Toni Morrison

Read the searing first novel from the celebrated author of Beloved, which immerses us in the tragic, torn lives of a poor black family in post-Depression 1940s Ohio. Unlovely and unloved, Pecola prays each night for blue eyes like those of her privileged white schoolfellows. At once intimate and expansive, unsparing in its truth-telling, The Bluest Eye shows how the past savagely defines the present. A powerful examination of our obsession with beauty and conformity, Toni Morrison’s virtuosic first novel asks powerful questions about race, class, and gender with the subtlety and grace that have always characterised her writing. ‘She revealed the sins of her nation, while profoundly elevating its canon. She suffused the telling of blackness with beauty, whilst steering us away from the perils of the white gaze. That’s why she told her stories. And why we will never, ever stop reading them’ Afua Hirsch ‘Discovering a writer like Toni Morrison is rarest of pleasures’ Washington Post ‘When she arrived, with her first novel, The Bluest Eye, she immediately re-ordered the American literary landscape’ Ben Okri Winner of the PEN/Saul Bellow award for achievement in American fiction

The Bluest Eye

Pecola Breedlove, a young black girl, prays every day for beauty. Mocked by other children for the dark skin, curly hair, and brown eyes that set her apart, she yearns for normalcy, for the blond hair and blue eyes that she believes will allow her to finally fit in.Yet as her dream grows more fervent, her life slowly starts to disintegrate in the face of adversity and strife. A powerful examination of our obsession with beauty and conformity, Toni Morrison's virtuosic first novel asks powerful questions about race, class, and gender with the subtlety and grace that have always characterized her writing.
(back cover)

A Novel

aywen

Guileless and without vanity, we were still in love with ourselves then. We felt comfortable in our skins, enjoyed the news that our senses released to us, admired our dirt, cultivated our scars, and could not comprehend this unworthiness.

They seemed to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up into a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds—cooled—and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path.

Their conversation is like a gently wicked dance: sound meets sound, curtsies, shimmies, and retires. Another sound enters but is upstaged by still another: the two circle each other and stop. Sometimes their words move in lofty spirals; other times they take strident leaps, and all of it is punctuated with warm-pulsed laughter—like the throb of a heart made of jelly. The edge, the curl, the thrust of their emotions is always clear to Frieda and me. We do not, cannot, know the meanings of all their words, for we are nine and ten years old. So we watch their faces, their hands, their feet, and listen for truth in timbre.

To commemorate Morrison's winning the Nobel Prize for Literature, Knopf here republishes her full canon of novels. This edition of "The Bluest Eye" (1970) contains a new afterword by the author.

Aina

Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another—physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion.

There was a hint of spring in her sloe green eyes, something summery in her complexion, and a rich autumn ripeness in her walk.

Lukas

We looked for eyes creased with concern, but saw only veils. 

You looked at them and wondered why they were so ugly; you looked closely and could not find the source. Then you realized that it came from conviction, their conviction […] They had looked about themselves and saw nothing to contradict the statement; saw, in fact, support for it leaning at them from every billboard, every movie, every glance.

If Cholly had stopped drinking, she would never have forgiven Jesus. She needed Cholly's sins desperately. The lower he sank, the wilder and more irresponsible he became, the more splendid she and her task became.  

Misery colored by the greens and blues in my mother's voice took all of the grief out of the words and left me with a conviction that pain was not only endurable, it was sweet.

Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover's inward eye.

And all of our beauty, which was hers first and which she gave to us. All of us -all who knew her-felt so wholesome after we cleaned ourselves on her. We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness. 

Then Pecola asked a question that had never entered my mind. "How do you do that? I mean, how do you get somebody to love you?" But Frieda was asleep. And I didn't know.

There is really nothing more to say - except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how. 

Ellen Scott

“plucking her way between the tire rims and the sunflowers, between Coke bottles and milkweed, among all the waste and beauty of the world — which is what she was herself. All of our waste which we dumped on her and which she absorbed. And all of our beauty, which was hers first and which she gave to us.

clara

This soil is bad for certain kinds of flowers. Certain seeds it will not nurture, certain fruit it will not bear, and when the land kills of its own volition, we acquiesce and say the victim had no right to live. We are wrong, of course, but it doesn't matter. Its too late. 

Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked peo- ple love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover's inward eye.

Our astonishment was short-lived, for it gave way to a curious kind of defensive shame; we were embarrassed for Pecola, hurt for her, and finally we just felt sorry for her. (..) And I believe our sorrow was the more intense because nobody else seemed to share it. They were disgusted, amused, shocked, outraged, or even excited by the story. But we listened for the one who would say, "Poor little girl," or, “Poor baby," but there was only head-wagging where those words should have been. We looked for eyes creased with concern, but saw only veils. I thought about the baby that everybody wanted dead, and saw it very clearly. (..) More strongly than my fondness for Pecola, I felt a need for someone to want the black baby to live just to counteract the universal love of white baby dolls(..)

Anger is better. There is a sense of being in anger. A reality and presence. An awareness of worth. It is a lovey surging. 

Thrown, in this way, into the binding conviction that only a miracle could relieve her, she would never know her beauty. She would see only what there was to see: the eyes of other people.

Only her tight, tight eyes were left. They were always left. Try as she might, she could never get her eyes to disappear. So what was the point? They were everything. Everything was there, in them. All of those pictures, all of those faces. 

Misery colored by the greens and blues in my mother's voice took all of the grief out of the words and left me with a conviction that pain was not only endurable, it was sweet. 

 If happiness is anticipation with certainty, we were happy. 

We had dropped our seeds in our own little plot of black dirt just as Pecola's father had dropped his seeds in his own plot of black dirt. Our innocence and faith were no more productive than his lust or despair. What is clear now is that of all of that hope, fear, lust, love, and grief, nothing remains but Pecola and the unyielding earth. Cholly Breedlove is dead; Our innocence too. The seeds shriveled and died; her baby too. There is really nothing more to say except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how.

Sophia Bowers

Content warning: brief discussion of rape/sexual assault

Toni Morrison explains her inspiration for writing The Bluest Eye in the foreword to this edition. A core memory of hers, she recalls a child she knew in elementary school who, seemingly in despair of seeing herself ugly, wished for blue eyes—Morrison, even as a young girl, was horrified at the discordant image of a black girl with blue eyes, and was astonished that a girl could even think that would be preferable to her natural features. Later, writing the novel, she sought to explore how this phenomenon can arise in a girl—in other words, who put the thought in her head that her own inherent characteristics are ugly and undesirable? How does a racialised sense of beauty emerge? How can some people resist a racist self-critique of themselves, while others internalise a sense that, yes, they are ugly, and they are ugly because they are not white? 

The Bluest Eye explores this theme through the character of Pecola, a black 11-year-old girl from a broken and dysfunctional family based in Morrison’s hometown of Lorain, Ohio in the early 1940s. Pecola is the central character of the novel, but the narration switches between several others, in both first person and third-close/omniscient narration. Other main characters include Pecola’s schoolmates Claudia and Freida, and Pecola’s parents, Cholly and Pauline. Pecola wishes for blue eyes, and this is the driving force of the novel, but Morrison builds a world around this poor girl, a multigenerational story of trauma and hardship, and places her in the jostling, brutal, semi-fictional version of Lorain. What you get is a story about many things at once: internalised racism, beauty, abuse, colourism, the inheritance of trauma, and the manipulation of children and childhood.

A focus on the latter, because the children in this novel, especially Pecola, undergo some horrific abuse at the hands of trusted adults and the children they’re friends with. From the second chapter you are told that Pecola has miscarried her father’s child, and she, and other children, endure sexual assault, physical assaults, and racism throughout The Bluest Eye. It is, without a doubt, a despairing, draining read, often distressing at points, and you feel awful for the victims in the novel. But Morrison’s scope is wider, almost sociological, not only showing the awful acts these children are victims to, but also providing a genealogy of abuse, showing how race-based trauma resurfaces throughout a person’s life. In the sense that we are given the family backstory of some of the ‘monsters’ in this novel, including Cholly, the man who rapes his daughter, and Morrison, attempting the balancing act of explaining while not overly sympathising, shows how hatred and despair can sprout and be carried with people through their lives, only to find itself exploding and disfiguring another victim.

Beauty and race is therefore not just a separate theme from the intergenerational trauma, but inextricably linked. For what is a sense of ugliness other than the intense otherisation caused by a racist society? What is internalised racism other than a wish to free yourself from the cruelty and violence of this same society? A person, like Pecola, places the blame on herself and not society, because society itself has taught her that she has no inherent value, and therefore the blame for her ugliness lies within herself. What is her wish for blue eyes other than a desire to live?

Morrison’s prose is fluid and lyrical, and she often switches up her style between chapters, as she shifts from first- to third-person, from colloquialisms to standardised language. Some chapters are highly experimental in their stuttering, affected style, which sometimes reminded me of Faulkner. Oftentimes her prose escapes the cognitive abilities of her protagonists and examines closely the smallest gesture, explaining every thought behind a look in someone’s eye, something I could see other authors fail spectacularly at, but not her. But although I enjoyed the prose a lot, it definitely takes a back seat, in my opinion, to the actual events of the novel itself (which seems to be a rarity in what I’ve been reading recently), and Morrison lets some of the horror speak for itself.

I still harbour some reservations about this novel, however. Morrison in her foreword explains some of her own shortcomings in the novel which, although I feel she is being too harsh on herself, I can reiterate these criticisms to some degree. The novel attempts an uncomfortable and difficult task—that of psychologising Cholly, and asking from the readers some sympathy for his background, even when we know, from the beginning, that he rapes his daughter. Morrison explains her non-linear storytelling with the intention of reducing the amount of sympathy one has with Pecola and increasing our own self-examination as to how we are all agents in perpetuating the kind of internalised racism that can exist. But to me, the non-linear story—or, at least, how it’s specifically arranged—kind of stultifies the intended effect—we are quick to demonise Cholly and feel bad for Pecola. The conditions that create Cholly are exorcised from the fact that we are immediately primed to see him as evil and irredeemable. The structure of the novel’s ending, in which a rather extensive chapter is dedicated to a minor character with some gratuitous detail of paedophilia also left me uncertain.

However, it was fascinating seeing Morrison’s thought process both in the foreword and in watching author interviews she did. It is clear she is extremely meticulous and thinks deeply on the art of writing. This was her first ever published novel and I feel it shows the signs of an artist burgeoning and coming into her own, and the amount of things explored within such a relatively short novel—well, I could be writing pages and pages here. I am definitely interested in reading more of her later work, which I have no doubt will improve upon this, which is already a fantastic read.

shain

Content warning: brief discussion of rape/sexual assault

Toni Morrison explains her inspiration for writing The Bluest Eye in the foreword to this edition. A core memory of hers, she recalls a child she knew in elementary school who, seemingly in despair of seeing herself ugly, wished for blue eyes—Morrison, even as a young girl, was horrified at the discordant image of a black girl with blue eyes, and was astonished that a girl could even think that would be preferable to her natural features. Later, writing the novel, she sought to explore how this phenomenon can arise in a girl—in other words, who put the thought in her head that her own inherent characteristics are ugly and undesirable? How does a racialised sense of beauty emerge? How can some people resist a racist self-critique of themselves, while others internalise a sense that, yes, they are ugly, and they are ugly because they are not white? 

The Bluest Eye explores this theme through the character of Pecola, a black 11-year-old girl from a broken and dysfunctional family based in Morrison’s hometown of Lorain, Ohio in the early 1940s. Pecola is the central character of the novel, but the narration switches between several others, in both first person and third-close/omniscient narration. Other main characters include Pecola’s schoolmates Claudia and Freida, and Pecola’s parents, Cholly and Pauline. Pecola wishes for blue eyes, and this is the driving force of the novel, but Morrison builds a world around this poor girl, a multigenerational story of trauma and hardship, and places her in the jostling, brutal, semi-fictional version of Lorain. What you get is a story about many things at once: internalised racism, beauty, abuse, colourism, the inheritance of trauma, and the manipulation of children and childhood.

A focus on the latter, because the children in this novel, especially Pecola, undergo some horrific abuse at the hands of trusted adults and the children they’re friends with. From the second chapter you are told that Pecola has miscarried her father’s child, and she, and other children, endure sexual assault, physical assaults, and racism throughout The Bluest Eye. It is, without a doubt, a despairing, draining read, often distressing at points, and you feel awful for the victims in the novel. But Morrison’s scope is wider, almost sociological, not only showing the awful acts these children are victims to, but also providing a genealogy of abuse, showing how race-based trauma resurfaces throughout a person’s life. In the sense that we are given the family backstory of some of the ‘monsters’ in this novel, including Cholly, the man who rapes his daughter, and Morrison, attempting the balancing act of explaining while not overly sympathising, shows how hatred and despair can sprout and be carried with people through their lives, only to find itself exploding and disfiguring another victim.

Beauty and race is therefore not just a separate theme from the intergenerational trauma, but inextricably linked. For what is a sense of ugliness other than the intense otherisation caused by a racist society? What is internalised racism other than a wish to free yourself from the cruelty and violence of this same society? A person, like Pecola, places the blame on herself and not society, because society itself has taught her that she has no inherent value, and therefore the blame for her ugliness lies within herself. What is her wish for blue eyes other than a desire to live?

Morrison’s prose is fluid and lyrical, and she often switches up her style between chapters, as she shifts from first- to third-person, from colloquialisms to standardised language. Some chapters are highly experimental in their stuttering, affected style, which sometimes reminded me of Faulkner. Oftentimes her prose escapes the cognitive abilities of her protagonists and examines closely the smallest gesture, explaining every thought behind a look in someone’s eye, something I could see other authors fail spectacularly at, but not her. But although I enjoyed the prose a lot, it definitely takes a back seat, in my opinion, to the actual events of the novel itself (which seems to be a rarity in what I’ve been reading recently), and Morrison lets some of the horror speak for itself.

I still harbour some reservations about this novel, however. Morrison in her foreword explains some of her own shortcomings in the novel which, although I feel she is being too harsh on herself, I can reiterate these criticisms to some degree. The novel attempts an uncomfortable and difficult task—that of psychologising Cholly, and asking from the readers some sympathy for his background, even when we know, from the beginning, that he rapes his daughter. Morrison explains her non-linear storytelling with the intention of reducing the amount of sympathy one has with Pecola and increasing our own self-examination as to how we are all agents in perpetuating the kind of internalised racism that can exist. But to me, the non-linear story—or, at least, how it’s specifically arranged—kind of stultifies the intended effect—we are quick to demonise Cholly and feel bad for Pecola. The conditions that create Cholly are exorcised from the fact that we are immediately primed to see him as evil and irredeemable. The structure of the novel’s ending, in which a rather extensive chapter is dedicated to a minor character with some gratuitous detail of paedophilia also left me uncertain.

However, it was fascinating seeing Morrison’s thought process both in the foreword and in watching author interviews she did. It is clear she is extremely meticulous and thinks deeply on the art of writing. This was her first ever published novel and I feel it shows the signs of an artist burgeoning and coming into her own, and the amount of things explored within such a relatively short novel—well, I could be writing pages and pages here. I am definitely interested in reading more of her later work, which I have no doubt will improve upon this, which is already a fantastic read.

I can’t write a review for this—I simply can’t. Toni Morrison is far too superior for any word to be uttered from my unworthy mouth, even in praise. I fear my own inadequacy might somehow diminish her, and that thought alone is unbearable. Note: I just watched 

 simultaneously... This is the worst day of my life.

🏹

I can’t write a review for this—I simply can’t. Toni Morrison is far too superior for any word to be uttered from my unworthy mouth, even in praise. I fear my own inadequacy might somehow diminish her, and that thought alone is unbearable. Note: I just watched La Haine (1996) and finished The Bluest Eye simultaneously... This is the worst day of my life.

This was so sad. Cant believe this was Mrs Morrisons debut book. Amazing.

Rach

Maureen

"You looked at them and wondered why they were so ugly; you looked closely and could not find the source. Then you realized that it came from conviction, their conviction. It was as though some mysterious all-knowing master had given each one a cloak of ugliness to wear, and they had each accepted it without question."

Wow. Just wow. I read this with the hope that it could serve as the novel for my thesis. I can't say for sure yet if I'll go with this—but even if it doesn't end up being the one, I definitely have no regrets reading this book. My first Morrison! What happens when notions of beauty intersect with race, gender, and relationships? You get a masterpiece called The Bluest Eye.

The novel confronts heavy issues and my heart honestly broke for the characters multiple times throughout. While Pecola experiences the worst downfall, I couldn't help but feel devastated for Mrs. Breedlove too. I think it was clever of Morrison to introduce this character without initially mentioning her first name. She is depicted to be cold and authoritative to her children; they don't even call her mother—only 'Mrs. Breedlove.' I flipped through the novel thinking she was a heartless old soul; but some hundred pages later, Morrison stunned me by providing Pauline's heartbreaking backstory. Afterward, I could never look at her the same way. 

So thank you, Toni Morrison, for reminding us once again of how humans belong to multiple social categories throughout their lives. While it is a given that women are more disadvantaged than men in society, it wouldn't be fair to equate the experiences of white women with black women, as The Bluest Eye makes it painfully clear just how different the latter's situation truly is.

Sohini Roy

several parts of this book were difficult for me to get through because of the alternating present-day events alongside flashbacks of other characters in the past, but overall very well-written. i don't necessarily think anything about it should be changed because it completely makes sense to reflect on a character's past in order to explain their present-day character, but occasionally a slow-paced flashback would be slightly taxing to get through because of morrison's intricate language usage. i also wish there was were more chapters consisting of pecola's point of view. overall extremely sad but a good portrayal of racial and societal issues in the 1940s.

Bria

Clay Carey

Jim Hagan

"We looked for eyes creased with concern, but saw only veils."

Heartbreaking, magical.

In many ways beautiful descriptive writing and searing indictment of structural racism; also found it hard to be compelled. 

the Yale lecture on the book was a lot more illuminating in terms of what the book was trying to do (bring empathy for different characters, how that is different at the time).

Shohini Gupta

In many ways beautiful descriptive writing and searing indictment of structural racism; also found it hard to be compelled. 

the Yale lecture on the book was a lot more illuminating in terms of what the book was trying to do (bring empathy for different characters, how that is different at the time).

Jessica Biwang

I cannot believe I was able to finish this novel with so many trigger warnings involved. Please read at your own risk.

Bluest Eye Bce

The way Toni writes abt the world from a kids perspective is insane her style is encompassing 

Bailee Strong

Deepika Ramesh

My best friend, who is an undergrad in English Literature, was surprised when I admitted that I haven’t read Toni Morrison. She said, “I couldn’t sleep for two nights after I read The Bluest Eye. Maybe, you should start with that.” I ordered the book that very moment. No surprises there. :)

When the book was delivered, I told my friend that I was beginning to read The Bluest Eye; she sent me the best tease ever. “Enjoy the pain!” I didn’t know what she meant then. I presumed that the book might be sad, and depressing, and that I would drown in my own tears. Mind you, not all touching books make me cry. Some unassuming books like Michael Morpurgo’s The Butterfly Lion, and Gabrielle Zevin’s The Storied Life of AJ Fikry made me sob like a baby. :) Because they warmed my heart.

So, I braced myself to enter a dark world constructed by Toni Morrison. I finished reading it last night, and I didn’t cry. But, I shuddered. I shuddered like I held hands with Frieda, and Claudia, and saw Pecola’s life shatter into smithereens. I shuddered as though I was guilty for not having done anything to help Pecola. I shuddered because the pain was raw. It was so raw and deep that my eyes went dry; I had no tear to shed. The Bluest Eye has scarred me for life. But, that’s not a complaint. One can’t complain because extraordinary books are bound to do that to emotional readers.

I found The Bluest Eye unsettling from the very beginning, from the time I learnt that ‘there were no marigolds in the fall of 1941… because Pecola was having her father’s baby that the marigolds did not grow.' I felt a lump grow in my throat. It kept growing and growing when Morrison revealed that Pecola was a diffident 11-year-old black girl, who was bullied at school, found no love at home, and raped by her own father. And ironically, her last name was Breedlove.

Pecola’s life could be a curse by itself. But, what made Pecola unhappy was that her eyes were not blue. She wanted the bluest eyes in the world. Did she pray for blue eyes because she thought the world would embrace her, and not ridicule her for being ‘black and ugly‘? Morrison wrote in her foreword and afterword, “Who planted that thought in her head? Who made her believe that blue eyes are beautiful?” Morrison asked those questions on our behalf. Morrison asked those questions for people, who are made to feel small about their appearances, which are not in their control.

“Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another — physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion.”

When poor Pecola went to a phony healer and dream interpreter, asking him to change her eyes’ colour, her helpless act was reminiscent of Philip Carey’s (the protagonist of Of Human Bondage) desperate prayers. He would sleep naked on the coldest night, hoping God would make him ‘normal’, and make his club-foot disappear. The next morning, he would wake up to see his feet not touched by God, and from then on he would withdraw his love for God, becoming an atheist. All for appearance, which is the most transient element of human life.

The most striking aspect in The Bluest Eye was Morrison’s choice to not antagonise three sex-workers, who were Pecola’s neighbours. Morrison didn’t offer sympathy either. They were what they were. And, after Frieda and Claudia (Pecola’s friends, who were as old as herself), they were the ones who didn’t see Pecola through the prejudiced tinted glasses, which everybody else wore. I loved them, and their curious names — China, Poland, and Miss Marie.

“Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover’s inward eye.”

Unlike Philip Carey, who made peace with his clubfoot, the young, gullible Pecola lost her sanity in the war against what’s carelessly called a society. And, that’s what would happen to a girl, who was raped twice by her father, and excluded by her community. Sanity, the most fragile thing of all, is the first to cave in. Maybe, just maybe, Pecola was happy there, in the world that’s created by her madness, in the company of her imaginary friend, who sang praises about her blue eyes. At least, she was free from prejudices there.

The Bluest Eye was Morrison’s raw, profound, excruciating commentary on racism, feminism, human rights, love, sex, mental health, and many more significant themes which are still alarmingly relevant.

I find it alarmingly relevant because most of us — women particularly — receive unsolicited advice about the aesthetic importance of shaving armpits, waxing the part between the nose and the upper lip, wearing matching lingerie, trying fad diets to attain size zero, only to look more feminine. One cannot go about changing the nincompoops, who offer such futile advice, but one can seek solace in a book like The Bluest Eye that transcends the definition of beauty.

You — regardless of wherever you are, however you look, whatever people say about you — are beautiful!

hileahrious

I’d say this book does justice to its principle message... demonstrating the devastating and disgusting reality that young black girls experience when it comes to beauty (especially given the time period). The message is still important today as white, blue-eyed, pristine beauty is constantly forced upon society as the ideal. The only part of the book that seemed excessive or unnecessary was the delving into of the character Soaphead Church... a disturbed pervert who for me didn’t add much to the plot or message. Not a comfortable read, but that’s precisely the point, as Morrison explains she wants the readers to judge themselves and see how they contribute to the very problem the book unveils.

my first toni morrison book ever and it changed the trajectory of my life

so many images in this will sit with me for the rest of my life

Emma Younger

jennifer 

The alienation that comes with beauty standards and the drive for love shouldn’t ever be underestimated. Tough but vulnerable read that provides a very clear window to every characters worldview. And great writing ofc. i usually don’t read notes but the context provided at the end is brilliant and so worth it.

Jaden Nelson

For now this is 5 stars. I had an idea of what it might be like to read a Toni Morrison book, and I am pleasantly surprised that I enjoyed the ride and didn't feel too pretentious along the way despite the very heavy-handed moral infusion in her books. 

 I think I shall be reading this book in a physical format someday, but my first pass of it as an audiobook was fantastic. Toni Morrison's narration is perfect for all characters, specifically Piccola. The helplessness and indifference that Toni Morrison affects in her voice is absolutely perfect (although audio was hard because the writing of this book is so elegant and beautiful that I frequently had to rewind passages to relisten and take it in).

I loved Morrison's writing style more than anything else. I thought her narrative building was wonderful, and I found her characters to be excellently crafted. In her author's note, she says 
"I didn't want to dehumanize the characters who trashed Picola and contributed to her collapse. One problem was that centering the weight of the novel on so delicate and vulnerable a character could smash her. This leaves readers ending up pitying her instead of interrogating themselves for the smashing. My solution was to break the narrative into parts that had to be reassembled by the reader. The exclusion does not satisfy me now. Many readers remain touched, but not moved…”"

These are some parts of the book/concepts explored/sections of writing that I enjoyed
-"Slowly, like Indian summer moving imperceptibly towards fall, somewhere between retina and object, between vision and view, his eyes draw back and hover at some point in time and space, he senses that he need not waste the effort of a glance. How can a 52-year-old immigrant store owner with the taste of potatoes and beer in his mouth see a little black girl"

-"And all of our beauty, which was hers first, and which she gave to us all of us, all who knew her felt so wholesome after we cleaned ourselves of her. We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness, her simplicity deprecated us, her guilt sanctified us, her pain made us glow with Health. Her inarticulateness made us believe we were eloquent. Her poverty kept us generous."

-Author's note "When I started writing The Bluest Eye, I was interested in something else, not resistance to the contempt of others or ways to deflect it, but to find the tragic and disabling consequences of accepting rejection as legitimate, self-evident."

fiona

Michaella 

I don't know what to say about this book. It made me think, it made me uncomfortable but most of all, the story and lyrical left me in awe. Pecola's story will not be for everyone nor will it be understood, but it needs to be told. It's a cautionary tale that comments on the impact of racism, toxic masculinity, grief, pain and the Black experience of that time.

Kamu Pancholi

Easily one of my favorite books this year!! Toni Morrison is just an incredibly talented author, and I think this book was written masterfully. So beautiful in its assessment of the depths of human cruelty and the consequences of our relationships. 10/10

The Bluest Eye is Toni Morrison's first novel, a book heralded for its richness of language and boldness of vision. Set in the author's girlhood hometown of Lorain, Ohio, it tells the story of black, eleven-year-old Pecola Breedlove. Pecola prays for her eyes to turn blue so that she will be as beautiful and beloved as all the blond, blue-eyed children in America. In the autumn of 1941, the year the marigolds in the Breedlove's garden do not blom, Pecola's life does change--in painful, devastating ways.

With it's vivid evocation of the fear and loneliness at the heart of a child's yearning, and the tragedy of its fulfillment, The Bluest Eye remains one of Toni Morrison's most powerful, unforgettable novels--and a significant work of American fiction.
--back cover

Michael Springer

Jackie Beauregard

Jenna Bush on The Today show just recommend this book for the month of December! YAY! I read it a few years ago ! It is so good ! Everyone should read this book .

farah

took a while to get invested into the story, but it gets better as it goes. Listened to the audiobook but I think I'd have preferred a hardcopy

The Bluest Eye

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