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A review by teresatumminello
Tar Baby by Toni Morrison
4.0
Reread
I remembered practically nothing from my first read of this (thirty years ago), so it was all fresh, though I did have Morrison’s comments about the folktale she was exploring (not retelling) in my head. In the version she heard growing up, the tar baby was female; the big implication being it was a Black seductress.
An obvious “tar baby” of the novel is Jadine, her real name insisted upon by Son, even as she is called Jade by her benefactors, friends, and in her career. Son insists on Yardman being called by his real name too (Gideon); the same with the true names of the indigenous women of the island who are dismissively called Mary by the colonizers. There’s an irony to this insistence as Son, a man on the run, has several fake identifications.
Jade is seduced by Son, as much as (or more than) the other way around. When he first enters her bedroom, though she is unaware of the intrusion, he is the one that smells like tar. The romantic scenes off the fictional Caribbean island and in New York might’ve been too much, but they’re needed for what comes next, in the small North Florida town Son is from then back in NYC when the relationship swings violent. At one point Son tries to warn Jade with the Tar Baby story, starting it with an emphasis on “the white farmer.” She threatens to kill him if he continues. The eyes of the ‘white farmer’ of Morrison’s novel are “without melanin” and his name is Valerian.
One of the most striking scenes is a fantastical one of Jade being sucked into tarry quicksand under trees on the island that also want to gather her in. No one has thrown her in the ‘briar patch;’ she has gone there willingly. She thinks she needs someone to help her out, but no one is nearby. What is the island trying to tell her? Is she now the rabbit? There’s no doubt who the rabbit is by the end of the book, and it’s not Jadine.
Morrison said all the characters in this book are looking for safety. I’d call it security, but it’s the same thing—a never-ending, elusive quest of imperfect beings who think they can find it in other imperfect beings.
I remembered practically nothing from my first read of this (thirty years ago), so it was all fresh, though I did have Morrison’s comments about the folktale she was exploring (not retelling) in my head. In the version she heard growing up, the tar baby was female; the big implication being it was a Black seductress.
An obvious “tar baby” of the novel is Jadine, her real name insisted upon by Son, even as she is called Jade by her benefactors, friends, and in her career. Son insists on Yardman being called by his real name too (Gideon); the same with the true names of the indigenous women of the island who are dismissively called Mary by the colonizers. There’s an irony to this insistence as Son, a man on the run, has several fake identifications.
Jade is seduced by Son, as much as (or more than) the other way around. When he first enters her bedroom, though she is unaware of the intrusion, he is the one that smells like tar. The romantic scenes off the fictional Caribbean island and in New York might’ve been too much, but they’re needed for what comes next, in the small North Florida town Son is from then back in NYC when the relationship swings violent. At one point Son tries to warn Jade with the Tar Baby story, starting it with an emphasis on “the white farmer.” She threatens to kill him if he continues. The eyes of the ‘white farmer’ of Morrison’s novel are “without melanin” and his name is Valerian.
One of the most striking scenes is a fantastical one of Jade being sucked into tarry quicksand under trees on the island that also want to gather her in. No one has thrown her in the ‘briar patch;’ she has gone there willingly. She thinks she needs someone to help her out, but no one is nearby. What is the island trying to tell her? Is she now the rabbit? There’s no doubt who the rabbit is by the end of the book, and it’s not Jadine.
Morrison said all the characters in this book are looking for safety. I’d call it security, but it’s the same thing—a never-ending, elusive quest of imperfect beings who think they can find it in other imperfect beings.