Free Song Of Solomon Essays: Milkman's Quest For Identity

Toni Morrison’s novel, Song of Solomon, follows Macon “Milkman” Dead III through his quest for identity, which creates a circular story that unabashedly approaches the issues of racism in American society and culminates in the main character’s discovery of his familial roots and identity. Though Milkman must distance himself from others’ perspectives of him, the doses of advice he receives leads him closer to his true self by his development or refutation of those wise words as he journeys in his African quest.
The main character’s introduction paints him as a victim of his family’s insanity that comes from his twisted household. Milkman’s father, Macon Dead II, articulates his warped view of his son, already characterizing the teenager as

a man. Before recounting his abominable marriage. Macon tells Milkman, “‘You a big man now, but . . . [y]ou have to be a whole man . . . [y]ou have to deal with the whole truth.’” (Morrison 70) Yet, the story to follow only further alienates Milkman, leaving him stranded without a supposedly normal family to cling to, ignorant of his roots. Through work and mangled history, Macon maintains the power dynamic between him and his wife by claiming their son. Even so, this material and self-centered force barely grips Milkman. Since Milkman hungers for a greater identity than the name prescribed to him through birth and gossip, he gravitates towards Pilate, whose natural allure promises self-fulfillment (“Liminality” 61-3). Yet, at this point in the story, Pilate’s pure guidance has little explanation, leaving the man who “‘behaves like a white man, [and] thinks like a white man’” to offer his son the first direct advice (Morrison 223). Rather than seeking to improve the protagonist, Macon’s “emptiness” motivates him to seek outside himself to fill his personal void, most prominently through Milkman (“Liminality” 60). Macon only sees the “‘whole truth’” as the start of his economic endeavors that result in his barren life, while Pilate knows that Milkman misses the “origin of history and culture” that extends beyond slavery (Morrison 70; “Liminality” 68). Milkman later learns to reject Macon’s clouded view, as his parents’ grappling over his allegiance only leads to a further straying from his family unit. With this, Milkman has shied away from Macon’s idea of manhood, and will search to define what is and what is not the true marks of a man. Much of the personal guidance Milkman receives typically pushes him away from the words meant to lead him, unless it comes from a person he values.
Pilate, on the other hand, recognizes Milkman’s capacity for autonomy, though does not compel him to embrace it in the same way Macon does.

She realizes that “‘nothin goin to kill him but his own ignorance . . . [and] it’ll be a woman save his life.’” (Morrison 140) Though Milkman spends much of his youth ignoring wholesome principles, Pilate’s prescient confidence in the recalibration of her nephew’s life accurately predicts who can help him reach fulfillment. Rather than immediately abiding by the principles set by male figures, the protagonist will soon understand that this female force that he constantly defies actually has the strongest answers for his question of identity. Morrison personally believes that “a whole village” must raise a child, yet Michigan has done nothing but delude Milkman with pampering, meaning that he must migrate to Shalimar: the new yet ancient village that will cure his “ignorance” (Doyle 268; Morrison 140). Consequently, Hagar, Pilate, and Magdalene called Lena - all women - impel Milkman south so he may rise up. Though he has spent much of his life eluding his responsibilities, Milkman will learn to act for himself from those who act for others, and then fully

mature.
As Milkman approaches the tipping point for his search for self, he encounters many descriptions that he falsely embraces or understands.

Though he seemingly resolves to search the south for himself, his sister, Magdalene called Lena, practically packs his bags with her “‘hog’s gut’” speech (Morrison 216). Here, Lena attributes her brother’s arrogance to “‘that hog’s gut that hangs down between [his] legs,’” an organ that causes him to disregard the goodness that others have bestowed on him, most principally his sisters and mother (215). Though her metaphor seems crude out of context, Lena’s words actually draw from the African ritual in which “circumcision” marks the beginning of a boy’s transition to adulthood, along with elder counseling and forest living (“Liminality” 67; “Child” 226). Yet, Milkman still does not entirely comprehend how he should rectify his past, as he simply concludes that Lena gave him “good advice,” so “[w]hy not take it?” (Morrison 216) These plain words mark the protagonist’s progressive maturity, allow Morrison to show the naivety of the central character, and exhibit how he must think about who he is, instead of only who he is not. According to the African rite of passage, Milkman must let his new scar heal in the woods, and comprehend the differences between a boy and a man (“Child” 226; “Liminality”

65).
Keeping with African tradition, Milkman must seek the help of elders to educate him in his new, mature life (“Child” 226; “Liminality” 65). Though it seems paradoxical for Milkman to escape other people’s definitions of him only to assimilate into Shalimar’s, the protagonist needs to familiarize himself with his heritage in order to understand himself. After scuffling with Shalimar natives because of “‘vanity,’” the invitation from the older Omar leads Milkman towards his reasoning for taking Lena’s advice (Morrison 276). Finally, Milkman spits out the silver spoon and sees his contorted reflection, in which he realizes that “he thought he only deserved to be loved . . . and given what he wanted” with nothing in return (277). Solely surrounded by the forest, the protagonist’s only distraction from himself lies in the knowledge of the men and wilderness. In this moment, Milkman’s association with “material wealth” and “independence” separates, causing him to figure that an individual sculpted only by money can survive, but cannot live (“Liminality” 64). Isolated, the protagonist must search for a more constant and truthful sculptor of character: nature. Instead of keeping his aloof distance, Milkman now “tried to listen with his fingertips, to hear what, if anything, the earth had to say.” (Morrison 279) While not entirely accepting of this “intimate connection with the land” at first, it saves his life from the maniacal grasp of Guitar (Smith 369). Even after his attacker disappears, nature communicates Guitar’s watchful position through the “glistening night eyes” of the bobcat (Morrison 280). Yet, Calvin’s killing of the animal and the older men’s butchering of the cat again falls in line with the African elder lessons, and begins the rebuttal of Guitar’s character (“Child” 226). Now that Morrison has established the connections that Milkman must make in order to become a decent man, she must illustrate the severing of the old ones.
In her revival of Guitar’s “‘life of a black man’” speech, Morrison articulates Milkman’s maturity, as well as the approaching demise of Guitar (Morrison 222-3). Previously, Guitar said that “‘[w]hite men’” want to silence black men, “‘[w]hite women’” see color only in bed, and “‘black women . . . want your whole self.’” (222) Altogether, these compose the forces which black men must constantly evade, as Guitar has done through his commitment to the Seven Days. Yet, Milkman’s distaste for how his friend “probably had killed” for a distorted type of “love” foreshadows how he will approach his “authentic self” in rejecting Guitar’s definition of “‘the black man’” (Morrison 210, 159, 222; “Liminality” 77). Past the “challenges and trials” of embracing the Shalimar life, Milkman can discover one of the “real reason[s]” for his journey (Foster 3). While Guitar views Milkman’s problem as others needing his friend, Milkman’s dilemma actually lies in his need for others’ validation that he receives through their devotion to him. This mistake becomes apparent as Morrison selects certain lines from Guitar’s rationale and compares them to the body parts of the bobcat. As the men remove the animal’s fur and underskin, Morrison brings up the importance of “‘what to die for,’” which manifests itself in the outer layer of Guitar through his commitment to justice (Morrison 282). By joining the Seven Days, Guitar sacrifices his freedom and safety of mind and being in order to avenge his brothers by debateable means. Then, the author embeds the once trusting friendship of Guitar and Milkman in “the entrails,” which quickly disappear under the knife, representing the gutting moment where their relationship fractured (282). Finally, Milkman himself must remove the heart, the “‘What else but love?’” (282). The protagonist’s unwavering resolution to simply yank out the organ marks the end of his friendship with Guitar, which ultimately occurred because of Guitar’s lack of “forgiveness and love for humanity.” (“Liminality” 71) In addition to the symbolic carving of the carcass, “a peacock soared away” while the bobcat’s “eyes held the menace of the night.” (Morrison 283) Ironically, Guitar had enlightened Milkman to the peacock’s plight, and keeps his friend there before Milkman claims his own person. Though Guitar recognizes that “vanity” keeps the peacock grounded, he in fact weighs Milkman down (179). Yet, in witnessing the dismemberment of the bobcat, Milkman realizes that the “cat-eyed boy” who could even “see like a cat” has reached his end (8, 85). Since Morrison purposely wrote the first chapter to reflect Milkman’s quest, her further emphasis on the degradation of Guitar’s character and view of life reinforces the progress that the protagonist made. While Guitar first “serves as a mentor,” his corrupt sense of self cannot be accepted by Milkman, and cannot match Morrison’s wholesome theme that there must be “love of oneself and of one’s fellow man.” (“Liminality” 71-78) Milkman cannot be eternally elusive and cannot live the so-called “‘life of a black man’” because he must release himself from the bonds that previously defined him in order to understand himself. So, through this gruesome disintegration of Guitar’s display of character, Morrison articulates that Milkman has risen above his friend’s distorted view of others, and his place among them.
Macon, Lena, the Shalimar elders, Guitar, and Pilate’s bouts of advice combined with Milkman’s interpretations of them exhibit the protagonist’s progression through his quest, and how he learns to identify himself as an individual while still recognizing worthy critiques that contribute to a wholesome life. Milkman’s acceptance of his comprehensive character outweighs the rupturing of his past relationships, as the knowledge of their mistakes and his own shapes him into the true kin of Solomon.