Racial stock and 8-rocks: communal historiography in Toni Morrison's 'Paradise' - Critical Essay

Twentieth Century Literature, Fall, 2001 by Rob Davidson

(a) because [they] were impure (not 8-rock); (b) because [they] were unholy (fornicators at the least, abortionists at most); and (c) because [the men] could--which was what being an 8-rock meant to them and also what the "deal" required" (297)

Of the five posited versions, the last squares with my thesis in this essay: that the 8-rock men--who intimidate and threaten their own townsfolk into submission--execute the Convent women not for moral reasons but as a show of strength. They assert themselves so that Richard Misner and the younger generation--and any would-be upstarts, like Patricia Best Cato--understand who is in charge. While I think this is a compelling explanation, one must admit that no single explanation can satisfactorily explain the assault, which, in the complex weave of Paradise, results from mixed and sordid motives.

Richard Misner tries unsuccessfully to sort through the various versions to get at the truth. There are simply too many versions of the event: "Other than Deacon Morgan, who had nothing to say, every one of the assaulting men had a different tale and their families and friends (who had been nowhere near the Convent) supported them, enhancing, recasting, inventing misinformation" (297). This period of exponentially multiplying versions of the assault is Ruby's most postmodern moment. As Linda Hutcheon notes, "What is foregrounded in postmodern theory and practice is the self-conscious inscription within history of the existing, but usually concealed, attitude of historians toward their material" (74). This "self-conscious inscription" motivates each family to change the story as they tell it "to make themselves look good" (Paradise 297). Hutcheon, quoting Barbara Foley, argues that

The postmodern situation is that a "truth is being told, with 'facts' to back it up, but a teller constructs that truth and chooses those facts," ... In fact, that teller--of story or history--also constructs those very facts by giving a particular meaning to events. Facts do not speak for themselves in either form of narrative: the tellers speak for them, making these fragments of the past into a discursive whole. (58)

For Lone DuPres, this communal process of "enhancing, recasting, [and] inventing information" is dispiriting: "she became unhinged by the way the story was being retold; how people were changing it to make themselves look good." She refrains from openly criticizing her neighbors, however, because she sees a potential for rebirth. Remembering that because the bodies of the slain women all mysteriously disappear no one feels the need to call the (white) police into the town, Lone decides "God had given Ruby a second chance" (297).

Deacon Morgan does his part to satisfy the town's need for penance. While his brother, Steward, remains "insolent and unapologetic" (299), Deacon walks barefoot (he is customarily seen driving his luxury sedan) to Richard Misner's house, of all places, where he indirectly confesses to his adulterous affair with Connie Sosa, one of the murdered Convent women (though he will not name her). Deacon also relates to Misner the story of his twin grandfathers, Coffee and Tea, who were held at gunpoint by whites and ordered to dance. One brother, Tea, danced. Coffee, who refused to dance, was shot in the foot. As a result of the incident, Coffee never again spoke to his brother. Deacon admits to Misner that he is unsure which brother is at fault: the brother who danced to save his feet or the brother who defiantly took the bullet but chose to lose a brother. Misner, understanding Deacon's tale as an indirect plea for guidance, urges Deacon to forgive and to love Steward. When Deacon says "I got a long way to go, Reve rend," Misner assures him "You'll make it....No doubt about it" (303).