Andrea O'Reilly. Toni Morrison and Motherhood: A Politics of the Heart.

Andrea O'Reilly. Toni Morrison and Motherhood: A Politics of the Heart. Albany: State U of New York P, 2004. 229 pp. $84.50 cloth/$23.95 paper.

Toni Morrison and Motherhood, by Andrea O'Reilly, provides a critical reading of motherhood and mothering complexly depicted in Morrison's novels from The Bluest Eye to Paradise with an epilog referring to the latest novel, Love. The author closely scrutinizes Morrison's texts, essays, and interviews as well as other critiques of Morrison and feminism to theorize African American women's everyday experiences and practices, which have been largely neglected by white feminists.

First, O'Reilly locates "a politics of the heart" in Morrison's novels and, from it, formulates an African American maternal theory that embraces black women's experiences. This formulation includes their struggle against racism and sexism and their resistance to oppression, so as to define the domain of emancipation and empowerment not only for the mothers but also for their children. In order to conjecture a theoretical discourse on African American motherhood and mothering, O'Reilly reviews in depth African American feminist scholarship defined by such prominent critics as Patricia Hill Collins and bell hooks to illustrate the need to construct African American female discourse. This discourse makes clear the distinctions between African American motherhood and that of European Americans. O'Reilly argues that in most cases the latter tend to view mothering as an oppressive form imposed on women who are trapped in patriarchal society. She historically traces the defining differences of 19th-century motherhood between white women and enslaved women, noting that the Industrial Revolution instigated the dominant ideology of "True Womanhood" characterized by "the virtues of piety, purity, and passivity" (127). For the women restricted by the notion of "True Womanhood," motherhood becomes oppressive, and confines them to the home. Conversely, African American mothers, involuntarily integrated into the US workforce and thus exempted from "True Womanhood," subvert the negative notion of mothering and rather consider it as a site of liberation, empowerment, and resistance.

"Ancient properties" and "funk," in O'Reilly's discussion, constitute the fundamental backbone of "a politics of the heart." She argues that the ancient properties are represented by the black mammy who manifests traditional black womanhood and provides refugee, serving as "the ship" and "the "safe harbor," in Morrison's words. Needless to say, Morrison does not approve of the stereotype of the black mammy that is used by whites to restrict the behavior of persons subjugated under slavery. She also rejects the reduced image imposed on a mammy, emphasizing black women's ability to integrate work and nurturing under the relentless condition of exploitation. Situating the mammy figure in the center of "a politics of the heart," O'Reilly posits the significance of passing on the ancient properties to the present and to the future for developing integral female autonomy. Then, funk signifies African American traditional values, which are usually explored in human senses of color, aroma, and flavor as opposed to the capitalistic values represented by money and power. Those mothers with the ancient properties and funk as embodied by Mrs. MacTeer in The Bluest Eye and Pilate in Song of Solomon could serve as a culture bearer for the next generation and could empower children to survive and resist oppression.

In Morrison's novels, however, not all the mothers possess the ancient properties and funk to protect and nurture their children. For example, some mothers such as Eva in Sula and Sethe in Beloved kill their own children; others like Ruth in Song of Solomon and Arnette in Paradise try to abort their babies. In addition, there are those mothers such as Pauline in The Bluest Eye and Rose Dear in Jazz who relinquish their responsibilities of taking care of and guiding their children. O'Reilly proclaims that the absence of mothers with the ancient properties and funk paradoxically underlines the importance of their presence; she contends:

   Morrison affirms and confirms the importance of mothers and
   motherwork by describing in poignant and often agonizing detail the
   personal and cultural suffering and loss that occur when children
   are not mothered and do not receive the preservation, nurturance,
   and cultural bearing needed for personal resistance and cultural
   renewal. (46)

That is, the importance of mothers and motherwork is understood through the difficulty of performing the task of preservation, nurturance, and culture bearing expected from a mother. As O'Reilly aptly puts it: "Frequently, we understand or appreciate the importance of something or someone only when that something or someone is lost or absent" (46).

The epilogue applies O'Reilly's theory of "a politics of the heart" to Morrison's latest novel, Love, in which devastation is inflicted on children who suffer from the lack of sustaining maternal love from their mothers. Consequently, those children harm not only others but also themselves.

O'Reilly's argument recovers the presence of the mothers and children who are severed from the ancient properties and funk by the racist/patriarchal society through exploitation and violence. She argues that even Sethe in Beloved, whose milk is brutally stolen by schoolteacher's nephews, exhibits an act of resistance.

O'Reilly points out Morrison's figuring of the promise of birth and rebirth, made possible with the preservation of funk and the ancient properties of the African American motherline. With the focus on the importance of the maternal line, O'Reilly touches on the female capacity of nurturing in Paradise, which is signified by five eggs that Anna discovers in the convent henhouse as a metaphor for the survival of the five women, who are fatally attacked by nine men, with a belief in and hope for deliverance. She elaborates her assertion, explaining the affinity of deliverance to birth in etymology:

   Significantly, the word deliverance, the old-fashioned word for
   being rescued, is etymologically linked to the word delivery, which
   includes among its many meanings the act of giving birth.
   Appropriately, then, the oeuvre of Toni Morrison concluded with the
   promise of birth, or more specifically rebirth, in and through
   maternal deliverance. (170)

Her penetrating look at the imagery explicates the metaphor employed in Morrison's novels.

As an advocate of "a politics of the heart," O'Reilly has an acute insight into discerning any threat to the preservation and continuation of traditional African American womanhood and values. In particular, she reveals the phallocentric discourse forged by Tar Baby's Son, who abuses women. Although he ostensibly admires the independent women in his hometown, Eloe, Florida, he violently murders his wife Cheyenne, and later harasses his girlfriend Jadine. Her reading of Jadine as a victim of domestic violence comes from her careful observation of the fight between Jadine and Son. O'Reilly illustrates a cyclical pattern of domestic violence, which repeats assault and honeymoon phase, during which men ask for forgiveness, and locates the same pattern in the relationship between Jadine and Son. The root of this cyclical relationship stems from the fact that Son is disconnected from the motherline, which inevitably brings about dispossession of the ancient properties and funk, and hence their relationship is not promising.

O'Reilly well analyzes the mothers and their critical relationship to their children in the sociohistoric context. However, it appears that her focus on mothering occasionally leads her to dichotomizing classification between mothers and non-mothers. For example, she finds it problematic that Paul D decries Sethe for killing her own daughter and says to her: "You got two feet, Sethe, not four" (Beloved 165). O'Reilly further comments:

   Paul D's insult is particularly offensive when we perceive the
   hypocrisy of it: the man who mated with calves dares to call Sethe
   an animal in her love for her children. And while Paul D faults
   Sethe for her excessive loving, he does not regard his own belief
   "to love just a little bit" (Beloved 45) as at all problematic. If
   Sethe loves too much, Paul D does not love enough. (134)

O'Reilly's accusation of Paul D for failing to understand Sethe's "thick love," however, appears to overlook the fact that Paul D is also a motherless child and a victim who seriously suffers from racism. He learns "to love just a little bit; everything just a little bit, so when they broke its back, or shoved it in a croaker sack, well, maybe you'd have a little love left over for the next one" (Beloved 45). He has to reserve love during the devastating and dehumanizing enslavement, didactically assuming that the best way to survive is to repress his emotional feelings. Besides, he directs his sexual desire to calves not to violate Sethe's sexuality. Perhaps, Paul D's inability to accept thick love could be explored in relation to the disruption of the motherline under the slavery system with the discourse of "a politics of the heart."

Above all, Toni Morrison and Motherhood, based on Andrea O'Reilly's methodical research on Morrison's works as well as feminist critical resources, proffers a useful basis for understanding Toni Morrison's works. It certainly contributes to exploring in detail Morrison's rich and complex works notably from the perspectives of nurturing and sustaining African American maternal tradition.

Aoi Mori

Hiroshima Jogakuin University