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The Bluest Eye (Vintage International) Paperback – May 8, 2007
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In Morrison’s acclaimed first novel, Pecola Breedlove—an 11-year-old Black girl in an America whose love for its blond, blue-eyed children can devastate all others—prays for her eyes to turn blue: so that she will be beautiful, so that people will look at her, so that her world will be different. This is the story of the nightmare at the heart of her yearning, and the tragedy of its fulfillment.
Here, Morrison’s writing is “so precise, so faithful to speech and so charged with pain and wonder that the novel becomes poetry” (The New York Times).
- Print length206 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Publication dateMay 8, 2007
- Dimensions8 x 5.25 x 0.8 inches
- ISBN-100307278441
- ISBN-13978-0307278449
- Lexile measure920L
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Editorial Reviews
Review
A TODAY SHOW #ReadWithJenna BOOK CLUB PICK!
“So precise, so faithful to speech and so charged with pain and wonder that the novel becomes poetry.” —The New York Times
“A profoundly successful work of fiction. . . . Taut and understated, harsh in its detachment, sympathetic in its truth . . . it is an experience.” —The Detroit Free Press
“This story commands attention, for it contains one black girl’s universe.” —Newsweek
About the Author
TONI MORRISON is the author of eleven novels and three essay collections. She received the National Book Critics Circle Award, the Pulitzer Prize, and in 1993 the Nobel Prize in Literature. She died in 2019.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
School has started, and Frieda and I get new brown stockings and cod-liver oil. Grown-ups talk in tired, edgy voices about Zick's Coal Company and take us along in the evening to the railroad tracks where we fill burlap sacks with the tiny pieces of coal lying about. Later we walk home, glancing back to see the great carloads of slag being dumped, red hot and smoking, into the ravine that skirts the steel mill. The dying fire lights the sky with a dull orange glow. Frieda and I lag behind, staring at the patch of color surrounded by black. It is impossible not to feel a shiver when our feet leave the gravel path and sink into the dead grass in the field.
Our house is old, cold, and green. At night a kerosene lamp lights one large room. The others are braced in darkness, peopled by roaches and mice. Adults do not talk to us -- they give us directions. They issue orders without providing information. When we trip and fall down they glance at us; if we cut or bruise ourselves, they ask us are we crazy. When we catch colds, they shake their heads in disgust at our lack of consideration. How, they ask us, do you expect anybody to get anything done if you all are sick? We cannot answer them. Our illness is treated with contempt, foul Black Draught, and castor oil that blunts our minds.
When, on a day after a trip to collect coal, I cough once, loudly, through bronchial tubes already packed tight with phlegm, my mother frowns. "Great Jesus. Get on in that bed. How many times do I have to tell you to wear something on your head? You must be the biggest fool in this town. Frieda? Get some rags and stuff that window."
Frieda restuffs the window. I trudge off to bed, full of guilt and self-pity. I lie down in my underwear, the metal in the black garters hurts my legs, but I do not take them off, because it is too cold to lie stockingless. It takes a long time for my body to heat its place in the bed. Once I have generated a silhouette of warmth, I dare not move, for there is a cold place one-half inch in any direction. No one speaks to me or asks how I feel. In an hour or two my mother comes. Her hands are large and rough, and when she rubs the Vicks salve on my chest, I am rigid with pain. She takes two fingers' full of it at a time, and massages my chest until I am faint. Just when I think I will tip over into a scream, she scoops out a little of the salve on her forefinger and puts it in my mouth, telling me to swallow. A hot flannel is wrapped about my neck and chest. I am covered up with heavy quilts and ordered to sweat, which I do, promptly.
Later I throw up, and my mother says, "What did you puke on the bed clothes for? Don't you have sense enough to hold your head out the bed? Now, look what you did. You think I got time for nothing but washing up your puke?"
The puke swaddles down the pillow onto the sheet -- green-gray, with flecks of orange. It moves like the insides of an uncooked egg. Stubbornly clinging to its own mass, refusing to break up and be removed. How, I wonder, can it be so neat and nasty at the same time?
My mother's voice drones on. She is not talking to me. She is talking to the puke, but she is calling it my name: Claudia. She wipes it up as best she can and puts a scratchy towel over the large wet place. I lie down again. The rags have fallen from the window crack, and the air is cold. I dare not call her back and am reluctant to leave my warmth. My mother's anger humiliates me; her words chafe my cheeks, and I am crying. I do not know that she is not angry at me, but at my sickness. I believe she despises my weakness for letting the sickness "take holt." By and by I will not get sick; I will refuse to. But for now I am crying. I know I am making more snot, but I can't stop.
My sister comes in. Her eyes are full of sorrow. She sings to me: "When the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls, someone thinks of me. . . ." I doze, thinking of plums, walls, and "someone."
But was it really like that? As painful as I remember? Only mildly. Or rather, it was a productive and fructifying pain. Love, thick and dark as Alaga syrup, eased up into that cracked window. I could smell it -- taste it -- sweet, musty, with an edge of wintergreen in its base -- everywhere in that house. It stuck, along with my tongue, to the frosted windowpanes. It coated my chest, along with the salve, and when the flannel came undone in my sleep, the clear, sharp curves of air outlined its presence on my throat. And in the night, when my coughing was dry and tough, feet padded into the room, hands repinned the flannel, readjusted the quilt, and rested a moment on my forehead. So when I think of autumn, I think of somebody with hands who does not want me to die.
Product details
- Publisher : Vintage; Reprint edition (May 8, 2007)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 206 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0307278441
- ISBN-13 : 978-0307278449
- Lexile measure : 920L
- Item Weight : 6.4 ounces
- Dimensions : 8 x 5.25 x 0.8 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,454 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #17 in Contemporary Literature & Fiction
- #72 in Coming of Age Fiction (Books)
- #202 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Toni Morrison was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1993. She is the author of several novels, including The Bluest Eye, Beloved (made into a major film), and Love. She has received the National Book Critics Circle Award and a Pulitzer Prize. She is the Robert F. Goheen Professor at Princeton University.
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Morrison’s legendary reputation is well earned. Her writing is superb and original. If someone gave me an excerpt written by Morrison, likely I could guess the author. Her writing is rich in description and raw truth. She does not placate or sugar coat. Morrison instead shocks and assaults the reader by shining a spotlight on the harsh truth. The Bluest Eye is uncomfortable, thought provoking and powerful.
If you are considering reading The Bluest Eye, be aware there are some potentially triggering themes, including: incest, child molestation, one of the characters is a child predator, and some of the characters are sex workers.
The major theme throughout the novel are the effects of pressure on women and young girls to conform to cultural and societal standards of beauty. Using a multi-generational storyline and a cast of female characters, Morrison challenges readers to think about where women get their sense of value and worth, and how that is impacted by the standards of beauty that are programmed into all of society. Morrison assumes the bitter truth that meeting societal standards of beauty results in better treatment and a higher social status. The story tackles how women’s lives are negatively affected if they cannot meet the beauty standard (such as having blue eyes, hence the novel’s title). In short, this novel offer rich social commentary about how we value people. I understand and agree wholeheartedly with the social commentary being made by Morrison.
In summary, the story is about Pecola Breedlove, an 11-year-old black girl. Her mother, who she calls Mrs. Breedlove, works as a housekeeper and nanny for a wealthy white family. Her father, Cholly, is a drunk and does not work. The story begins and ends with Pecola, but Morrison gives extensive background on Pecola’s parents.
Mrs. Breedlove was born and raised in the south and comes from a large family of origin. As a young woman, Mrs. Breedlove is a hard worker who cares for her family of origin despite it not being easy for her because she is born with a deformed foot. When she marries Pecola’s father and starts her own family, they move north. In her new community, Mrs. Breedlove feels isolated and alone. She is not accepted by the northern women who have different accents, clothes, and behavior expectations than where she came from in the south.
When Mrs. Breedlove becomes pregnant with Sam, Pecola’s brother, during her pregnancy she loses two of her teeth. Once she loses her teeth, all hope of fitting in and belonging is lost to Mrs. Breedlove. In this pivotal event, she becomes resigned to the idea that she will never have friends.
Mrs. Breedlove escapes into her work. Her only sense of belonging is with the family that pays her to clean their home and care for their daughter. There Mrs. Breedlove feels she has acceptance, appreciation, and control. In her own chaotic and unstable home, she feels out of control. In her employer’s home, she can adequately provide a safe, comfortable, organized, and orderly life. As a result, she comes to feel her own family and home are a nuisance to be endured, rather than a blessing. She sees her family as a burden and prefers caring for the white wealthy family’s home and daughter over her own home and children.
Pecola’s father, Cholly Breedlove, had a traumatic childhood. His mother abandoned him on a trash heap when he was nine days old and likely was mentally ill. His father likely never knew about his existence, until Cholly seeks him out later when he’s a young adult, but his father summarily dismisses him with cursing. Spoiler alert - Cholly commits incest with Pecola while drunk and impregnates Pecola.
With Pecola’s mother and father largely absent from her life and abusive when they are present, Pecola befriends and regularly visits sex workers that live nearby. They treat her to outings and food. The sex workers and some of her peers are her friends through whom she temporarily finds some comfort. However, through a mixture of media, friends, family, and cultural messaging Pecola is programmed to believe that she is “ugly.” She absorbs the cultural messaging that blue eyes are the prettiest eyes, and that hers do not meet the beauty standards. She learns to hate the way she looks.
Woven throughout the story it is indicated how desperately Mrs. Breedlove and Pecola desire to possess the societal standard for physical beauty. Each are convinced it would change their lives if they could achieve having blue eyes and perfect teeth, for example. At one point, Pecola even approaches a former “Reverend “who is rumored to have a special connection with God, to request that she be given blue eyes. In what is arguably the weirdest scene in the book, the “Reverend” instead gives Pecola some poison, and tells her to feed it to a dog. When Pecola does this, the dog dies causing her even further trauma.
Morrison does not spare Pecola and drives her point into readers until the end. Pecola eventually becomes unhinged and disengages from reality. Pecola’s former friends abandon her. She can no longer tell what is real and she creates a pretend friend who eventually abandons her too.
Morrison is relentless in making her point and the tone of this novel is sad, hopeless, and desperate. She does not show her characters mercy in her pursuit to illustrate how the standards of beauty effect women and young girls. There are few redeeming characters, and no characters are spared the impact of the damage of not meeting societal beauty standards. Some characters that start out with some redeeming qualities are stripped of them by the end of the novel. This is not a light read but it is a literary wonder and may expose readers to new ways of seeing the world if they are brave enough to consider the raw perspectives of the characters.
Here's a review of "The Bluest Eye":
Compelling Narrative: Toni Morrison's writing is beautifully poetic, drawing readers into the lives of the characters with vivid descriptions and emotive prose. The storytelling is immersive and holds your attention from beginning to end.
Exploration of Racial Identity: One of the central themes of the novel is the quest for identity, particularly the struggle for racial identity in a society that values whiteness as the standard of beauty and worth. Morrison delves deep into the psychological impact of racism on young black girls like Pecola, who yearns for blue eyes as a symbol of beauty and acceptance.
Complex Characters: The characters in "The Bluest Eye" are multidimensional and realistic, each grappling with their own personal demons and insecurities. Pecola's journey is particularly heartbreaking as she faces constant rejection and abuse, which leads her to question her own self-worth.
Social Commentary: The novel serves as a powerful social commentary on the damaging effects of racism and the perpetuation of beauty standards that exclude people of color. It forces readers to confront uncomfortable truths about society's role in shaping perceptions of beauty and self-esteem.
Non-linear Narrative: Morrison employs a non-linear narrative structure, which adds depth to the storytelling. The perspectives of various characters are interwoven, providing different viewpoints on the events of the novel and allowing readers to see the story from multiple angles.
Impactful Themes: "The Bluest Eye" addresses themes of abuse, incest, and the brutal reality of growing up in a racially oppressive environment. These themes can be difficult to read about, but they are essential to the story's exploration of the characters' lives and experiences.
Historical and Cultural Context: The novel also offers insights into the African American experience during the mid-20th century, shedding light on the challenges faced by black communities and the lasting scars of slavery and discrimination.
Top reviews from other countries
Amazing when you read about what type of background she came from.
I read the book many years ago and re-reading it made me enjoy it even more.