WHAT WILL NOT STAY DEAD
WHAT WILL NOT STAY DEAD
In rare instances, the first and the final sentences of a
novel are a perfect frame for the narrative.
One might argue this is true for Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man, and in her
third novel Sing, Unburied, Sing (New
York: Scribner, 2017) Jesmyn Ward has chosen her sentences well: "I like to think I know what death
is."…….Home, they say. Home.
The distance between Ellison's history-invested narrative
and Ward's experiential aesthetic is vast, in part because she writes within a
tradition of African American women's fiction, within the tradition of Toni
Morrison, Octavia Vernon, and Gloria
Naylor and in part because her themes emphasize dread, the death-oriented
qualities of everyday life, poverty, and
the psychosexual risk of being Southern.
Her themes are troubling and
quintessentially American. She
exploited them powerfully in Where the
Line Bleeds (2008) and Salvage the Bones (2011), and she
reconfigures them with equal power in Sing,
Unburied, Sing.
Powerful writing
should be acknowledged and rewarded, but
power alone doesn't ensure that a novel will in time assume the status of a
classic. Think of Rebecca Harding
Davis's Life in the Iron Mills, Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence, and Toni Cade Bambara's The Salt Eaters. . Many a
powerful novel is in the museum of American literary history, occasionally read
by scholars and university students and
infrequently glanced at by the educated reading public. Perhaps such a fate awaits Ward's third novel. If it does, the novel will be read by the
right people.
The right people are not "ideal" readers, and
they are rarely professional critics whose opinions might count for something in
someone's mind. They are readers who use
literature --fiction, nonfiction, mashed-up genres --as tools for critical thinking. Like Virginia Woolf's common readers, they
are secure and stand by and behind the combinations of ideas which emerge from
the process of reading. When they engage
Sing, Unburied, Sing, they recognize Ward's intervention in what
Charles Mills has identified as America's foundational racial contract and in
the conversations Americans have habitually had since the days of Alexis de
Tocqueville and Thomas Jefferson and are having with vicious alacrity since the
advent of the Age of Trump. Ward has
strengthen the possibility of continuing barbaric social discourses in the
ambience of aesthetics.
The best readers
of Sing, Unburied, Sing will discover
one of the "keys" for unlocking the multi-leveled
"meanings" of the novel in the first chapter, page one. No dawdling here; we get to the point. Jojo, one of the three narrators, on his
thirteenth birthday relates a story
about his black grandfather's slaughtering a goat. Is this the Mississippi
version of bar mitzvah? Jojo's wanting
Pop to know he's come of age, "ready to pull what needs to be pulled,
separate innards from muscle, organs from cavities" ? (1).
Jojo's white grandfather, Big Joseph, is a man who "believes in niggers" (53).
These are all the clues the right people need, especially if they are
Mississippians. Death is home; home, death.
Jerry W. Ward, Jr. September 30, 2017
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