16. Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison (1977, 341 pages, read Mar 30 – Apr 13)There is something fun in the curious way Morrison presents this. Things happen that make us wonder. Every character seems to have a name that is clearly meaningful, and yet it’s never clear what they mean. And, actually, we never seem to be fully in reality. Even the location, somewhere near a not-inspiring Flint, MI and yet where one can look over Lake Superior, is impossible. But why?Names do come about in a wonderful variety of forms, including three Macom Deads, the second naming his daughters Magdalena and First Corinthians, and a having an estranged sister named Pilate. Pilate, a somewhat goddess like character without a navel, is unmarried with an unmarried daughter and granddaughter, that later one named Hagar. The third Macom Dead, the book’s main character, acquires the name Milkman initially because his mother nursed him too long (till he was about 8?), but Milkman grows up unaware of the origin of his name. His best friend is Guitar. And so on.The story is a coming of age of sorts, even if Milkman’s coming of age takes place in his thirties. He must somehow be driven to leave his comfortable and stifled middle class life (funded by his father’s success as a slumlord), and travel through his family's past, ending up in a dirt-poor black community somewhere in Virginia. He finds mythical and real roots, perspective, and a very different view of life. But he leaves a kind of wreckage behind along the way. And the ending is a most precarious one. There are many things going on through out this novel. Some seem to be clear, such as the racially conscious tone and the criticism of middle-class blacks as rootless, soulless imitations of white people. The mythological links to the Odyssey in Milkman’s travels. And again in the opening Icarus-like scene where salesman Robert Smith dives off a tall building intending to fly, leaving behind a note that says something simply like, “I love you all,” and very powerfully illustrating the black glass ceiling, where black professional prospects cannot exceed. But this only touches the surface. The reader is left to ponder, and ponder widely as there is simply no easy take. This books goes many places, and the tracks are obscured. When I put it down, I simply had no response. A good book, but how good? And what was the point? After much thinking and reading a Bloom’s collection of essays on it, I still can’t clearly answer that second question, although I can say this is a pretty good book. Enjoyed it.