Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

4.5

Reread

Like Sula, Love has at its core a female friendship forged when the two are children. In Sula the question of if and how adults might’ve shaped the title character is left open-ended. Not here. Harm has been definitively perpetrated by selfish adults—patriarchs and enabling women, arguably even one that has information no one else does. (I first read this when it was published in 2003 and I couldn’t help but think of how close the name of the powerful man all these women seem to love, Bill Cosey, is to the name of a famous real man. I don’t know if that was Morrison’s intention, but later I couldn’t help but wonder if she sensed something most of us didn’t.)

Like in Sula we’re left to wonder how different the two friends, though they're from opposite sides of the socioeconomic scale, truly are—and if the adult interventions into their childhood bond have made the former friends more alike than not in their subsequent rivalry and hatred. Like in Paradise Morrison leaves the two unnamed at a crucial time and we’re left without a clear answer as to which woman is which.

Speaking of a paradise, snake imagery reveals the inner states of several characters. The perspectives of these characters are corrected augmented by a first-person narrator that starts and ends the book. She narrates a few additional sections; other characters think and speak of her as well. Though she’s a minor player in one way, the others sense her power. While this woman saying “I’ll tell� seems mysteriously threatening at the time she says it, the words have a later force. They also point to the way Morrison has chosen to narrate the novel: a story of how a story is told running alongside the other stories.

The title of the book is a word that is referenced, yet unsaid, in two powerful instances. It’s stated once when it’s truly meant.