Allison Lingreen
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“Rememory” through
Repetition and Revision – Storytelling
and Jazz Techniques as Narrative in Toni Morrison’s Beloved
by
Allison Lingren
“Anything dead coming back to life hurts.”
-Amy (Morrison, 42)
Amy, the white girl who encountered Sethe as she fled from
Sweet Home, imparted this “truth for all times” (Morrison
42) as she massaged Sethe’s swollen feet and legs back
to living limbs. However, in Toni Morrison’s Beloved,
it is not only the dead who hurt as they come back to life.
Though Beloved, the assumed reincarnation of the spirit of
Sethe’s two-year-old baby girl, certainly suffers pain
as she comes back to life, some of the ‘living’ characters
in the novel, especially Sethe and Denver, also feel the pangs
of the dead returning to life.
Sethe and Denver are burdened with histories and ‘rememories’ that
keep them chained to the past. Both women relive these memories
frequently, though Sethe would like to forget her past and
Denver clings to the few stories of her early life that she’s
been given. However, neither woman can find a way to revisit
these memories and then be at peace with them. This struggle
is magnified by the verb tense used throughout the majority
of the novel - unable to escape their haunting pasts, the prose
of their present is also written in past tense.
After Beloved, a truly ‘haunting’ aspect of Sethe
and Denver’s pasts, appears on the stump outside of 124,
she begins to take these memories from them and helps the women
reinvent them. After Beloved has helped Denver revise the story
of her birth (Morrison 91), Denver narrates a brief section
in which she experiences her fear that Beloved will leave her
in the present tense (Morrison 142). This new ability to shift
tenses suggests that Denver has begun to deal with her history
in a way that will some day allow her to live fully in the
present.
Because a large portion of the action of Beloved occurs
through this revising and retelling of past events, it seems
fitting that the style of narration used throughout the novel
is based on repetition and revision. The repetition of motives,
stories, and themes within Beloved and the
constant revision of characters’ “rememories” can
be linked to the musical traditions of jazz and the tradition
of oral story-telling. The revision of these “rememories” and
their absorption by Beloved slowly leads toward the exorcism
of Beloved and her pregnant belly, swollen with the painful
stories of the enslaved. The revision of the most heart-wrenching
memories of Sethe and Denver’s lives lead to the constant
presence of the present tense in the penultimate chapter.
In her article, “Beyond the “Literary Habit”:
Oral Tradition and Jazz in Beloved”,
Cheryl Hall argues that the narrative style of the novel emulates
the circulation of a story passed down through generations.
Stories in oral cultures serve many of the same purposes
as the repeated stories in Beloved: the transmission
of historical data, the preservation of cultural values and
ideas, the education and entertainment of children (and adults).
The knowledge transmitted is not static, however, though
essential details may be retained. It is enriched and modified
with every telling, and by each different storyteller. Tales
are told over and over again, as often as they are called
for by the listeners, or as often as the (actual or ceremonial)
need for their telling occurs. (Hall 92)
Hall uses the story
of Denver’s birth as an example
of a story “enriched and modified” by multiple
tellings. The story, which is told twice in the novel, has
Denver as the narrator on both occasions. However, the first
time, Denver tells it to herself, as a way of giving comfort. “And
the story that she recounts seems to have been handed down
straight from her mother” (Wolfe 268). This version focuses
on details that seem out-of-place in a story about a birth – Sethe’s
swollen feet, images of the afterlife – and is abruptly
ended before Denver is born, by thoughts of the white dress
Denver had seen through the window, standing next to her praying
mother.
When Denver revisits the story, it moves from a mere recitation
to a narrative performance (Wolfe 268), for and with Beloved,
who is eager to hear and absorb the story.
Now, watching Beloved’s
alert and hungry face, how she took in every word, asking
questions about the color of things and their size, her downright
craving to know, Denver began to see what she was saying
and not just hear it: there is this nineteen-year-old slavegirl – a
year older than herself – walking through the dark
woods to get to her children who are far away. She is tired,
scared maybe, and maybe even lost. (…)
Behind her dogs, perhaps; guns probably; and certainly mossy
teeth. (Morrison 91)
Up to this point, Denver has not even used
the present tense to describe her present actions, but now
she is able to tell her birth story in this way, because she
is actually experiencing it, for the first time. She is driven
to this point by Beloved’s
hunger for the story, and she feeds Beloved’s hunger “by
giving blood to the scraps her mother and grandmother had told
her – and a heartbeat. The monologue became, in fact,
a duet as they lay down together” (Morrison 92). In this
instance, the text itself suggests the connection between oral
storytelling and music, referring to Beloved and Denver’s
partnership as a ‘duet.’
While enrichment and modification are characteristics of
oral storytelling, they are also a part of the jazz tradition.
The two versions of Denver’s birth story are like a theme
and variation – Sethe’s version is the theme, to
which Denver adds her own variation, giving it “blood” and “a
heartbeat” (Morrison 92) by adding details, invented
by Denver, that change the tone and focus of the theme. Invention
is the essential ingredient of a musical variation. For instance,
in Denver’s variation, Amy has “fugitive eyes” (Morrison
92), which suggests that they would be quick and darting; in
Sethe’s theme, Amy’s eyes are “Slow-moving
eyes. She didn’t look at anything quick” (Morrison
39). However, in a latter portion of Denver’s version
of the story, Amy’s eyes are “slow-moving” (Morrison
95) again – a return to tonic after a brief excursion
on the blues scale.
There are other connecting factors between the theme and
variation: Amy comments on pain being necessary for healing
in both versions, and Denver elaborates and improvises a
monologue for Amy on the shape of the scars on her mother’s back. Early in
the novel, when Paul D. first arrives, Sethe tells him that
a “whitegirl” had told her that there was a chokecherry
tree on her back (Morrison 18). However, she never acknowledges
that it was the “whitegirl’ who helped her escape
and give birth to Denver, and it isn’t mentioned at all
in the first version of Denver’s birth story. Like any
good jazz musician, Denver took what she had heard in another
story and tied it into her birth story, elaborating on it until
it became a full musical phrase. Also, in both versions of
the story, Sethe is running from “mossy teeth” (Morrison
38, 91). Sethe uses this phrase to refer to the white men who
nursed her and took her milk at Sweet Home, but it seems unlikely
that Denver would have heard the phrase in that context. This
suggests that Sethe also is a part of the performance – some
of her original phrases are still used, since she is the only
one who knows what really happened.
However, there are some elements of the narrative performance
that seem to belong solely to its immediate participants. Denver’s
fears and Beloved’s scant knowledge of language creep
into their revision of the story, like a signature riff or
mode. Incomplete sentences like “Whose baby that?” seem
to be more along the lines of Beloved’s thought process
than Denver’s, while Denver’s childhood fear of
her mother chopping off her head when she plaited her hair
(Morrison 243) finds its way into the story through Amy’s
threat that Sethe’s head will be cut off if she is discovered.
Another example of theme and variation within the narrative
style of Beloved is the latter section of Part II.
For twenty pages, the “unspeakable thoughts” (Morrison
235) of the women of 124 are spoken. Because these twenty pages
seem to merge the gap between prose and poetry, the language
of music seems the most appropriate way to describe the interplay
between the thoughts of the three women of 124.
The section begins with individual monologues from the
women. Sethe and Denver address their thoughts to Beloved,
but even their thoughts are expressed in the past tense (Morrison
236-247). Both women begin their thoughts with a variation
on the theme “I
am Beloved and she is mine” (Morrison 248). This group
of theme and variations is somewhat strange, because the theme
is presented after its variations. When the theme is finally
presented by Beloved, the prose moves into present tense. However,
before the consciousnesses of the three women can begin to
intertwine, Beloved is forced to leave her stream-of-consciousness
thought, go back into the past tense, and speak of the day
she was murdered (Morrison 253).
After Beloved’s variation on her own theme (her journey
into past tense), the three women engage in the “call
and response” form of a jam session (Hall 94). They ask
and answer the questions that are closest to their hearts,
speaking in the simplest of sentences. They draw their “riffs” from
themes previously presented and put their own individual sound
into it. The result is a “meshing of their solo efforts
(…), a complex cacophony of sound” (Hall 94).
Together, they move through the past: “Where are your
earrings?/They took them from me”; the present: “I
am loving her too much” “You are mine”; and
surprisingly, even the future: “I will make you a round
basket” “You will never leave me again” (Morrison
254-256). This
joint venture toward the present, and even a future, suggests
that though Beloved initially had to revert to the past tense
to connect with her mother and sister, she is now able to move
them forward. In their monologues, Sethe had acknowledged her
guilt and Denver had expressed her fears, which still surface
as they begin to merge their thoughts with Beloved’s
consciousness in the “jam session,” but at less
frequent intervals.
There are several symbols that reoccur, like musical motives,
throughout the novel and connect the “rememories” and
thoughts of Sethe, Paul D., and Stamp Paid. One of the most
frequently referenced motives is trees. For example, when Sethe
and Paul D. are reuniting at the beginning of the novel, Sethe
tells him that she has a tree on her back (Morrison, 18). This
refers both to the chokecherry tree of scars and also to the
cross she must bear, which hints at her guilt and explains
the presence of the ghost of her baby.
Trees continue to represent oppression throughout the novel.
Amy referred to the chokecherry tree as being “planted” (Morrison
94) by the whiteman who whipped Sethe. This image corresponds
with Stamp Paid’s idea of the “jungle” within
black people that was planted by the fear of the whites (Morrison
234). Stamp Paid believes that the jungle grew because “coloredpeople
spent their strength trying to convince them how gentle they
were, how clever and loving, how human” (Morrison 234),
until the jungle spread to the white people who had created
the jungle within slaves in the first place. The jungle rages
within both races, but the whites are too afraid of the jungle
they’ve created to see the resemblance.
Trees also are used to describe the divide between Paul
D. and Sethe after he discovers the secrets of her past.
The moment that he informs her that she has “two feet, not four” (Morrison
194), “a forest sprang up between them; trackless and
quiet” (Morrison 194). They have reached an emotional
place where they cannot reach each other until they have fought
through their own, personal forests.
The division that the “Schoolteacher” sees between
the “human” and “animal” characteristics
of his slaves is another motive that appears outside of Sethe’s “rememory” of
overhearing the men’s discussion of her divided characteristics.
This comparison of animal behavior to human actions is found
in the description of Sethe’s reactions to threats made
toward her “best thing” (Morrison 321).
Twice, Sethe reacts to the presence of a white man with
the natural instinct of protecting her children. The first
time, she tries to do the hurting before the white man can;
the second time, she attacks the source of the perceived
threat – Edward
Bodwin. Because she does not act rationally while she is trying
to protect her children, her thought process during these moments
is portrayed as closer to that of a creature who reacts with
her gut.
In both instances, it is clear that Sethe is not thinking
rationally. Both times, she feels the same “hummingbirds
stick needle beaks right through her headcloth into her hair
and beat their wings (Morrison 192, 308).” The only difference
between this phrase in the two separate occurrences is that
the “rememory” of Beloved’s death is told
in the past tense, while Sethe’s consciousness shifts
abruptly to present tense as she loses control of rational
thought at the end of the novel. In both instances, “if
she thinks anything, it is no. No no. Nonono” (Morrison
309). In both circumstances she is described as having characteristics
of a bird: “she just flew” (Morrison 192),“She
flies. The ice pick is not in her hand; it is her hand” (Morrison
309). The frenzied panic that a threat to her children by white
men creates causes her to react instinctually, like a mother
bird.
When Edward Bodwin drives to 124 in his carriage, he sets
in motion the final recapitulation of a main theme of the novel,
Beloved’s murder. This reenactment of the events that
led to Beloved’s murder may be the reason why Beloved
disappears. Once the memory most important to her is revised,
with her mother attacking the (in this case, perceived) threat,
instead of her, it seems that Beloved is able to let go and
leave the residents of 124 to live in the present. She also
takes the contents of her pregnant belly, which contains all
of the painful stories told to her by Sethe and Denver, before
the contents can escape to become an even more grotesque manifestation
of the suffering of the enslaved.
Though the revision of Beloved’s murder helps to exorcise
her, there is another revision that also may have contributed
to her disappearance. In the scene where Beloved, Denver, and
Sethe go ice skating, the phrase “Nobody saw them falling” (Morrison
205, 206) is repeated three times. This refers not only to
their stumbles while ice skating, but also to the blind eye
turned by blacks and whites alike after Sethe killed Beloved.
In the reenactment of Beloved’s murder, not only is the
chorus of black women looking at Beloved, but so is Edward
Bodwin. As he approaches, Beloved sees “A hill of black
people, falling. And above them all, rising from his place
with a whip in his hand, a man without skin, looking. He is
looking at her” (Morrison 309). Perhaps Beloved is able
to disappear because she knows that she has been seen and that
a white person has seen her family falling.
However, if Beloved somehow had hopes that all of these
eye-witnesses would cause her to be remembered, she was mistaken.
The penultimate chapter, which deals with the promise of
Denver’s future
and Paul D.’s return to a broken Sethe, is written completely
in present tense prose, a first for the entire novel. The last
chapter begins in present tense, but reverts to past tense
when it is revealed that no one remembers Beloved, that she
has been forgotten, “like a bad dream” (Morrison
323).
This shift in tense is introduced by a phrase that becomes
the last repetition and revision of the novel. It is repeated
three times, and moves from past to present tense: “It
was not a story to pass on/ It was not a story to pass on/
This is not a story to pass on” (Morrison 323-324). Joanna
Wolfe suggests that the repeated phrase serves like the refrain
of a song (Wolfe 278). Each repeat of the refrain can be interpreted
differently: perhaps the first is advising the reader that
this story should not be retold, while the second is saying
that it can not be overlooked. The third repetition, with the
shift of tenses, is the most ambiguous, but the line that comes
directly before it is “They can touch it if they like,
but don’t, because they know things will never be the
same if they do” (Morrison 324). This line brings the
previous meanings of the refrain together: the characters of
the novel could remember Beloved if they wanted, but her memory
brings up so many new, painful memories that if they did “rememory” her,
they might revert to the kind of lives they were leading before
she came – a life too connected with the past. Therefore,
the last refrain leaves us with a deceptive cadence, a line
that sounds like the conclusion of something important, but
is really just leading the reader onto a bigger, more final
cadence, which is, “Beloved” (Morrison 324).
Works Cited
Hall, Cheryl. “Beyond the ‘literary habit’:
Oral tradition and jazz in Beloved.” MELUS 19.1
(Spring 1994): 89-96. Academic Search Premiere. Millikin University,
Decatur, IL. 19 November 2007.
Morrison, Toni. Beloved.
New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1987.
Wolfe, Joanna. “‘Ten minutes for Seven Letters’:
Song as Key to Narrative Revision in Toni
Morrison’s Beloved.” Narrative 12.3 (Oct.
2004): 263-280. Academic Search
Premiere. Millikin University, Decatur, IL. 14 November 2007.
Works Consulted
Berret, Anthony J. "Toni Morrison's Literary Jazz." College
Language Association Journal 32.3 (March 1989): 267-83.
Eppert, Claudia. “Histories
Re-imagined, Forgotten, and Forgiven: student responses to
Toni Morrison’s Beloved.” Changing
English: Studies in Reading and Culture 10.2 (October
2003): 185-194. Academic Search Premiere. Millikin University,
Decatur, IL. 14 November 2007.
Solomon, Barbara, ed. Critical Essays on
Toni Morrison’s Beloved. New
York: G.K. Hall;
London: Prentice Hall International, 1998.
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