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3.5 stars
Reread

Like the two children they are at the beginning of Frank’s narration, he and his sister Cee are clueless to much around them, even as they get older, and especially in comparison to the reader. For example, the reader knows what the titles of the books that Cee encounters at her new job at a doctor’s home office mean and becomes fearful for what will happen to her, though she is happy and hopeful. The reader is spared viewing the actual horror of what does happens, as the book then shifts back to Frank. The horror is deferred and implied, later soothed by the women in the hometown that the two siblings had been happy to leave.

Cee’s process of self-actualization reminded me of Florens in A Mercy. Each young woman has to learn to not follow a man, even when it's done through love. Other Morrison traits in this even shorter work than A Mercy include metafiction—her character talking directly to and challenging the author herself—and the 'magical realism' of a mysterious zoot-suited man who appears a few times. The main difference from Morrison's usual work is the easier prose, though that's deceptive in comparison to its meanings and themes.

I am on my way to fulfilling the vow of the last paragraph of my earlier review of this book (see below) -- only one more Morrison for my rereading project and I'm feeling the lack already, though I look forward to rereading Jazz again, in particular, probably many years down the road.


Previous review:

I would never dare to criticize Toni Morrison; I love the way she writes. I love the way she writes in this novella too, but anything I'd say about this book would be subject to how much more strongly I felt about her other novels. (It's the way I tend to rate any author of whom I've read more than one work.) And I admit that if this book were written by any other writer (or if it were the first thing I'd read by her), I most likely would've given it a solid 4 stars.

I especially liked the first 3/4 of it, perhaps the ending seemed too rushed to me. And if there is anyone who thinks Morrison can't write in a more conventional, accessible style, read this one, because here she does; and the language is clear, crisp, and beautiful.

One day, perhaps several years from now, I plan on rereading, in order, all her novels (I've only reread her Beloved) and I will reread this one. Anything she writes is worth reading more than once.