By Anonymous on October 08, 2008

Fifteen years ago this month, the novelist Toni Morrison won the Nobel Prize for literature, the second American woman and the first black American to do so. On this anniversary, we should once again celebrate her accomplishments.

Born in Lorain, Ohio, in 1931, Toni Morrison has written an unparalleled body of work. Citing her visionary narratives, the Swedish Academy praised her ability to delve into language that “wants to liberate from the fetters of race,” while dazzling us with poetry.

Among her most-read novels, “The Bluest Eye” is a young girl’s lyrical lament for beauty, while the Pulitzer Prize-winning “Beloved” is a matricidal tragedy centered around slavery and its excruciating aftermath.

Her most recent novel, “A Mercy,” is set in part in late seventeenth century Maryland at the beginning of the slave trade. At its center is Florens, a girl who is exchanged for a bad debt. Like all of Morrison’s heroines, she is not quite what she appears and displays a powerful will coupled with an endearing vulnerability that continuously leaves the reader both exuberant and heartbroken.

While writing nine groundbreaking novels, Morrison has also taken time to pen a book of literary criticism and edit two anthologies, one on the Clarence Thomas and Anita Hill hearings and the other on the O. J. Simpson murder trial. And she has written a libretto based on the life of Margaret Garner, who was the inspiration for “Beloved.”

She has also been indirectly involved in this year’s presidential race, due to an essay she wrote for The New Yorker magazine as President Clinton faced impeachment over the Monica Lewinsky affair ten years ago. Because of the tropes he represented, she wrote, because he was born poor from a single parent household, sexualized and persecuted — “white skin notwithstanding, this is our first black President.” Often quoted out of context and without the nuance of her essay, these words kept resurfacing this year even after she endorsed the man who, black skin notwithstanding, might actually become our first black president.

Two years ago, after the riots that plagued several Paris suburbs, she conducted a month-long residency at the Louvre Museum, where she invited slam poets from troubled neighbourhoods to perform their work, with iconic paintings as a backdrop.

I was lucky enough to have been among the other writers she welcomed to the Louvre, and we spent a wonderful afternoon discussing her chosen theme, “The Foreigner’s Home.”

“Foreign is the designation of the curious,” she said in her inaugural lecture, “the rupture between self and society. Home is where the memory of the self dwells. Whether those memories spawn or shrivel determines who we are and determines what we may become.”

With words that continue to inspire today, she encouraged the young poets and the rest of us to summon strength from difficult circumstances.

“The point is that you can use your disadvantages,” she added. “Out of disadvantages and energy comes a new thing that has never been seen before.”

Recently, Horace Engdahl, a top member of the jury that awards the Nobel Prize for literature said that unlike their European counterparts, American writers are too isolated and insular, too sensitive to trends in their own mass culture to participate in the “big dialogue of literature.”

No matter who wins the Nobel Prize for literature this year, Toni Morrison has already proven him wrong.

Edwidge Danticat’s most recent book is “Brother, I’m Dying,” which won the National Book Critics Circle Award and was a finalist for the National Book Award. Earlier this year, she delivered the second annual Toni Morrison lecture at Princeton University. She can be reached at pmproj@progressive.org.

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A plea to United States citizens to work for peace

An Indian journalist globally renowned as an advocate for the poor, Palagummi Sainath detailed the detrimental...

By Wendell Berry

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more 
of everything ready made. Be afraid 
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery 
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card 
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something 
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know. 
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord. 
Love the world. Work for nothing. 
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it. 
Denounce the government and embrace 
the flag. Hope to live in that free 
republic for which it stands. 
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man 
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers. 
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.


Say that the leaves are harvested 
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus 
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion—put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come. 
Expect the end of the world. Laugh. 
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts. 
So long as women do not go cheap 
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy 
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep 
of a woman near to giving birth? 
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head 
in her lap. Swear allegiance 
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos 
can predict the motions of your mind, 
lose it. Leave it as a sign 
to mark the false trail, the way 
you didn’t go. Be like the fox 
who makes more tracks than necessary, 
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

Wendell Berry is a poet, farmer, and environmentalist in Kentucky. This poem, first published in 1973, is reprinted by permission of the author and appears in his “New Collected Poems” (Counterpoint).

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