Seeing The Color Purple

I’ve been trying to disconnect from the social media outrage and get back to reading more. Specifically books by black authors (which unfortunately has sorely been lacking in my reading consumption).

A couple of months back, when we had just started dating, my boyfriend and I went to a bookstore and bought each other a book to read. I ended up selecting The Color Purple by Alice Walker which was already on my reading list.

The book is fairly short – a couple hundred pages, but it took me three long months to get through. Partially due to me falling out of my reading habit but mainly because of how heavy the subject matter was.

It shows the struggles of black women in rural Georgia through a series of letters between two sisters separated as children. I was initially thrown off by the colloquial language of the letters and the gut-piercing description of abuse. But it made the story that much more powerful and personal.
It also happened to be banned for several years. Which, in my opinion, makes it even more pertinent to read and support.

The more I read, I realized how little I knew about black culture and the history of America through the black perspective. In fact, I think its the first work of historical fiction I’ve read written entirely from the African American perspective in comparison to some of the other fiction from that era such as “Gone with the Wind” and “To Kill a Mockingbird” . It’s disheartening to see the same themes of racism and unjust incarceration continuing to this day.

I was in awe with the central voice of the novel, Celie. Her boundless love and ability to give was not hampered by the horrific abuse she faced throughout her life. She was constantly put down by the men in her life.

“Who you think you is? he say. You can’t curse nobody. Look at you. You black, you pore, you ugly, you a woman. Goddam, he say, you nothing at all.”

In a way, she reminds me of my own Indian grandmother in her temperament and quiet tolerance. My grandmother came from a generation of Indian women (post-independence/pre-modern) who were expected to be pious, tolerant and care for their husbands and children and not much else. Watching her bear my grandpa’s harsh words, without so much as a squeak used to shock and puzzle me as a child. As I grew older, I became desensitized to it. This book makes me rethink those experiences and my reaction to them.

What I loved most was seeing the representation of strong, supportive, complex relationships between the women. Whether it’s the timeless bond between Celie and and her sister Nettie, the unconditional love between her and Shug, the friendship and support between Sofia and Squeak, and even Nettie’s loyalty to Corrine were so uplifting and poignant. These relationships formed the backbone of the story.

There are so many different lens’ though which this book can be interpreted, whether as a commentary on colonial power, origins of racial identity and racism, feminism, colorism, religion and spiritually or sexual orientation. It’s interesting to see how Alice Walker seemed to touch on such a broad range of topics while providing depth and detail to her characters’ stories.

She highlights the dichotomy of colonization which is apparent throughout history and across the world. The idea that a poor, huddled mass of people need to be saved from themselves by a superior group of people. Doris Baines is the perfect example of the “white savior”. The African Olinka tribe partake in oppressive rituals. The colonizers want to liberate them by imposing progressive values. With increasing force, first the missionaries and then the colonizers come to take over their land. In the process they destroy the cultural roots and identity of the tribe. This has been repeated throughout history whether it’s Africa, Asia or America.

Although Nettie was African American herself, she’s more assimilated in white culture and is torn between wanting to help the Africans and her own affiliation to the colonizers which affords her the freedom she has. Its worth noting the parallel here with many POC’s in the same situation today; who want to stand for racial injustice or speak out against white supremacy but are not in a position to do so as it clashes with their security/freedoms/comfort.

Finally, what fascinated me the most was the theme of God and Celie’s changing relationship with the idea of God throughout her life. She went from addressing her letters to God to rejecting God and finally coming to this realization –

“Here’s the thing, say Shug. The thing I believe. God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it. And sometimes it just manifest itself even if you not looking, or don’t know what you looking for. Trouble do it for most folks, I think. Sorrow, lord. Feeling like shit.

It? I ast.

Yeah, It. God ain’t a he or a she, but a It.

But what do it look like? I ast.

Don’t look like nothing, she say. It ain’t a picture show. It ain’t something you can look at apart from anything else, including yourself. I believe God is everything, say Shug. Everything that is or ever was or ever will be. And when you can feel that, and be happy to feel that, you’ve found It.

Shug a beautiful something, let me tell you. She frown a little, look out cross the yard, lean back in her chair, look like a big rose. She say, My first step from the old white man was trees. Then air. Then birds. Then other people. But one day when I was sitting quiet and feeling like a motherless child, which I was, it come to me: that feeling of being part of everything, not separate
at all. I knew that if I cut a tree, my arm would bleed. And I laughed and I cried and I run all around the house. I knew just what it was. In fact, when it happen, you can’t miss it. It sort of like you know what, she say, grinning and rubbing high up on my thigh.

Shug! I say.

Oh, she say. God love all them feelings. That’s some of the best stuff God did. And when you know God loves ’em you enjoys ’em a lot more. You can just relax, go with everything that’s going, and praise God by liking what you like.

God don’t think it dirty? I ast.

Naw, she say. God made it. Listen, God love everything you love? and a mess of stuff you don’t. But more than anything else, God love admiration.

You saying God vain? I ast.

Naw, she say. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.

What it do when it pissed off? I ast.

Oh, it make something else. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.

Yeah? I say.

Yeah, she say. It always making little surprises and springing them on us when us least expect.

You mean it want to be loved, just like the bible say.

Yes, Celie, she say. Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. You ever notice that trees do everything to git attention we do, except walk?

Well, us talk and talk bout God, but I’m still adrift. Trying to chase that old white man out of my head. I been so busy thinking bout him I never truly notice nothing God make. Not a blade of corn (how it do that?) not the color purple (where it come from?). Not the little wildflowers. Nothing. Now that my eyes opening, I feels like a fool. Next to any little scrub of a bush in my yard, Mr. ____s evil sort of shrink. But not altogether. Still, it is like Shug say, You have to git man off your eyeball, before you can see anything a’tall.

Man corrupt everything, say Shug. He on your box of grits, in your head, and all over the radio. He try to make you think he everywhere.

Soon as you think he everywhere, you think he God. But he ain’t. Whenever you trying to pray, and man plop himself on the other end of it, tell him to git lost, say Shug. Conjure up flowers, wind, water, a big rock.

But this hard work, let me tell you. He been there so long, he don’t want to budge. He threaten lightening, floods and earthquakes. Us fight. I hardly pray at all. Every time I conjure up a rock, I throw it.

Amen”

This was my singular favorite passage from the book. I highly recommend reading it. Amplifying Black voices, especially black women authors is necessary. This story is relevant to 1986 and its just as relevant in 2020.