And the winner is......

Upon completion of Toni Morrison's 1977 novel Song of Solomon, I present to her the coveted "Best Coming of Age Novel" award. Winner of both the Nobel Prize and Pulitzer Prize, Morrison continues to receive great acclaim for her novels' timeless themes. Within Song of Solomon, the novelist narrates the journey of the complex character Milkman Dead, and his flight too manhood. His ultimate success leads me to present Morrison with yet another award to rest on her trophy shelf. Apart from the story's many motifs, including race, judgement, women's rights and family plight, Milkman's transformation from a naive boy to a mature adult exists as the major conflict. Growing up with wealth and a respectable family name, Dead's "hero worship... blinded him" (276). The protagonist's seemingly sublime lifestyle ends up acting as his enemy, separating himself from reality. Milkman's indirect characterization as pompous underscores Morrison's claim that he possesses an unhealthy amount of self-pride and importance. Dead's assumed invincibility results in his inability to take responsibility for his actions. He then proclaims he did "nothing to deserve" his family's recriminations (276). Morrison includes the repetition of "deserve" seven times to emphasize Milkman's pride and incapability to recognize his own mistakes. He continually loathes others for his own internal conflicts, despite the few family troubles that are out of his control. The protagonist serves as a synecdoche for those who can not distinguish themselves and their actions from those of others, and Morrison's ability to change this outlook truly justifies my decision to applaud her "coming of age" novel. After an isolating hunting trip forces Milkman to evaluate himself, he transforms from a confused, naive person into a confident, independent man, After years of self-deprecation, Dead takes "a living breath this time" (279). This single moment of realization represents Milkman's newfound confidence in himself. His indirect characterization as alive presents situational irony, contrasting the connotations surrounding his last name. Nonetheless, this characterization foils his previous, insecure self and his present, responsible nature. He abandons his self-pity, and judges both life and himself fairly. This self-assessment allows Dead to walk on Earth "like he belonged on it," creating the most significant and memorable moment in the novel (281). Morrison's display of Milkman's independence juxtaposes his his past habits of relying on and blaming others. The protagonist's indirect characterization as confident reveals his new sense of honesty in both the world and himself. The author's success in creating an autonomous character from one who moped in self-pity makes one of the best personal transfiguration novels of all time. Morrison utilizes this story to reveal the normality in a person's lack of personal fulfillment. Similar to the author, I encourage those who lack confidence in themselves and their actions to strive for self-acceptance.   Congratulations, Toni! I now award to you the "Best Coming of Age Novel" prize.

Milkman Dead: Friend or Foe?

Would I befriend Milkman Dead? The question tempts me from both shoulders; one convincing me to go for it, and the other laughing at me for even asking. Author and Professor Toni Morrison makes this simple question difficult to answer within her 1977 coming-of-age novel Song of Solomon. A little off center, protagonist Milkman Dead avoids popularity and holds no more than a few, close friends. However, these relationships seem to slip through Milkman's fingers quicker than he can grasp them. Morrison admits, "He avoided commitment" (180). Although Dead's indirect characterization as unreliable waves like a red flag in terms of friendship, his ephemeral bonds most likely stem from experiencing his own parents' unhealthy marriage and lack of loyalty. Fear of commitment naturally adds a level of difficulty while forming friendships, but pathos evoked from Milkman's absence of consistent relationships prompts me to consider. However, Milkman's sister Lena eradicates all or any vestiges of my optimism when she refers to him as a '''selfish, hateful man''' (216). Lena's direct characterization of her brother as "selfish" and "hateful" forces me to take a step back and question any possible friendship between the two of us. Her vitriolic tone created by the harsh diction of "hateful" allows Morrison to expose the contempt felt by others towards Milkman, and his displeasing effect on people. Instead of using my own discretion to judge Dead's character and actions, his sister does so for me. Ultimately, I value her opinion because of her kinship, and her bitter opinion unnerves me. Just when the devil on my shoulder seems to have my attention, Morrison's "coming of age" theme prevails with Milkman's newfound moral fiber. Upon realization that his best friend belongs to a dangerous, secret society, Dead exposes '''I'm scared for you''' (161). Milkman's direct characterization as "scared" proves that he can show concern for others, and not just himself. His genuine and serious comment not only reveals his friend's stupidity, but Milkman's own ability to separate right from wrong. The protagonist serves as a synecdoche for those who express interest in a friend's well-being, transforming our friendship from the spark of an idea, to a definite possibility. Still, far from perfect, Morrison reveals "Shame stuck to his [Milkman's] skin" after making selfish decisions (209). Milkman clearly understands his responsibility within his wrongdoings, and his embarrassment indirectly characterizes him as morally keen. His shame only heightens my desire to befriend the confused fellow. Instead of resenting the protagonist, Morrison encourages me, as well as those who do not approve of his actions, to sympathize with Dead and embrace his imperfections. Finally, the little angel on my shoulder out sings the devil, and triumphs in my decision that Milkman would make a suitable friend. Most definitely not a "BFF," but a suitable friend indeed.

Father v. Son

The father-son relationship often serves as a paragon for manhood and bonding: a share of insight and experience from one generation to the next. However, the relationship between Macon Dead Sr. and Macon 'Milkman' Dead Jr. within the novel Song of Solomon seems more strained than relaxed. Contrary to the positive bond she shared with her own compassionate father, author Toni Morrison narrates the conflict between the two kin living in the 1950's racially insecure south. In addition to the inevitable inferiority he felt because of his color, Macon Dead also suffered from the 'disappointment he felt' for his three children, including Milkman (10). Father's unnecessary contempt prompted me to side with his son, the recipient of the disappointment. Morrison does not provide the reader with an explanation for Macon's cold demeanor, which evokes pathos and sympathy from those who share a healthy relationship with their father, including myself. In response to the lack of his father's acceptance, Milkman 'feared his father, respected him' (63). The son's indirect characterization as fearful further develops the novel's main conflict: an intimidating father versus his insecure son. Macon's unraveled source of disappointment heightens my own frustration towards him, forcing me to side with Milkman. Despite the fear, Milkman's ultimate respect for Macon underscores Morrison's assertion that young men constantly try to pursue pride from their fathers. Macon Jr. appears to struggle for his dad's acceptance, classifying him as the protagonist within this external conflict. However, as the novel progresses, Macon's resurfacing past provides a marginal amount of reason for the wall he builds between himself and his family. His own sister, who he deems as unkempt and inferior, revealed to Milkman that 'Macon was a nice boy' (40). The father's direct characterization as 'nice' foils all the previous, negative characterizations made by the reader. His sister's words provide possible pathos for Macon, and suggest that some sort of past hardship transformed the kind man into a troubled father. Suddenly, my anger towards Macon progresses into curiosity, eager to understand the background behind his hatred. After an emotional encounter between the father and son, a series of disturbing anecdotes surrounding Milkman's mother's promiscuous behavior frees Macon of his questionable behavior. The conflict between a harsh father and his desperate son soon transforms into a conflict between a man and his past secrets 'that all came back' (52). Although I disagree with the way Macon manifested his troubling memories into an aggressive personality, I now understand the source of stress between himself and his son. Morrison explores this struggling bond between Macon and Milkman to expose the imperfections within family relationships. Those who experience these family flaws should understand the normality of tension, and use it as an opportunity to mend broken bonds.