I started Sula by Toni Morrison expecting beauty: beautiful language, a great story and some food for thought. But I was not prepared to be completed taken over, intoxicated. I felt the dialogue and catchy phrases playing in my head again and again, when I was sleeping, washing the dishes, singing lullabies.
“You’ve been gone too long, Sula.
Not too long but maybe too far”.
“I don’t want to make somebody else. I want to make myself”.
“O Lord, Sula. Girl, girl, girlgirlgirl”.
Sula was hard to love. Selfish. Tough. Mysterious. And yet, like all women at the Bottom, I secretly envied her. Resented that she got to live her life like she wanted. Answering only to herself. Showing the middle finger to patriarchal gender roles, suffocating social standards and just carried on. It wasn’t perfect. It probably wasn’t happy. But it was all hers.
For a much better review do check out @lex_withthe_text post.