A contemporary to Richard Wright’s Black Boy, I reread Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God. I was unaware of the discourse that compared the two until reading the forward of TEWWG written by Edwidge Danticat. In it, she discuses some of the criticism between the two works mainly considering the broader social focus of Black Boy, which deals with racism and poverty, versus the perceived individual focus of love and relationship dynamics in Their Eyes Were Watching God. Some found Zora’s focus on relationships during a civil rights dominant period to be frivolous. Reading the two books nearly back to back, I am not in that camp. It’s unfair to compare these works just because the authors are both black nor to punish one for writing on a fictional woman’s love life (that is still influenced by the concepts of social status, poverty and racism) over a more politically perceived theme. Both are needed in the same landscape. When maneuvering through the oppressive constructs of racism in various forms, Black people are still humans who deal with feelings and their own ways of governing each other. I remember reading an interview with the former President of Brazil, Dilma Rousseff, who described how, in her own detainment, prisoners developed their own ecosystem within that of the prison; and it’s something that I saw in Their Eyes Were Watching God. We see the normalization and even celebration of domestic violence, the importance of status and positive optics within the black community, and the search for fulfillment of a woman who was taught that being a kept woman was a higher value than love. These are observations of the rules Black people at the time had set for themselves under the umbrella of racial oppression. It confuses me as to why it wouldn’t be taken seriously, but I’m glad that Zora’s work eventually earned its recognition even if the greater part of its success was posthumously attained (give the people their flowers BEFORE they die!!).
The first time I read Their Eyes Were Watching God, I was a college student at Howard University. It wasn’t an assigned reading, I did so for pleasure. And I can’t remember what drew me to Zora Neale Hurston’s novel, but I do remember the copy I towed originally belonged to a family member. Other than that it might as well have appeared magically in my hands. A common occurrence.
On a warm day in Spring semester, I took my literary companion to a park bench to read. There, I was approached by a homeless man with curiosity. He just wanted to know about the book I was reading. I shared what I had read so far and, in turn, he shared how, due to his homelessness, he didn’t get many opportunities to socialize with people. He spoke of how he developed a dangerous addiction to a synthetic drug nicknamed “Scooby Doo” which had eventually lead him to killing someone. The man did his time, but when he got out, he no longer had family waiting for him. He spoke of his remorse and trying to get his life back together on his own. My memory of the book had more to do with this encounter than with the actual book itself. Years later here I am, a nomad with more experience in life, with little to rely on and no home to go back to. I thought of this man, hoping he was able to turn things around and inspiring me to pick up the same book that brought us together.
I was a completely different person reading this the second time around. It all seemed new and closer. I now knew what it all really meant, to be kept, to want, to search, to love, to be hurt and still love, to end and start over….And to have folks all up on your business, gossiping for gossip sake (I say only half jesting).
Janie was a romantic who found herself in what seemed like a business arrangement in her first marriage. In a scene of the book, she even goes crying back to her grandmother asking when the love will come only to be met with the practicality. He had land and didn’t beat her. But that wasn’t enough for her. Chasing feelings, she runs off with a smooth talking man with an eye for business and a hunger for status, but the butterflies didn’t last and she ends up in a loveless and abusive marriage. After his death, she runs off with a younger man who makes her feel brand new, only to be met with more hardship and abuse, but at least there was love.
I remember reading an article about the Western view of relationships, and how basing them off of love is why relationships struggle. I agree, that love alone isn’t a strong enough foundation, but I’ll be darned if it’s not a major ingredient. The real question is at what cost? Are the highs of love worth abuse? Janie’s Mr. Right ended up being Teacake, the younger gentleman, who upon moving in together, steals her money to run off gambling (he does return the money) and still ends up hitting her (with the applause of his peers). It’s beautiful to watch a couple grind together and stay united in their struggle, but we are also confronted with things that are obviously not ok. However, that’s the difficult reality of it all. The idea that we don’t always get to pick the challenges within “struggle love” and we often accept more than what’s good for us.
The book was a whirlwind as strong as the storm that swept up Janie’s home in Florida. Although I stand by my defense of its important subject matter, I do understand why some people would comment on the fact the Janie’s story was only about her relationship to men. I see that. I think I personally enjoyed the book because of the particular message I needed (after wading through the toxicity). It was a sign to pay whatever peanut gallery no mind, stand by your decisions and start again if need be. We’ve been through some ish and it’ll be ok.
