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For this Critical Reflection, briefly reflect on some of the themes, symbols, or motifs that emerge in the first half (or so) of the novel. To do so, choose 2-3 specific lines or passages from the text, and attempt to write briefly about their significance for your understanding of the text so far. For instance, you might choose a line about Shadrack and National Suicide Day to reflect on how the community in the novel seems to depend on defining who (or what) is inside and who is outside. The 2-3 passages you choose don't have to be related. Simply write few sentences for each explaining why you think it is significant and how it contributes to your understanding (or confusion) at this point in your reading. Be sure to include the exact quotation/passage from the text, including the page number(s).

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In that place, where they tore the night— shade and blackberry patches from their roots to make room for the Medallion City lGolf Course, there was once a neighbor— hood It stood in the hills above the 1val- ley town of Medallion and spread all the way to the river. It is called the suburbs now, but when black people lived there it was called the Bottom. One road. shaded by beeches, oaks, maples and chestnuts, connected it to the valley. The beeches are gone now, and so are the pear trees where children sat and yelled down through the blossoms to passersby. Generous fiends have been allotted to level the stripped and faded buildings that clutter the road from Medallion up to the golf course. They are going to raze the Time and a HalfPool Hall, where feet in long tan shoes once pointed down from chair rungs. A steel ball wfll knock to dust lrene's Palace of Cosmetol- ogy, where women used to lean their heads back on sinlc trays and doze while Irene lathered Nu Nile into their hair. Men in khaki work clothes will pry loose the slats of Reba's Grill, where the owner cooked in her hat because she couldn't remember the ingredients without it. There will be nothing left of the Hot— tom {tbe footbridge that crossed the river is already gone}, but perhaps it is just as well, since it wasn't a town anyway: just a neighborhood where on quiet days peo ple in valley houses could hear singing sometimes, banjos sometimes, and, if a valley man happened to have business up in those hills—collecting rent orinsuranee payrnents—he might see a dark woman in a flowered dress doing a bit of cakewalk, a bit of black bottom, a bit of "messing around" to the lively notes of a mouth organ. Herbaref'eet wouldraise the saffron dust that floated down on the coveralls and bunion—split shoes of the man breath— ing music in and out of his harmonica. The black people watching her would laugh and nib their knees, and it would be easy for the valley man to hear the laughter and not notice the adult pain that rested somewhere under the eyelids, somewhere under their head rags and soft felt hats, T'iE Psgeiof'lTS - LocEItion'I-i'lofil'l'lililr

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somewhere in the palm of the hand, some- where behindthe frayed lapels, somewhere in the sinew's curve. He'd have to stand in the back of Greater Saint Matthew's and let the tenor's voice dress him in silk, or touch the hands of'the spoon carvers {who had not worked in eight years] and let the fingers that danced on wood kiss his skin. Otherwise the pain would escape him even though the laughter was part of the pain. A shocking, kneeqslaplu'rlg, wet-eyed Laughter that could even describe and ex— plain how they came to be where they WEE. A joke. 1!. nigger joke. That was the way it got started. Not the town, of course, but that part oftown where the Negroes lived, the part they called the Bottom in spite of the fact that it was up in the hills. Just a nigger joke. The kind white folks tell when the mill closes down and they're looking for a little comfort somewhere. The kind colored folks tell on themselves when the rain doesn't come, or comes for weeks, and they're looking for a little comfort some- how. A good white farmer promised freedom anda piece ofbottom land to his slave ifhe would perform some very diffith chores. When the slave completed the work. he asked the farmer to keep his end of the bar— gain. Freedom was easy—the farmer had no objection to that. But he didn't want to give up any land. So he told the slave that he was very sorry that he had to give him valley land. He had hoped to give him a piece of the Bottom. The slave blinked and said he thought valley land was bottom land. The master said, "Oh, no[ See those hills? That's bottom land, rich and fertile." I'li-iit it's high up in the hills," said the slave. llHigh up from us," said the master, "but when lGod looks down, it's the bottom. That's why we call it so. It's the bottom of heaven—best land there is." So the slave pressed his master to try to get him some. He preferred it to the valley. And it was done. The nigger got the hilly land. where planting was backbreakirrg, where the soil slid down and washed away 8% Pagedof'lTS - Location'lfi-fiofEZfiT

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the seeds, and where the wind lingered all through the winter. which accounted for the fact that white people lived on the rich valley floor in that little river town in Ohio, and the blacks populated the hills above it, taking small consolation in the fact that every day they could literallyr look down on the white folks. Still, it was lovely up in the Bottom. After the town grew and the farm land tumed into a village and the village into a town and the streets of Medallion were hot and dusty with progress, those heavytrees that sheltered the shacks up in the Bottom were wonderful to see. And the hunters who went there sometimes wonderedin private if maybe the white far'rner was right after all. Maybe it was the bottom ofheayen. The black people would have disagreed, but they had no time to think about it. They were mightily preoccupied with earthly things—and each other, wondering even as early as 1920 what Shadraek was all about, what that little girl Sula who grew into a woman in their town was all about, and what they themselves were all about, tucked up there in the Bottom. 3% PageSof'lTS - Location'lTEofEEET

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1.919 Except for 1World War 1], nothing ever interfered with the eelebration of National Suicide Day. It had taken place every Jan— uary third sinee 1920, although Shadraek, its founder, was for many years the only celebrant. Blasted and permanently aston— ished by the events of 191?, he had re— turned to Medallion handsome but ray— aged, and even the most fastidious people in the town sometimes caught themselves dreaming of what he must have been like a few years back before he went off to war. A. young man of hardly twenty, his head full of nothing and his mouth re— calling the taste of lipstick, Shadrack had found himself in December, 191?, running with his comrades across a field in Pranee. It was his first encounter with the enemy and he didn't Imew whether his com- pany was running toward them or away. For several days they had been marching, keeping close to a stream that was frozen at its edges. At one point they crossed it, and no sooner had he stepped foot on the other side than the day was adangle with shouts and explosions. Shellfire was all aroundhim,andthoughheknewthat this was something called it, he could not muster up the proper feeling—the feeling that would aecomrnodate it. He expected to be terrified or erhilarated—to feel some— thing T.irery strong. In fact, he felt only the bite of a nail in his boot, which pieroed the ball of his foot whenever he came down on it. The day was cold enough to make his breath visible, and he wondered for a moment at the purity and whiteness of his own breath among the dirty, gray ex— plosions surrounding him. He ran, bayonet fixed, deep inthe great sweep ofmen flying across this field. 1E|".J'i.11cing at the pain in his foot, he turned his head a little to the right 9% PageTof'lTS - Location 133of226?

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and saw the face of a soldier near him fly off. Before he could register shock, the rest of the soldier's head disappeared under the inverted soup bowl of his helmet. But stub- bornly, taking no direction from the brain, the body of the headless soldier ran on, with energy and grace, ignoring altogether the drip and slide of brain tissue down its back. When Shadrack opened his eyes he was propped Iupina smallbed.Beforehirnon a tray was a large tin plate divided into three triangles. In one triangle was rice, in another meat, and in the third stewed tomatoes. A small round depression held a cup of whitish liquid. Shadrack stared at the soft colors that filled these triangles: the lumpy whiteness of rice, the quivering blood tomatoes, the grayish—brown meat. All their repugnance was contained in the neat balance of the triangles—a balanee that soothed him, transferred some of its equilibrium to him. Thus reassured that the white, the red and the brown would stay where they were—would not explode orburst forth from their resuieted zones— he suddde felt hungry and looked around for his hands. His glance was cautious at first, for he had to be very careful—any- thing could be anywhere. Then he notioed two lumps beneath the beige blanket on either side of his hips. with extreme care he lifted one arm and was relieved to find his hand attached to his wrist. He tried the other and found it also. Slowly he di— rected one hand toward the cup and just as he was about to spread his fingers, they began to grow in higgledy—piggledy fashion like ]ack's beanstalk all over the tray and the bed With a shriek he closed his eyes and thrust his huge growing hands under the covers. Once out of sight they seemed to shrink back to their normal size. But the yell had brought a male nurse. I'Prlvate? We're not going to have any trouble today, are we? Are well Private?" Shadrack looked up at a balding roan dressed in a green-cotton jacket and trousers. His hair was parted low on the right side so that some twenty or thirty 10% Pageflof'lTS - Location'I'ilfiofliiillilr

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yellow hairs could discreetly cover the nakedan ofhishead. "Borne on. Pick up that spoon. Pick it upJ Private. Nobody is going to feed you for- ever" Sweat slid from Shadrack's armpits down his sides. He could not bear to see his hands grow again and he was frightened of the voice in the apple-green suit. "Pick it up, I said There's no point to this..." The nurse reached under the cover for Shadrack's wrist to pull out the mon— strous hand. Shadrack jerked it back and overturnedthe tray. In panic heraised him— self to his knees and tried to fling oil: and away his terrible fingers, but succeeded only in knocking the nurse into the next bed when they hound Shadrack into a strait— jacket, he was both relieved and gratefulJ for his hands were at last hidden and con- fined to whatever size they had attained. Laced and sflent in his small bed, he tried to tie the loose cords in his mind He wanted desperately to see his own face and connect it with the word I'p1':i1.rate"— the word the nurse {and the others who helped bind him} had called him. I'I'1"11.rate" he thought was something secret, and he wondered why theyr looked at him and called him a secret. Still, if his hands he haved as they had done, what might he expect from his face? The fear and long— ing were too much for him, so he began to think of other things. That is, he let his mind slip into whatever cave mouths of memory it chose. He saw a window that looked out on a river which he knew was full of fish. Sorne- one was speaking softly just outside the Shadrack's earlier violence had coincided with a memorandum from the hospital executive staff in reference to the distribu— tion of patients in high-risk areas. There was clearly a demand for space. The pri- 1'0'55 Pagegof'lTS - LocationZ'IEofEEfi?

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ority or the yiolenee earned Shadrack his release, $21? in cash, a full suit of clothes and copies ofvery official-looking papers. When he stepped out of the hospital door the grounds overwhelmed him: the cropped sh.rubbery, the edged lawns, the undeuiating walks. Shadrack looked at the cement stretches: each one leading elearheadedly to some presumably desir— able destination. There were no fenees, no wamings, no obstacles at all between con- erete and green grass, so one could easily ignore the tidy sweep of stone and cut out in another direction—a direction of one's DWII. . Shadrack stood at the foot of the hospital steps watching the heads oftrees tossing ruefully but hannlessly, sinoe their trunks were rooted too deeply in the earth to threaten him. Only the walks made him uneasy. He shifted his weight, wondering how he could get to the gate without stepping on the concrete. 1|."I.='l'1ile plotting his course—where he would have to leap, where to skirt a clump of bushes—a loud guffaw startled hirn. Two men were going up the steps. Then he notieed that there were many people about, and that he was just now seeing them, or else they had just materialized They were thin slips, like paper dolls floating down the walks. Some were seated in chairs with wheels, pro- pelledby other paper figures from behind All seemed to be smoking, and their arms and legs curved in the breeze. A good high wind would pull them up and away and they would land perhaps among the tops of the trees. Shadrack took the plunge. Four steps and he was on the grass heading for the gate. He kept his head down to avoid see— ing the paper people swerying and bend— ing here and there, and he lost his way. When he looked up, he was standing by a low red building separated from the main building by a covered walkway. From somewhere came a sweetish smell which reminded him of something painful. He looked around for the gate and saw that he had gone directly away from it in his complicated journey over the grass. Just to the left of the low building was a grayeled driveway that appeared to lead outside the 11% Pagelflof'lTS - LocationEETofEZfiT

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grounds. He trotted quickly to it and left, at last, a haven of more than a year, only eight days of which he fully recollected. Once on the road, he headed west. The long stay in the hospital had left him weak —too weak to walk steadily on the gravel shoulders of the road He shuffled, grew dizzy, stopped for breath, started again, stumbling and sweating but refusing to wipe his temples, still afraid to look at his hands. Passengers in dark, square cars shuttered their eyes at what they took to be a drunken man. The sunwas already directly over his head whenhecametoatownfif'ewblocks of shaded streets and he was already at its llEflI't4 pretty, quietly regrdated down- tDWIL Exhausted, his feet clotted with pain, he sat down at the curbside to take off his shoes. He closed his eyes to avoid seeing his hands and furnbled with the laces of the heavy high-topped shoes. The nurse had tied them into a double knot, the way one does for children, and Shadrack, long unaccustomed to the manipulation of in— tricate things, could not get them loose. Uncoordinated, his fingemafls tore away at the knots. He fought a rising hysteria that was not merely anxiety to free his aching feet; his very life depended on the release of'the knots. Suddenly without raising his eyelids, he began to cry. Twenty-two years old, weak, hot, frightened, not daring to acknowledge the fact that he didn't even know who or what he was...with no past, no language, no tribe, no souree, no ad— dress book, no comb, no pencil, no clock, no pocket handkerchief, no rug, no bed, no can opener, no faded postcard, no soap, no key, no tobacco pouch, no sofled underwear and nothing nothing nothing to do...he was sure of one thing only: the unchecked monstrosity of his hands. He cried sound— lessly at the curbside of a small Midwest— ern town wondering where the window was, and the river, and the soft voices just outside the door... Through his tears he saw the fingers joining the laces, tentatively at first, then rapidly. The four fingers of each hand fused 12% Page'l'lof'lTS - LocationE-iEofEEfiT

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into the fabric, knotted themselves and zigzagged in and out ofthe tiny eyeholes. By the time the poliee drove up, Shadraek was suifering from a blinding headache, which was not abated by the comfort he felt when the policemen pulled his hands away from what he thought was a per— manent entanglement with his shoelaoes. They took him to jail, booked him for va— graney and intoxication, and lockedhirn in a cell. Lying on a cot, Shadrack could only stare helplessly at the wall, so paralyamg was the pain in his head. He lay in this agony for a long while and then realized he was staring at the painted-over letters of a command to fuck himself. He studied the phrase as the pain in his head subsided. Like moonlight stealing under a window shade an idea insinuated itself: his earlier desire to see his own face. He looked for a rnirror;there was none. Finally, keeping his hands carefully behind his back he made his way to the toflet bowl and peeped in. The water was unevenly lit by the sun so he could make nothing out. Returning to his cothetooktheblanketandcovered his head, rendering the water dark enough to see his reflection. There in the toilet water he saw a grave black f'aoe. A black so definite, so unequivocal, it astonished him. He had been harboring a skittish ap— prehension that he was not real—that he didn't exist at all. But when the blackness greeted him with its indisputable presence, he wanted nothing more. In his joy he took the risk of letting one edge of the blanket drop and glanced at his hands. They were still. Eourteously still. Shadrack rose and returned to the cot, where he fell into the first sleep of his new life. A sleep deeper than the hospital drugs; deeper than the pits of plums, stead— ier than the condofs wing; more tranquil than the curve of eggs. The sheriff looked through the bars at the young man with the matted hair. He had read through his prisoner's papers and hailed a farmer. 1When Shadrack awoke, the sheriff handed him back his papers and escorted him to the back of a wagon. Shadrack got in and in less than three hours he was back in Medallion, forhe had 12% Page'lflof'll'fi - Location.E'Sul'of.'3_'..'3_'lfi'.lr

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been only twenty-two miles from his win- them that this was their only chance to dow, his river, and his soft voices just out- kill themselves or each other. side the door. At first the people in the town were fright- In the back of the wagon, supported by ened; they knew Shadrack was crazy but sacks of squash and hills of pumpkins, that did not mean that he didn't have any Shadrack began a struggle that was to last sense or, even more important, that he had for twelve days, a struggle to order and no power. His eyes were so wild, his hair focus experience. It had to do with making so long and matted, his voice was so full a place for fear as a way of controlling it. of authority and thunder that he caused He knew the smell of death and was ter- panic on the first, or Charter, National Sui- rified of it, for he could not anticipate it. cide Day in 1920. The next one, in 1921, It was not death or dying that frightened was less frightening but still worrisome. him, but the unexpectedness of both. In The people had seen him a year now in be- sorting it all out, he hit on the notion that tween. He lived in a shack on the riverbank if one day a year were devoted to it, every- that had once belonged to his grandfather body could get it out of the way and the long time dead. On Tuesday and Friday he rest of the year would be safe and free. In sold the fish he had caught that morn- this manner he instituted National Suicide ing, the rest of the week he was drunk, - - -. Day. loud, obscene, funny and outrageous. But he never touched anybody, never fought, never caressed. Once the people understood the boundaries and nature of his madness, On the third day of the new year, he they could fit him, so to speak, into the walked through the Bottom down Carpen- scheme of things. ter's Road with a cowbell and a hangman's rope calling the people together. Telling Then, on subsequent National Suicide Days, the grown people looked out from 13% Page 14 of 175 . Location 273 of 2267

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behind curtains as he rang his bell; a few stragglers increased their speed, and lit— tle children screamed and ran. The tetter heads tried goading him [although he was only four or five years older then they} but not for long, for his curses were stingingly personal. As time went along, the people took less notice of these Ianuary thirds, or rather they thought they did, thought they had no attitudes orfeelings one way or another about Shadrack's annual solitary parade. In fact they had simply stopped remarking on the holiday because they had absorbed it into their thoughts, into their language, into their lives. Someone said to a friend, "You sure was a long time delivering that baby. How long was you in labor?"I And the friend answered, "Bout three days. The pains started on Suicide Day and kept up till the following Sunday. Was bomed on Sunday. All my boys is Sunday boys." Some lover said to his bride-to-be, "let's do it afizer New Years, "stead of'before. Igel: paid New Year's Eve." And his sweetheart answered, "OK, but make sure it ain't on Suicide Day. I ain't "bout to be listening to no cowbells whilst the weddin's going on." Somebody's grandmother said her hens always started a laying of double yolks right after Suicide Day. Then Reverend Deal took it up, saying the same folks who had sense enough to amid Shadraek's call were the ones who insisted on drinking themselves to death or wom— anizing thenrselwes to death. I'Ilullay's well go on with Shad and save the lamb the trouble of redemption."I Easily, quietly, Suicide Day became a part of the fabric of life up in the Bottom of Medallion, Ohio. 14% Page'lfiof'lTS- - LocationEHElofEEfiT

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REFERENCES CARO BAROJA, J. 2006. Las brujas y su mundo. Madrid: Alianza Editorial. CONGER, S. 1983. "The Reconstruction of the Gothic Feminine Ideal in Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights. " The Female Gothic. Ed. J. FLEENOR. Montreal: Eden. 91- 106. DENARD, C. C. 1988. "The Convergence of Feminism and Ethnicity in the Fiction of Toni Morrison." Critical Essays on Toni Morrison. Ed. N. MCKAY. Boston: G. K. Hall & Co.. 171-179. DUBEY, M. 1997. "No Bottom and No Top': Oppositions in Sula." Toni Morrison: Contemporary Critical Essays. Ed. L. PEACH. New York, NY: St. Martin's. 70-88. FLEENOR, J., ed. 1983. The Female Gothic. Montreal: Eden. GALEHOUSE, M. 2010. "New World Woman': Toni Morrison's Sula. " Papers on Language and Literature. 5 Jul. 2010. http://www.findarticles/p/articles/mi_qa3708/is_199910/ai_n8871625/ GALLEGO DURAN, M. 2003. Passing Novels in the Harlem Renaissance: Identity, Politics and Textual Strategies. Hamburg: Lit Verlag. GRANT, R. 1988. "Absence into Presence: The Thematics of Memory and *Missing Subjects in Toni Morrison's Sula. " Critical Essays on Toni Morrison. Ed. N. MCKAY. Boston: G. K. Hall & Co. 90-103. GREWAL, G. 1998. Circles of Sorrow, Lines of Struggle: The Novels of Toni Morrison. Louisiana: Louisiana State UP. GROSS, L. 1989. Redefining the American Gothic: from Wieland to Day of the Dead (Studies in Speculative Fiction, No 20). London: UMI Research Press (Ann Arbor).

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