Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison

Toni Morrison's organic prose wends its intoxicating way around you until you're so mesmerized you hardly notice the insidious web it has trapped you in. Song of Solomon begins with a troubled man perched precariously atop a hospital roof, and from there descends into the murky depths of African-American life in the mid-20th century. Highlighting significant points in the lives of one family, the narrative finally rests on the son, Macon Dead Jr, and the journey he embarks on to comprehend the past and its bearing on his future.

At the beginning, the past looks terribly sordid. The sordid taste never really leaves the story, but it does abate somewhat. Morrison draws her characters in untempered manifestations of vulgarity, making no attempt to wipe off the gritty dirt and grime of their lives. Initially, they seem like aberrations of human nature unwittingly stumbled upon. But Morrison later justifies their untoward actions, building a logical scaffolding beneath a seemingly senseless, groundless mess.

Indeed, much of the book explores the underlying causes of the characters', and by extension the African-American culture's, distinctive burdens. "The cards are stacked against us," says Macon's friend Guitar, "and just trying to stay in the game...makes us do funny things. Things we can't help. Things that make us hurt one another." But while undoubtedly many vices can be attributed to cause and effect, this outlook does not admit an adequate address of free will. It is far too easy to shrug off people's shortcomings, blaming them on a troubled childhood or a legacy of sin. At some point each much assume responsibility for his actions.

Morrison's insight crescendoes with self-absorbed Macon's moment of clarity on a dark night in the Blue Ridge Mountains: "Apparently he thought he deserved only to be loved - from a distance, though - and given what he wanted." He later identifies the catalysts behind the individual catastrophes of his respective family members, expanding his understanding of them and gaining compassion where once was merely contempt. But from there Morrison devolves into nebulous philosophizing, attempts at mythologizing, and facile plot twists that lose the edge of realism that Macon's inner revelation and outer realizations have.

Morrison's earthy cadence embodies the souls of her subjects. Her confident assurance in her ability to create a cultural mythology is, strange though the comparison might be, almost Tolkienesque. But that she embraces not just the sinners but also the sin, dismissing their culpability with rational explanations, tarnishes her work.