize with.

Once again, the older generation’s arguments come down to tradition and heritage; Pulliam states that “Nobody is going to mess with a thing our grandfathers built. They made each and every brick one at a time with their own hands …. They dug the clay, not you … when their own shelter was sticks and sod …. And we respected what they had gone through to do it”. Where collaboration refuses to happen is the moment when they disagree on the intent of the writing on the Oven. Reverend Pulliam proclaims “Motto? Motto? We talking Command!” to which Destry, speaking for the young, replies “God’s justice is His alone… If we follow His commandments, we’ll be His voice”.

 The younger generation seems to resent the lack of pragmatism that the older generation brings to arguing about the Oven – in the stubbornness, the emphasis on mannerisms over actual debate, the way they are shot down by Deacon and authority. This is reflected in Dante’s writing, the first connection in verse 93 of Canto 18 of Paradiso, as translated by Baroliniano as “Love justice you who rule the Earth”, and the reluctance that the older generation, often translated through Steward, has in accepting change that the younger generation’s haughty remarks against the perceived conservative ways o the older generation. Baroliniano further describes the two “challenges” put forth by Dante to the Eagle, asking “Where is the justice that could condemn a man” / “Where is his fault if he does not believe?” to which the Eagle answers “Accept your limits as a human and give up trying to understand that which human intellects are not equipped to fathom”.

The relevant cantos accompanying Paradise, are obviously Paradise but beyond that, Dante takes us on a journey that describes dowries, clothes, sport, language, shares stories of origins, family names, and much more about Florence. These cantos take on a “peculiarly epic nature of the transmission and preservation of a specific people and their culture”. Rereading Patricia within Paradise shows that this novel too is an epic – it describes a people and their familial histories, the origins, ways and everything in between.

Paradiso Cantos 18-19 is a parallel to page 87 of paradise, where the older generation, voiced by Nathan DuPres, the Reverend and Misner and the young on the other side of the side of the conversation, arguing that “If we follow His commandments, we’ll be His voice, His retribution, As a people —”. The young in Ruby, just like Dante in Paradiso, question the logic of keeping the inscription / name of The Oven the same, saying that faith is in doing and following “His commandments”, not rituals passed down generations and the elders argue that “God’s justice is His alone”. Along these lines, Dante struggles with how a just God can be just, if he damns a “perfectly virtuous soul who was not exposed to the teachings of Scripture”, to which the Eagle answers “Accept your limits as a human and give up trying to understand which the human intellects are not equipped to fathom”.

The Oven that had birthed Haven and eventually been rebuilt in Ruby, had “was now reduced to watching the lazy, young”. I’m not quite sure the relations to Dante Eagle, but I’ll add to this (late) response with more after rereading Dante. 

On a personal note, this response reminded me of some politics in South Korea. Much like the United States, the “progressive” party in Korea relies on the votes of the educated urban demographic, while the “conservative” party relies on the votes of the rural workers whose lives are primarily spent farming. During my time as a draftee, I was told several things by my captain & other officers;

1) That the sole purpose of the South Korean army was to last three days, in the face of an invasion, until the U.S army could be there

2) That if there was an invasion, the only branch of the SK army / navy / air force that could last the necessary 72 hours, is the Navy

3) And that statistically, the North Korean forces outnumbered the South Korean forces 2:1 

But in the context of the poli-sci courses I had taken, general knowledge and the history I knew of the Korean conflict, I also knew that any hostile action, in this day and age from North Korea, would be a suicide move for the regime. In addition, I often overheard fellow draftees talk about how redundant and frustrated they were that they had to even be in the draft. After some talks with my sister who majored in sociology and political science in undergraduate & graduate school, I realised that the political machinery of Korea relies on the myth of the Korean War – whenever the conservatives hold majority votes in government, the draft sentence stays the same or is increased – and vice versa for the progressive party. 

To take it a step further, those who fought actively in the Korean War are old and will pass away soon – the generation that ran away during the war are old, as well. Many of the new generation and youth know this conflict as an inconvenience, much like the youth of Paradise see the struggles of their ancestors as theoretical, conceptual stories than anything else. Though a niche point, I thought it was an interesting connection to Paradise and my lived experiences. 

As an Creative Writing English major graduating in a week (as unreal as this all feels), I am reminded that writing is a solitary act – but the stories I write cannot exist in a vacuum. Human experiences, particularly the niche set of experiences that I alone inhabit, are what make me a writer. My writing about generational differences in regards to myself and my parents, perceptions of the Korean War, experiences as an international student (especially the last) cannot exist without the writings of Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried”, or countless stories of Korean-Americans’ immigrating to the U.S, whether it is in prose or media like “Kim’s Convenience”.

Something that was said in class on a Wednesday (I am not sure which) is that Toni Morrison’s appropriation of the classic works of Dante are not indicative of Morrison’s omniscience in all things life, race, or Dante but rather an attempt to create discussions and discourse around such topics. This is the same for Dante, whose depictions of Hell, Purgatory and Heaven (no matter how much they were a personal diss track toward his political enemies) were attempts at recreating these places, rather than him proclaiming his writing to be the next blueprint for the afterlife.

In that vein, while the act of my writing is a solitary act, it doesn’t live in a vacuum – whatever stories I write that are influenced by Morrison, shaped by Dante, all show that writing, even after publication, is a collaborative act.

At the macro, global level, there is a pandemic raging through the world. As I type this sentence on the 9th of May  at 6:34 pm, I am seeing tweets about a COVID-19 patient in Seoul who despite knowing that they have the disease, decided to go clubbing in Itaewon (the ‘American’ side of town where the first American military bases were created after the Korean War), and has exposed countless people to the disease. This has led to all bars and clubs closing throughout Seoul, just as social distancing rules and orders were lifted about a week ago. As I scroll through Facebook, I see that a man in Pennsylvania decided to drive his truck into a ceremony honouring EMTs and others on the frontline; there are also protests to reopen America through the United States, and presumably if a vaccine was to be perfected, anti-vaccine believers who would hinder the spread of such vaccine. I am reminded that creativity is a collaborative effort – but also that public safety and our very lives are. As South Korea gets COVID-19 under control, individual states are purchasing masks and other equipment from Korea, and I am seeing tweets about other nations who have shipped pallets of equipment to fight COVID-19 with beautiful poems about coming together in times of hardship.

What hinders collaboration most seems to be greed. I am reading articles about state governors who are keeping their PPE supplies & purchases a secret from the federal government, fearing that it would be seized. Next to these, I am seeing that Trump had stocks in a medical supply company who profited from his earlier statement that hydroxychloroquine is an effective way to combat COVID-19 – and many, many other forms of greed between the federal and state government’s. Trump’s touting that the economy needs to open up, for example, is driven by fear that without a strong economy and a sense of normalcy this summer and fall, he will not be reelected – another act of greed.

I think it’s naive to say that the world needs to remember that we are one, be united in our humanity and all those motivational speeches. Just as it would be naive for Morrison to write that after all those arguments, that the elder residents of Ruby bent their stubborn views on sexuality and embraced the changing mindsets of the youth – and that the youth started to respect and meet the elders halfway. Unfortunately, what seems to unify the bad news in the world is greed, xenophobia and sexism – which is unfortunately the case in Morrison’s writing, all throughout the trilogy. 

The Gibbs’ Cycle of Reflective Writing starts at a summary of what took place. Then evaluation, reflection, conclusion, and a plan forward. In quarantine with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, I have spent a lot of time reflecting upon my four years as a student at Geneseo, and six years associated with the school (if I count the years away as association with the school). At the end of the marathon that is undergraduate studies, you really do only stand on that stage by yourself – but through it all are your peers. Whether it is advocacy through Student Senate, or organising events, or working for CAS (god forbid), or simply being a good partner in a team project (such as collaborative essays in ENG424), everything does come down to collaboration. This is hard to remember, given the physical distance (and emotional that comes with physical distance) in these trying times, but I think that it is an important thing to keep in mind.

What comes to mind is the Eagle’s caution that we must as accept our limits as humans and give up what we cannot know. In this time of uncertainty whether political (with the November elections coming up) or emotional or otherwise, I think that perhaps the Eagle was right; we must remind ourselves that we are only human, and only attempt to control what we can.

Interpretation is Collaboration: Toni Morrison’s Paradise and an exploration of working together while apart

In the conclusion to his Divine Comedy, Dante uses Paradiso to speak of the cumulative ideas of justice explored elsewhere in the trilogy. The poet accomplishes this particular task in Canto XVIII, where Dante meets an entity known as the eagle of divine justice. Paradiso’s eagle of divine justice is formed by the souls of just rulers in the sphere of Jupiter. The spirits in this sphere as a whole spell out the Latin words “diligite iustitiam qui iudicatis terram,which is a Dantean commandment of sorts for leaders to “Cherish justice, you who judge the earth.” It’s the souls that make up the phrase’s final letter—the M in terram—that ultimately rearrange in Canto XVIII to make up the eagle’s body. It’s ironic then, that the eagle of divine justice—the very being that preaches how incomprehensible God’s justice is to man—is born of a letter from the Latin word for “earth’s surface, as opposed to the heavens.” This speaks to the idea that, even when considering ideas of divine justice, the ideas themselves come from the earth and the humans who inhabit it.

The theocracy, lay people, and poets are all just humans attempting to interpret the divine word of God, and these interpretations are themselves collaborative acts of creation. The eagle of divine justice represents the culmination of these interpretations; born from terram the eagle is every just human’s feelings on justice combined to form the divine interpretation of the concept. I argue that every act of interpretation is a collaborative one, and this idea is supported by Dante’s eagle and further explored in Toni Morrison’s conclusion to her own sort of divine trilogy, Paradise.

In Toni Morrison’s Paradise, readers are introduced to a town called Haven, which was named such because the all-black town was a literal haven for its citizens. The town may have been a haven from segregation and discrimination from whites, but it wasn’t free from the disparate social structures that prevent lesser-developed communities to thrive in their individual homes. Lacking facilities necessitated the acquisition of a communal oven, and Haven’s Oven quickly became a source of warmth, sustenance, and community for the town and it took on a symbolic function as much as a practical one.

Despite the Oven, however, strife resulting from the second world war reduced Haven to a ghost town, so nine families decided to pack up, move, and start anew. A new town called Ruby was founded and the item that its founders considered essential to bring was Haven’s symbolic heartbeat. The Oven was deconstructed piece by piece and transported to Ruby, taking up space that could have been filled with more people or other essential materials. The method of transportation is telling, as it illustrates how Ruby is built on symbolic pride and ideals rather than any kind of actual empathy and care for the people living there.

After arriving at Ruby, the Oven had to be reassembled, but like the town itself there’s no telling if the assembled product is the same as what was there to begin with. The Oven was no longer the town’s uniting force and its function had become purely symbolic, the people of Ruby had their own individual methods to cook and stay warm. Within the novel, Ruby’s oven became a metaphor for the town’s status as a whole. On the night Ruby men attacked the neighboring Convent—a wayward home for lost women that the Ruby men believed had been practicing witchcraft—the Oven was sliding from its foundation due to heavy rain. This suggests that, like Dante’s eagle, the Oven is its own source of divine justice for the town of Ruby, and when that justice is blasphemed during the convent raid the Ovens begins sliding off its foundation and threatens disrepair.

Disagreements in interpreting the text on the Oven’s lip divided Ruby generationally, it “seemed at first to bless them; later to confound them; finally, to announce that they had lost,” (Morrison, 7). All that could be deciphered on the lip were to words “the furrow of His brow,” and older folk took a fire-and-brimstone, doom-and-gloom reading of those words. They believe the inscription reads “Beware the furrow of His brow,” but Ruby’s younger citizens take a more empowering reading by arguing they should “Be the furrow of His brow.” The first interpretation reads as a conservative, fearful warning to act as the town’s moral code. It’s also an act of submission; while the “Him” in question is obviously the divine, it could also be a stand-in for any person in a position of power—namely the men like the Morgan twins who run Ruby. “Beware the furrow of His brow,” then, is an interpretation that perpetually maintains the power of powerful men and so it is in their best interest to advocate for this interpretation.

On the other hand, the youth advocate that the text actually calls for people to “Be the furrow of his brow,” which is a more judicious and democratized interpretation that threatens the already-established power dynamics at play in Ruby. The divide then increases not only out of the moral argument between the two sects but because of the risk a changing mindset has on the Morgan twins and other powerful people that have cowed populations into submission because they beware their brows. The furrow of his brow imagery calls to Dante’s divine eagle of justice, which displays a prominent eye and eyebrow.

As previously stated, the eagle of divine justice is located in stars that spell the Latin for “cherish justice, you who judge the earth.” So, this guiding principle ties the two interpretations together as they both seek to morally guide the town and are both interpretations of what justice is. Therefore, the differing interpretations and the conflict arising from them are inherently collaborating to decide the moral direction Ruby will take. The question inherent in the division is who, exactly, are the people judging the earth. Is it the “Him” whose furrowed brow people are bewaring or is it the collective people striving to become the furrow of his brow?

The Oven’s readers attempt to reconcile the interpretive disagreement by brushing it aside altogether and instead finding common ground along the fact that the Oven’s general existence is important, regardless of what the words say. While Ruby’s citizens—old and young—remained unsure of what the Oven’s inscription read, the true surety was that “they could see the Oven; they couldn’t misread or misspeak that, so they had better hurry up and fix its slide before it was too late—which it already might be for the young people had changed its words again,” (Morrison, 298). This excerpt, and the wider Oven interpretive debate altogether, speaks to the intersection of interpretation and collaboration—which is to say that any act of interpretation is one of collaboration. Even when differing interpretations cause conflict, as they do in Paradise, the differing reads on a text continue to inform any individual’s personal interpretation of them and therefore makes that interpretation a collaborative act. Furthermore, any single person has their values, tastes, and personal sentiments raised by their upbringing and their community. Because those same things are what color and interpretation of any text, it results in those interpretations being a collaborative pursuit between everyone who has shaped individual people into who they are fundamentally.

The Morrison passage continues, going on to say “No longer were [the young people] calling themselves Be The Furrow of His Brow. The graffiti on the hood of the Oven now was “We Are the Furrow of His Brow,” which shows the collaborative experience of debating the oven’s inscription has further shaped their interpretation of it. Additionally, the passage speaks to the general mercurial nature of interpretation, illustrating how easy it is for those understandings to change and evolve. The both/and of collaboration and interpretation is that collaboration leads to differing interpretations, but the most important aspect is that there is a text to interpret in the first place. The oven’s readers reconcile their disagreement by coming to that conclusion themselves and realizing it’s in everyone’s best interest to save the Oven and ensure it’s possible for the discourse to continue.

Paradise‘s appropriation of “Paradiso” deals with the collaborative nature of interpretation altogether. In “Paradiso,” Dante discusses the nature of justice with a being composed of disparate souls—the divine eagle of Justice. The wisdom the eagle espouses in and of itself is a symbolic collaborative effort of all these legendary rulers and their collective understanding of divine justice and the being’s discussion with Dante then furthers this collaborative process. Morrison plays with this idea, but rather than exploring the 1:1 collaboration-to-interpretation relationship she explores the way that a more adversarial discourse can still lead to interpretations becoming realized. Even though the two sides aren’t working toward the same goal, the differing interpretations ultimately remain a collaborative effort due to how the people involved in the conflict influence one another.

Amid uncertainty, then, it is heartening to think about this and realize the varying faces collaboration can put on; it seems less daunting to try and pursue collaborative efforts while we remain separate once you realize that collaboration is never one specific thing. As I reflect on this class and the journey we’ve all taken together, what stands out is the mingled loss and joy inherent in our evolving collaborative efforts. Though we’ve been forced to separate, the shared mission we all undertook this semester remains and the support that transformed into was its own act of collaboration as it allowed us to continue the work at all. Even as the discussions became more strained and difficult, our relationships became about supporting and taking care of one another as much as it was interpreting text which is its own unique face of collaboration.

Looking forward to my career, I think about the Paradise passage about the sliding Oven. Ruby’s residents—old and young—concluded that it’s important to save the oven so they continue to have a text to interpret, despite the disagreeing interpretations. This reminds me of the cultural criticism career I’ve established during my time at Geneseo through The Lamron which is a thought process I intend to continue outside of school even if I can’t make it happen professionally. The nature of criticizing popular media is that, because potentially millions of people consume these works, it’s important to consider what messages the works are giving out. Yet, it’s rare to see different audiences or different critics ever agree on an interpretation or assessment, which is okay. Cultural discourse can often be toxic and adversarial, and the Oven conflict was toxic and adversarial, but even as people fight each other there is an underlying inherent sense of collaboration as those experiences color the involved individuals’ interpretations. When people are divided, whether by opinion or by physical circumstance, it is our intrinsic nature to remain collaborative.

Dante and Morrison’s Versions of Paradise and Justice

The Eye of Providence is literally an eye shape that is surrounded by rays of light and enclosed by a triangle. This iconographic Christian symbol represents the eye of God watching over humanity, which in other words, depicts the concept of divine providence. The eagle of divine justice is represented with the eye being David, and the eyebrow being Trajan, Hezekiah, Constantine, and William II of Sicily. As mentioned in class, the eye throughout history symbolizes divine protection or God’s eyes are always watching you. The stars are represented as leaders in history who have served their people justly. This notion ultimately reveals that the Eye of Providence mirrors the eagle of divine justice. God is made to look down on Earth and intervene with humanity when he sees fit. This concept appears in Dante’s Paradiso. Dante sees God as the eagle of divine justice as “[he] saw that the array of fire had/shaped the image of an eagle’s head and neck” lines 107-108, Paradiso 18. This creature symbolizes God to Dante through his journey to Paradise. God tells Dante  “O gentle star, what—and how many—gems made plain to me that justice here on earth depends upon the heaven you engem!” lines 115-117, Paradiso 18. God makes it clear that in order for Dante to get to Paradise, he would have had to live a just life on Earth. God explains his outward appearance to Dante stating  “Of those five flames that, arching, form my brow, he who is nearest to my beak is one who comforted the widow for her son; now he has learned the price one pays for not following Christ, through his experience of this sweet life and of its opposite” lines 43-48, Paradiso 20. God emphasizes the just and charitable actions of others in order to reach Paradise. The eagle of divine justice is represented through the figure of God silently watching and judging all of humanity.

The Oven is a symbol that is carried throughout Toni Morrison’s novel, Paradise. This symbol was constructed in a town called Haven, which was located in Oklahoma. The town was originally founded by Zechariah Morgan, who desperately wanted to form a community where equal opportunities were found for African American citizens in the late eighteen hundreds. According to National Geographic’s video “Rare 1920s Footage: All-Black Towns Living the American Dream”, the narrator goes into depth about how Oklahoma “is a unique space in terms of the number of African American towns that were established.” The narrator of the video goes into depth about these individuals, who just came out of slavery, were able to make a decent living for themselves by becoming doctors, farmers, and teachers in a town that accepted their business. This was the epitome of the ideal “American Dream” that every United States citizen craved. 

The Oven was constructed in the town of Haven, however it was built in an entirely different location. The founder, Zechariah, recalls the process of reconstructing the Oven in the United States. He recalls that “[the members of Haven] took [the Oven] apart, carrying the bricks, the hearthstone and its iron plate two hundred and forty miles west–far far from the old Creek Nation which once upon a time a witty government called ‘unassigned land” (Morrison 6). From a quick search on the Internet, the Creek Nation that Zechariah references to is, otherwise known as, the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. It is now considered a federally recognized Native American tribe based in the U.S. state of Oklahoma. He makes the point of mentioning the Creek Nation and government only because Zechariah does not want the government to be calling his “American Dream” a government’s  “unassigned land”. Zechariah brought the Oven to the town of Haven in order to remind his people to never let go of their hopes and dreams. 

The Oven is used physically to nourish citizens who live in the town of Haven. However, the Oven is also used metaphorically as a social gathering spot for the citizens of Haven. This was in order for the people of the town to reconvene and create connections. Citizens of Haven remained at the Oven in order to “gossip, complain, roar with laughter, and drink walking coffee in the middle of the eaves” (Morrison 15). This was a communal location for these citizens to share their hopes and dreams in a safe, common space. As a symbol, the Oven has been used as a place of conflict. Many of the citizens cannot understand and or create meaning of what has been engraved into the Oven. Morgan, another founder of Haven, states that this saying on the Oven is  “something he heard, invented, or something whispered to him while he slept curled over his tools in a wagon bed” (Morrison 7). This statement was created by Zechariah Morgan that was integral for their people to stay in order. When the Oven is moved to Ruby, it does not serve a physical function because this appliance already exists in their town. However, it is a place of dispute over what the meaning of the saying actually is. 

The appearance of the Oven in conversation with Dante’s eagle is the importance of the words. On the Oven, the saying that the citizens are grappling over is “the Furrow of His brow”. In Dante’s Paradiso, the eagle of divine justice looks upon others and judges their time on Earth of whether they were a just person or not. The Oven functions as a place for citizens to meet. The Oven, in other words, is a structure that judges others on rather they were just or unjust in their judgments on Earth. The Oven has been known for gathering all three representatives from the church “because they could not agree on which, if any, church should host a meeting to decide on what to do now that the women had ignored all warnings” (Morrison 11). The Oven, just like the eagle of divine justice, judges others on their choices made on Earth to get to their version of Earthly Paradise. 

On the Oven’s lips reads the lines “Beware the Furrow of His Brow”. Many of the townspeople from Ruby, and even Haven, have disputed over the meaning of this saying. First and foremost, it is important to note that this saying has been weathered away for some time. One of the founders of Haven states that “he had helped clean off sixty-two years of carbon and animal fat so the words shone as brightly as they did in 1890 when they were new” (Morrison 6). This is a generational divide between the old and new founding fathers of Haven. The older generation believes that the words on the Oven’s lips read “Beware the Furrow of His Brow”, meanwhile the younger generation believes that the Oven’s lips read “Be the Furrow of His Brow”. Many of the younger generations find the elders to be stuck in their ways stating “And they have forgotten the message or the specifics of any story, especially the controlling one told to them by their grandfather–the man who put the words in the Oven’s black mouth” (Morrison 13). The younger generations ultimately believe that the older generations will always be stuck in their ways, meanwhile the younger generations are always striving towards the new or, in other words, the future. This is evident when the Oven comes to Ruby. Ruby’s version of the Oven is still a place for social gathering, although it is now used as a place for teenagers to hang out. This has changed the overall context and meaning of the Oven’s function. As time has changed the overall meaning of the Oven has ultimately changed as well. Zechirah’s words are thought of and pondered by the people that live in Ruby. In Patricia’s chapter she clearly states: 

So the rule was set and lived a quietly throbbing life because it was never spoken of, except for the hint in words Zechariah forged for the Oven. More than a rule. A conundrum: ‘Beware the Furrow of His Brow’, in which the ‘You’ (understood), vocative case, was not a command to the believers but a threat to those who disallowed them. It must have taken him months to think up those words–just so–to have multiple meanings: to appear stern, urging obedience to God, but syly not identifying the understood proper noun or specifying what the Furrow might cause to happen or to whom. So the teenagers Misner organized who wanted to change it to ‘Be the Furrow of His Brow’ were more insightful than they knew (Morrison 195). 

These interpretations of the text are similar, yet so different to the public. This block quote is important in understanding the overall meaning of the Oven. When Zechariah created the text on the Oven’s lip, he created this as a rule for others to abide by. It was almost as if he was forcing his ideals on others in the community. However, when the younger generations wanted to change the text, it ultimately showed that they were not going to be governed by this elderly force who created this town. Ultimately this text is to bring awareness for the different, yet similar towns of Haven and Ruby together. 

The prominent men that inhabit the town of Ruby are in uproar over the Convent towards the close of Toni Morrison’s novel. These influential figures are ready to destroy these women and the “witchcraft” that goes on behind these walls. When the town is in upheaval, the Oven begins to fall off its foundation when the rain pours down on the town of Ruby. This ultimately showcases that the town of Ruby, along with their people, did not use good judgment in raiding the Convent. 

Save-Marie, the youngest family member of Sweetie and Jeff’s children, passes away. She has been the youngest death in this town since Ruby. This ultimately shakes the town and the members that reside in it. Lone believes that God has put the townspeople of Ruby through another test, to prove whether they were just or not just on Earth. The prominent figures had downplayed what took place at the Convent. Meanwhile the people such as the DuPreses, Beauchamps, Sandses, and Pooles supported Lone’s claims that these men murdered these women. This changed the meaning of the text that was imprinted on the Oven’s lips. Lone states that: 

One thing, for sure: they could see the Oven; they couldn’t misread or mispeak that, so they had better hurry up and fix its slide before it was too late–which it might already be, for the young people had changed its words again. No longer were they calling themselves Be the Furrow of His Brow. The graffiti on the hood of the Oven now was “We Are the Furrow of His Brow” (Morrison 298).  

This quote ultimately showcases that this text is changing according to what occurs in the town. In Haven, the text read “Beware the Furrow of His Brow” meaning to follow Zechariah’s rules he implemented for the town’s sake. In Ruby, the text read “Be the Furrow of His Brow” disregarding the already set up rules created by the elders in order to create a new town with new ideals. However, “We Are the Furrow of His Brow” is a message that the younger generation instills in the town of Ruby. It is reminiscent of the fact that God is always watching and judging you for your actions on Earth. God is judging the prominent townspeople who murdered the Covent women to the people in the town who supported the Convent and wanted nothing to happen to these women. Ultimately, Toni Morrison is trying to showcase that the text on the Oven’s lips is  a collaborative message in order to always treat others with kindness in order to reach Earthly Paradise. 

Toni Morrison’s Paradise actually works with the interpretation of Dante’s Paradiso. The novel ultimately showcases the way people are judged on Earth. Each member in the town has been the victim of “Beware the Furrow of His Brow.” In other words, the townspeople need to be accepting of others whether they are part of the old generation and or the young generation. Dante’s Paradiso similarly uses the Divine Eagle as a symbol of God’s eyes always watching over everyone and judging every person on Earth. The Eagle represents the Divine and the Good that is represented in Earthly Paradise. To loop back to Toni Morrison’s novel, Zechariah almost acts like a God-like figure. He was in charge of setting up the town of Haven. He put those words on the lip of the Oven for everyone to see. This ultimately showcases that officials in the town, especially him, will watch your every move whether it be good or bad. This is why the Oven, or the words of the Divine, slides off the platform when the men are going to raid the Convent. The Oven was sliding to one side as if it is the Scale of Justice weighing in on these people’s wrongdoings. Dante’s Paradiso therefore influences Morrison’s work because the ideal of justice will make a person reach Earthly Paradise. This act of collaborating these works together ultimately showcases that Dante wrote something that Morrison could apply and draw more meaning from regarding the definition of Paradise. The definition of Paradise has several meanings to several different people. However, it is the act of being just that brings together others into a complete sense of utter bliss. 

I will apply this idea of collaboration through being an educator in a middle school environment. My dream and passion is to become a librarian at a public school, focusing on students who are middle school aged. I will use this sense of collaboration to be an open ear to others whether that be my students, faculty members, and or parents. We need to work well with others to provoke the notion that we all have to work together for one common goal, to educate the younger generations. If we are able to collaborate, we are able to tackle a task quickly and have a way to express our feelings in a group setting when our voices are not always heard. With collaboration we can avoid uncertainty because everyone’s voices should be heard regardless of their age and rank in a school district specifically. This is how Toni Morrison’s Paradise and Dante’s Paradiso work in tandem in understanding the meaning of Paradise. 

Love, Collaboration, and Spiritual Improvement in Morrison’s Jazz

By: Rachel Balfoort, Claire Corbeaux, Yadelin Fernandez, Denis Hartnett, Randall Lombardi, Brian Vargas, Quentin Wall

When Dante and Virgil emerge once more to see the stars, they find themselves in Purgatory, a lone island that takes the shape of a mountain. Dante’s Purgatory is first divided into Purgatory Proper and Antepurgatory, which are then further subdivided. Purgatory Proper is divided first into three regions that are defined in terms of love. The regions of Misdirected  Love, Deficient Love, and Excessive Love are composed of the 7 Terraces of Purgation, where each terrace corresponds to one of the Seven Deadly Sins. According to Dante scholar, Dr. Ronald Herzman, the function of Purgatory is spiritual improvement, which is to say that if an individual scales Mount Purgatory and works through each region and terrace, that individual will undergo and achieve spiritual improvement through this movement. 

The structure and function of Purgatory, as well as its emphasis on love, likely played a large role in the creation of Toni Morrison’s own rendition of purgatory, which takes shape in the island of Manhattan in her novel, Jazz, the second installment in her Dantesque trilogy. Furthermore, the geography of Jazz’s setting, Manhattan, aesthetically looks and functions as Dante’s Purgatorio. Jazz’s characters, many of whom live in Manhattan, are placed in Morrison’s purgatory to undergo spiritual improvement. In particular, Jazz follows the characters of Joe, Violet, and Felice who live and love in Manhattan. They are joined by their respective relationships with Dorcas, a young girl murdered by her lover, Joe, whose deceased body was attacked but whose spirit was loved by Joe’s wife, Violet, and who was allowed to die by her closest friend, Felice. Just as Purgatory is divided into three particular regions, Misdirected Love, Deficient Love, and Excessive Love, Jazz works through Violet, Felice, and Joe, who correspond respectively to the aforementioned regions. The narrator follows these characters through their own spiritual improvement and in so doing guides the reader through the purgatory that is Manhattan. Thus, just as a sinner scales Purgatory to achieve spiritual improvement, Jazz pushes readers up and around Dorcas’ lovers so that readers may understand the power, danger, and nature of Love and thereby undergo a kind of spiritual improvement through this newfound understanding. 

Moreover, the narrator connects not only Jazz’s various characters through the concept of Love but also connects the characters to the reader through their shared journeys towards spiritual improvement. Thus, Jazz represents a collaboration not only between Morrison and Dante, insofar as that Morrison is building on and breaking from Dante’s Purgatorio, but between each character and between all of the characters and the reader, as well. These collaborations, in turn, suggest a possible explanation for the collaboration which created this very project and for the name of Morrison’s novel, as well. Indeed, Jazz‘s collaborations parallel Jazz music in the sense that many different improvisational elements, the characters, are united with a shared structure and function which is spiritual improvement. In all, Morrison, Dante, Jazz as a narrator, and all of Jazz’s characters are brought together in a jazzy collaboration that educates readers not just about the beautiful problem of Love but the path to spiritual improvement, as well.

Exploring Sin in “Jazz” and “Purgatorio”

By: Alice Chen, James Bonn, Allison Flanagan, Margaret Hall, Mya Nazaire, Rickie Strong, Helen Warfle

This paper will explore Toni Morrison’s Jazz through the lens of Dante’s Purgatorio in terms of mapping through time and space. Mount Purgatory is clearly divided into layers based around the seven deadly sins. The bottom starts with antepurgatory, and then progresses through sins based on how each sin distorts love, ending with excessive love and the sin of lust. Sinners must move up through the levels, purging themselves of sin. Similarly, in Jazz, the characters move up and down the island of Manhattan, mimicking the social and emotional journey of their own struggles towards recognizing the origin of their sins and what it takes to achieve true morality. Furthermore, Joe Trace goes through his own evolutions, of which there are seven. Based on these similarities, we hypothesize that, if Beloved is the suffering due from a sin one has committed, then Jazz is the acknowledgement of the source of said sin and letting it go. 

As we discussed in class, the mapping of Manhattan is complex and filled with intricate markings of neighborhoods, which can be traced to fulfill a social-emotional story within Joe and Violet’s narrative. The story of Jazz is non-linear, working through the emotional turmoil of Joe having committed a crime of passion, Violet disfiguring the dead woman, and back again to events that led up to it. In living through the sins they have committed for love, they are able to overcome their domestic struggles and reunite stronger at the end. Morrison uses the idea of movement in stages – with the physical movement of the characters up and down Manhattan, the temporal movement of the narration, and the emotional movement and evolution of characters like Joe – to mirror the levels of Purgatory and Dante’s own search for freedom from sin. The most important line in Purgatorio, according to Dr. Herzman, is “May it please you to welcome him – he goes in search of freedom” (Canto I lines 70-71). This idea of freedom, from sin and the tendencies that cause us to sin, is also found in Jazz through Joe’s transformations in his sinful love of Dorcas and in Violet’s search for fulfillment. Ultimately, we see Felice as a Beatrice figure, leading Joe and Violet to freedom, and this is the culmination of our analysis of Jazz as a mirror of Purgatorio


We believe this is an important study for several reasons, especially as it applies during this time of quarantine. First, through the idea of excessive love and having that which we love excessively, being taken away, we have noticed that, in our own individual experiences, made us realize that what we need and what we want are very different. Second, the idea that community can arise in unexpected ways, as we see in the friendships throughout Jazz, is significant in this time of social distancing. And finally, in collaborating across time and space on this essay, the act of reading and thinkING together is a form of self-improvement, much as Purgatorio and Jazz encourage us to do.

Jazz and Purgatorio Collaboration (Inversion Vibes)

Sydney Cannioto, Tommy Castronova, Thomas Gillingham, Katie Haefele, Dong Won Oh, Abigail Ritz, and Emily Zandy

At its narrative and literal levels, Toni Morrison’s Jazz reflects Dante’s Purgatorio through her use of space and directionality. Morrison introduces readers to a New York City that feels distinctly alive, with inhabitants that go in every direction, but ultimately compose one City. Morrison emphasizes the inherent liminality of characters through mapping her narrative onto jazz music; through utilizing the apparent, though purposeful, lack of structure of jazz, Morrison creates characters that are constantly making and remaking themselves and one another. Indeed, the characters of Jazz seem to be both lacking direction and going in many opposing directions at once, much like the style of music the book draws its name from. Jazz music itself is structurally unique―it is composed of a basic iteration of a melody that musicians build upon. Since musicians improvise upon a singular melody, the seemingly chaotic iterations and modifications themselves are a direction and destination. The novel Jazz alludes to the initial chaos of jazz music through the seemingly disjointed stories of its characters. This allusion functions to connect the experiences of each character in order to form a singular melody. 

Jazz is an aftermath story that flips the linear spiritual journey of Purgatorio on its head. This structure highlights Joe Trace’s spiritual fulfillment after the crime rather than leading up to the crime. This is shown through the inversion of the seven sins in Purgatory; rather ending with lust, as Purgatory does, Jazz begins with it. Morrison presents Joe as a man whose desires are limited by his relationship with Violet. Similarly, Purgatorio seems to open with a desire for freedom: “May it please you to welcome him- he goes in search of freedom, and how dear that is, the man who gives up his life for it well knows” (70-72). The similarities between Joe’s desire for freedom and the desires for freedom that open Purgatorio are presented in the beginning of Jazz, which demonstrates how Morrison is constructing Joe Trace’s spiritual fulfillment around that of a soul entering purgatory.

Professor McCoy’s comments on utilizing backward design as a pedagogical tool during our unexpected transition to online courses reminded us of the inverted characteristics of Purgatorio and Jazz. In backward design, a class, whether a professor, a student, or anything else in between, must take into account what aspects of the course are most important and rebuild based upon these core aspects. The point is to preserve the thing which everything else is built upon. This thing for our course being collaboration. This too seems to be central to Jazz and Purgatorio. The backward design that we are utilizing in our class is the same as that inversion which is seen in Jazz and Purgatorio. The goal of this inversion is also to consider which aspects of self, of personhood, of community are most important to being, which aspects a person should be rebuilding from in order to reach freedom.

Faults with Perception

The way that A Mercy goes about how characters perceive things, often in ways that lack the “whole picture” is very interesting, and further illuminated by the narrative arc. Psychology suggests people seldom know the entire story, and their perceptions are inherently influenced by their worldview and the beliefs that they already hold. This is partially why people are susceptible to believing misinformation, especially information that aligns with the schemas and beliefs they already hold (Lewandowsky et. al,2010). In applying this idea of human psychology to the novel, that’s why a character’s character matters and really alters the framing of the world they’re in. The way that Morrison has each main character narrate, or control, part of their story I think really emphasizes this and shows how other’s perceptions can even begin to influence our own.

            I first began to think about this when I read Lina’s passage. My initial reaction to Lina was to like her, I saw her as strong willed, intelligent and caring (albeit somewhat harsh at times). While I still think most of these things of her character, it did not suffice to formulate my opinion only based on her telling. Lina, having taken Florens under her wing, was extremely opinionated in her decisions, especially when it came to the blacksmith because she did not trust him. She imposed this naivety to Florens that I probably would not have seen as much had Lina’s passage not been included. Having immediately taken to Florens, feeding, bathing and caring for her in a way that appeared to me as maternal, I think effected the way that Lina saw Florens and her ability to make safe decisions for herself. This struggle of perception, not having the full picture and imposing traits that she believed to be there in the people in her life is further expanded upon with Lina’s perception of Sorrow. Upon her first meeting of Sorrow, Lina immediately forms an opinion and sticks to her guns, so to speak. Not only failing to completely see Sorrow for the woman she is and everything she had been through but imposing those beliefs on the people around her as well. Sorrow’s narrative at the end of the book, where the reader learns about her past and what’s causing her to be so “mongrelized” as her first owners describe her, really shed light on how Lina’s narrative painted the wrong picture of her completely. Not having the “resources”, or the full picture, kept Lina from truly being able to understand Sorrow, not that she wanted to anyway, however. This opinion that Lina formed also causes Sorrow to be relatively expelled, in terms of relationships with other people on the farm, particularly Patrician and Florens.

            While the inability to perceive the whole picture is prevalent in all the character’s stories, I think it’s particularly interesting in Florens. Florens makes me think of trust in that it seems she has an abundance of it. Trust in Lina to take care of her, trust in the blacksmith to love her, and trust in the note her mistress wrote to grant her safe passage on her journey to the black smith. This prompt had originally made me think of an Arthur meme, where DW is looking at a sign and says “That sign can’t stop me because I can’t read”- which made me think of Florens. Not that Florens cannot actually read, but that she, like so many others, struggles to read peoples motivations and intentions, whether it be from not noticing enough, trusting too much or not being given the whole picture to be able to formulate fuller perceptions. For example, with the blacksmith, she sees their act of lovemaking and this physical relationship as grounds to believe that blacksmith truly cares for her, even despite Lina’s warnings. While she trusts Lina, she trusts her feelings wrong and consequently is heartbroken when the blacksmith rejects her, expelling her of some of the trust she had previously been full of. Also, in the first introduction to Florens, when her mother is seemingly begging Jacob Vaark to take Florens in his retelling of it, she only knows that her mother gave her away, making her believe that there was no love there. However, as we learn at the very end of the novel, her mother’s decision to give her up was her way of saving her daughter. So, while she was expelled from and by her mother, her lack of access to the truth expelled the belief that her mother loved her.

            I think that this is an interesting concept to apply to your own life as well. What may I be missing, or expelling myself from in not knowing everything I possibly could in a situation? I don’t believe there’s a need to get hung up on the nitty gritty details, for fear of doubting all the decisions I make, but I think it helps me to realize that my perceptions are not perfect and I am lucky enough to have ready access to education and information that can help to make my worldview a step closer to complete. The prompt is also reminiscent of the housing crash of 2008, in that many financial agents failed to notice just how drastic the effects of these subprime mortgage loans would be, leading to the expulsion of countless people.

The Key Tool: Perspective Exposure

            The concept of perspective makes itself a known theme, central idea, and notable literary choice on Morrison’s part within A Mercy. As each chapter presents us with a new viewpoint, we as readers are given the privilege to see a story unfold in a way we don’t normally watch events occur in “real life;” through the viewpoints of all those that are affected. It seems with a broader perspective of the world, and of a story that you are reading and or partaking in allows you to develop a greater sense of empathy. It then also seems when you limit your perspective or ability to understand others roles within an event, you ultimately limit yourself. To put this in terms of the 2008 housing crisis (the year in which A Mercy was written, and a key event to tie our course concepts back to) we can look at the relationship between bankers and everyday people. The banker’s decisions obviously expelled many people from their houses due to their selfish decisions. Those being affected by these decisions may have read or interpreted what would happen in this situation but did not have the tools to go about stopping it from happening. The ultimate root of this is the big bankers having the ability and tools to see how painful the negative effects of their actions would be on so many people, but ultimately neglecting to see things from a “big picture standpoint.” It seems that Morrison decided to make perspective and the theme of “noticing things” so prominent in this novel to drive home that exact point, and all the negativity that comes from it.

            A side note to relate this back to present day, and the current unprecedented circumstances we are all experiencing right now, I wanted to include a link to this article. It focuses on social distancing, and how so many people still aren’t taking it seriously. We need to realize it is a privilege, and by neglecting to take it seriously, we, like the big bankers, are viewing this situation with a “well if it doesn’t negatively affect me, then why should I care how it affects others” kind of outlook. Morrison displays acts of this kind of attitude within the novel, but also shows acts of great contrast as well. However, these selfless acts we sometimes don’t see unfold until one perspective is connected to another.

            An example of such is one that we as readers can only see unfold once we have read the novel from beginning to end. This example is when Florens is given up by her mother. In the very beginning of the novel, when Jacob Vaark visits D’Ortega and makes that reluctant purchase of Florens we are led to believe that her mother is so readily willing to give her up. “Please Senhor, not me, take my daughter” (Morrison, 30). Yet, to contrast this, we see that this seemingly “unmotherly” act of giving up her daughter to be taken away with a strange man was actually an act done out of love. “I knew Senhor would not allow it. I said you. Take you, my daughter. Because I saw the tall man see you as a human child, not pieces of eight. I knelt before him. Hoping for a miracle” (Morrison, 195). This is an act of expulsion Florens faces as she’s forced from her home and her family. It’s an event that we as readers didn’t have the tools (yet) to see the true explanation behind the expulsion. These lack of “tools” come from a lack of exposure to various perspectives, which ultimately intertwine to form a complete story.

            If we are to look at characters lacking tools to act on things they notice, it again deals with the concept of perspective. It seemed that throughout the book, Complete was in a whirlwind of confusion about so many things going on in her life; whether it be her lack of knowledge about what a period was, or her inability to figure out why Lina treated her the way that she did. However, the scene in which Complete gives birth proves to be a very powerful one; she decides her own identity and her own personal perspective develops itself. She lets go of this need for approval form Lina, or this feeling that Florens is the glue that keeps this odd structural dynamic between them all, together. “Each woman embargoed herself; spun her own web of thoughts unavailable to anyone else. It was as though, with or without Florens, they were falling away from one another” (Morrison, 158). She allows herself to be alone in that very moment and allows the trust she has within herself to blossom. In this case, we watch Complete take all the things that she noticed around her, that dragged her down as a person and made her feel like she was something “lesser-than.” Her “tool” in this case is expulsion; the expulsion of an outdated view she has of herself, and a rebirth of a new and personal perspective she has of herself and the world around her.  

            It seems that Morrison purposefully made expulsion, observation, and perspective key elements within this novel. She uses perspective changes to display how it is one of the true tools to accessing a full story; a full understanding of each and every person’s role in a story that so many may have taken a part in. But what’s interesting is that she displays to us that through perspective building expulsion is almost guaranteed; yet it’s a positively connotated form of expulsion as it acts as an elimination of ignorance and self-doubt. Through a lack of perspective exposure, comes expulsion as well; yet it’s more negatively connotated. It leads to the expulsion of people from your life, form their homes, and even of their own positive image of self; it is an act developed from holding on to ignorance rather than letting go.

Protection and Expulsion in “A Mercy”

Like some of my peers in this class have expressed, I struggled with finding an appropriate topic for this prompt. Only after rereading the novel to strengthen my understanding of the characters, looking through my peers’ work, and thinkING about the unspoken forces that cause expulsion, which Professor McCoy has encouraged us to do all semester, was I able to slow down and consider the ideas of “both/and.” As I was re-reading the novel, I was struck by a similar theme from another class (ENGL 424: Toni Morrison Trilogy) I am taking with Professor McCoy. This idea of motherly love and sacrifice within the context of slavery is a heavy topic we discussed in class while reading Beloved and keeps reoccurring to me while reading this novel. In both novels, many outsiders looking into the story may be quick to judge their actions as evil/immortal, unable to interpret the pain a mother endures and why they might do the things they do in order to protect their child.

In Morrison’s A Mercy, both Jacob Vaark and Floren are displayed as characters who are unable to interpret the heart-wrenching exchanges between the slave owner and the enslaved. Jacob notices D’Ortega’s unusual interest in keeping Floren’s mother and suspects something more sinister is going on within the home considering that many slave owners sexually abuse enslaved women, but does not have the tools to do more than to pick someone because he “desperately wanted this business over” (24). While Jacob initially hesitates to take in the young daughter, his self-interest in monetary gain supersedes his moral standards despite acknowledging that slave trading is “the most wretched business” (26). We can see Jacob trying to distance himself from the slave trading business and the D’Ortega family, despite engaging and benefiting from the institutions of slavery, which expelled a child from her family and home.

Florens, as a young child, notices the events that led to her displacement but is unable to understand why her mother would give her up, assuming that favoritism is in play. Floren’s own trauma and memory of her mother is expressed by the end of the first chapter and she interprets the interaction between her mother and Jacob as her choosing her baby brother over her. This feeling of abandonment and betrayal is expressed by her describing the moment as her mother, “saying something important [to me], but holding the little boy’s hand” (8). The mother’s life is tainted by the pains of being a slave and Jacob, who is in a position of power, is unable to understand why Floren’s mother would voluntarily ask for her daughter to be shipped away far from home. He makes the assumption that her mother is trying to save herself by offering up Florens when in reality, it is the opposite. He misunderstands the forces that would cause a mother to abandon her child, while Florens is too young to understand that the prolonged abuse her mother endured forced her to expel Florens from her care. 

As readers, we can understand and justify Floren’s mother and her actions as wanting to give her daughter a better life despite the realities of being a slave. As we have discussed in class before, it is also important to look at the expelling of children from families/ homes in a more modern sense. There have been multiple cases on the news in which mothers have been jailed for enrolling their children in different school districts in order to get them better access to education. Despite knowing that it is forbidden to do so in a legal sense, a mother’s desire to protect and provide a better life for their child is a “crime” that occurs today. Financial instability and corporate greed will always be factors in controlling and destabilizing families and it is only with recognizing and amending those forces can these bubbles burst. 

The Power of Knowledge and The Powerlessness of Ignorance

It is an old adage that knowledge is power. Understanding the how and why of life allows one to maneuver and manipulate their surroundings more easily. However, from this adage, we can garner a parallel truth: if knowledge is power, lack of knowledge must be powerlessness. If one lacks the ability to make informed decisions and perceptions, they will often act in a way that is detrimental to themselves and others. Worse, those who possess knowledge can manipulate those who don’t. Toni Morrison understood how knowledge can be a weapon yielded against those without it. Her 2008 novel A Mercy features numerous instances of its protagonist Florens being confused and ignorant of the truth. The novel highlights both the ways that ignorance harms Florens and the ways that other characters weaponize that ignorance against her. Though the novel was written before 2008, the ideas contained within A Mercy apply to the financial crisis, for bankers and investors had taken advantage of Americans who didn’t understand the potential consequences of their actions.

What does it mean to be ignorant in Florens’s world? She knows her letters, after all; she can read and write. But despite this one advantage she has, Morrison presents her as outpaced by the events around her. This idea is introduced early, as Florens begins to tell her story: “Often there are too many signs, or a bright omen clouds up too fast. I sort them and try to recall, yet I know I am missing much…. Let me start with what I know for certain.” Throughout the novel, Florens consistently demonstrates a lack of knowledge. She wanders through the woods, unsure of her direction, noting her confusion. For example, when religious villagers accuse her of being the Black Man’s minion, she responds initially, “I am not understanding anything except that I am in danger.” At the climax of Florens’s story, her ignorance has highly detrimental effects on the child she is tasked to watch. Unsure how to stop the boy from crying, she grabs him too hard. “I am trying to stop him not hurt him,” she insists. “That is why I pull his arm. To make him stop. Stop it. And yes I do hear the shoulder crack but the sound is small, no more than the crack a wing of roast grouse makes when you tear it, warm and tender, from its breast. He screams screams then faints. A little blood comes from his mouth hitting the table corner. Only a little.” Here, Florens’s inexperience has damaging effects on Malaik; she does not know how to calm him, and she minimizes the extent of his injuries. Finally, Florens’s story ends with the last and most pervasive mystery of her life: why did her mother give her up? She concludes her narrative with this haunting uncertainty. “I will keep one sadness. That all this time I cannot know what my mother is telling me. Nor can she know what I am wanting to tell her. Mãe, you can have pleasure now because the soles of my feet are hard as cypress.” Because she never knew that her mother’s choice to give her up was out of love, she was always eager to please. But now, because she has experienced a betrayal identical to that initial one, she is jaded and angry. Had she known that her mother was trying to save her and not hurt her, she might have matured differently.

While Florens’s ignorance affects her development and her understanding of the world, that ignorance in isolation is not as harmful as the way it is weaponized against her. Her naivete, spurred by that sense of abandonment from her mother, allows other characters to take advantage of her. Rebekka, for example, finds amusement in “Florens’ eagerness for approval. ‘Well done.’ ‘It’s fine.’ However slight, any kindness shown her she munched like a rabbit.” Because Rebekka is her mistress and praise and kindness like this is the only compensation Florens gets for good work, Rebekka is using Florens’s abandonment to increase her productivity as a slave. Scully, too, sees the potential for taking advantage of the girl’s ignorance and naivete: “if he had been interested in rape, Florens would have been his prey. It was easy to spot that combination of defenselessness, eagerness to please and, most of all, a willingness to blame herself for the meanness of others.” It is this same innocence that allows the blacksmith to enter a sexual relationship with her. Though neither party views the encounters as rape, the blacksmith certainly knows that Florens is childlike and trusting, for he uses that ignorance against her after she hurts Malaik. He accuses her of having become a slave to her own obliviousness; “Your head is empty and your body is wild,” he says. Thus, her ignorance acts as a weapon for the people who wish to control and hurt her.

Being taken advantage of for one’s inexperience and ignorance is not a scenario that is isolated to Florens, nor is it only contained within the pages of A Mercy. Through other works, such as Angela Flounoy’s The Turner House and Michael Lewis’s The Big Short, it becomes apparent the way that ignorance harmed the homeowner in the events leading up to the 2008 housing market crash. In The Turner House, Viola Turner refinanced her mortgage, an option that seemed favorable at the time. However, that choice led to a lot of debt the family can’t pay off, and even if they can, it isn’t worth it for a house nobody lives in. Thus, a lack of knowledge is harmful to the ignorant. In The Big Short, meanwhile, average American homebuyers are manipulated by corrupt bankers who want to loan them a subprime mortgage, so that it can be repackaged and sold as a Triple-A-rated bond. Technically, the homebuyers took out loans they couldn’t pay back, and therefore one might argue that they deserved the evictions or bankruptcies that followed. However, they didn’t understand what they were doing and were guided by others to do what was against their best interest. 

Finance is incredibly complicated, and although most if not all Americans will have to engage with it at some point in their lives, few understand it. Therefore, they must trust bankers and accountants and other finance experts to advise them on how best to manage their money. Although these people can provide a great service in helping people, they can also weaponize their clients’ ignorance against them. Similarly, in A Mercy, Florens is innocent and ignorant, and the people in her life take advantage of that. It’d be ideal for Florens if she could have learned the things she is ignorant of and be less naïve. However, she is a child, and children—and people of all ages—are always going to be innocent. Florens should have been protected from the people who want to exert power over her. Similarly, most Americans will never be financial experts, and they shouldn’t have to be. Instead, the law should take measures to protect them from bankers and accountants who intentionally advise them to make ruinous decisions.