More Zora Neale Hurston

I finished rereading (I mostly listened to it) Zora Neale Hurston's autobiography Dust Tracks on a Road. She is becoming one of my favorite authors. I must admit. There is a my side bias. A lot of Hurston's opinions align with mine. But still she is a great writer. Her writing is fun and fresh. Her personality leaps off the page at you. She's funny. She's serious. She's well informed. She's a critical thinker. And I think she's well understood, as in I think I know where she's coming from and her biases (somewhat).

I want to read more of her fiction next. Here are a couple excerpts from Dust Tracks Love, Love, Love and Prayer: the Cry of Weaknes. I made this reading list for a couple friends who probably won't read any of it, Zora Neale Hurston Reading List. And here is my reflection from Rereading Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Prayer: the Cry of Weakness

First off, I do not consider prayer a cry of weakness or anything negative. I'm sure it's possible that prayer may be negative for some people, but overall I assume prayer is a net positive.

Zora Neale Hurston has a chapter on religion in her autobiography Dust Tracks on a Road. She explains herself in greater detail in the 15th chapter titled "Religion." I recommend reading the whole chapter here if you're interested. 

Hurston, the daughter of a baptist preacher, grew up in church. But she was skeptical. When she learned of the world religions, she saw similar patterns. I didn't grow up with any religion nor church. And still, somehow, I didn't know belief in God was optional. God was so matter a factually spoken about, even by my biology teacher in high school, that I never considered questioning the existence of a God. But like Hurston, I was always skeptical of religions. When I learned of the world religions, the veil was pulled away.

Hurston and I may differ on God and metaphysics, but I really like her perspective and framing:

"I do not pretend to read God's mind. If He has a plan of the universe worked out to the smallest detail, it would be folly for me to presume to get down on my knees and attempt to revise it. That, to me, seems the highest form of sacrilege. So I do not pray. I accept the means at my disposal for working out my destiny. It seems to me that I have been given a mind and will-power for that very purpose. I do not expect God to single me out and grant me advantages over my fellow men. Prayer is for those who need it. Prayer seems to me a cry of weakness, and an attempt to avoid, by trickery, the rules of the game as laid down. I do not choose to admit weakness. I accept the challenge of responsibility. Life, as it is, does not frighten me, since I have made my peace with the universe as I find it, and bow to its laws. The ever-sleepless sea in its bed, crying out "How long?" to Time; million-formed and never motionless flame; the contemplation of these two aspects alone, affords me sufficient food for ten spans of my expected lifetime. It seems to me that organized creeds are collections of words around a wish. I feel no need for such. However, I would not, by word or deed, attempt to deprive another of the consolation it affords. It is simply not for me. Somebody else may have my rapturous glance at the archangels. The springing of the yellow line of morning out of the misty deep of dawn, is glory enough for me. I know that nothing is destructible; things merely change forms. When the consciousness we know as life ceases, I know that I shall still be part and parcel of the world. I was a part before the sun rolled into shape and burst forth in the glory of change. I was, when the earth was hurled out from its fiery rim. I shall return with the earth to Father Sun, and still exist in substance when the sun has lost its fire, and disintegrated in infinity to perhaps become a part of the whirling rubble in space. Why fear? The stuff of my being is matter, ever changing, ever moving, but never lost; so what need of denominations and creeds to deny myself the comfort of all my fellow men? The wide belt of the universe has no need for finger-rings. I am one with the infinite and need no other assurance."

Love, Love, Love

Love was a huge milestone in my life. I was 27 years old. It generated greater emotions than I had ever known (here is a small sample of that 27 year old in love). The highest highs when together followed by the lowest lows when apart. It's a distant memory now. But after rereading Zora Neale Hurston's autobiography Dust Tracks on a Road, my suspicion is that there is something to Hurston's suspicion. We cannot go back to who we were before we loved. 

From Hurston:

"I have a strong suspicion, but I can't be sure, that much that passes for constant love is a golded-up moment walking in its sleep. Some people know that it is the walk of the dead, but in desperation and desolation, they have staked everything on life after death and the resurrection, so they haunt the graveyard. They build an altar on the tomb and wait there like faithful Mary for the stone to roll away. So the moment has authority over all of their lives. They pray constantly for the miracle of the moment to burst its bonds and spread out over time.

But pay no attention to what I say about love, for as I said before, it may not mean a thing. It is my own bathtub singing. Just because my mouth opens up like a prayer book, it does not just have to flap like a Bible. And then again, anybody whose mouth is cut cross-ways is given to lying, unconsciously as well as knowingly. So pay my few scattering remarks no mind as to love in general. I know only my part.

Anyway, it seems to be the unknown country from which no traveler ever returns. What seems to be a returning pilgrim is another person born in the strange country with the same-looking ears and hands. He is a stranger to the person who fared forth, and a stranger to family and old friends. He is clothed in mystery henceforth and forever. So, perhaps nobody knows, or can tell, any more than I."

Zora Neale Hurston Reading List

My Background

I read Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston several years ago because it was one of my good friend's favorite book. I loved the opening paragraphs and used it as a writing sample many times as a teacher. In fact here it is:

"Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men.

Now, women forget all those things they don’t want to remember, and remember everything they don’t want to forget. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly."

That opening struck me. I've reread it many times. Overall, I liked the book when I first read it, but didn't love it.

As a teacher, I also used Hurston's essay "How It Feels to be Colored Me." It's a fun and engaging read. Students liked it and it sparked great classroom discussions. Hurston's perspective is refreshing. She's funny. She refuses to be a victim. She refuses to be held down or back.

Years later, I came across Hurston's autobiography, Dust Tracks on a Road. I really liked it, and I'm looking forward to rereading it soon.

Now, being more familiar with Hurston, I recently reread Their Eyes Were Watching God. I loved it, click here for my reflection. Rereading Their Eyes lead me to a collection of Hurston's essays titled You Don't Know Us Negroes and Other Essays. I really liked this collection too. Like Hurston's autobiography, it provides a lot of commentary that is very relevant today while also highlighting the differences between the early and mid twentieth century and the early twenty-first century.

Introduction

I have two friends who created a bell hooks versus Thomas Sowell death match in my mind. Hurtson can take them both. In one friends' language, Hurston experienced for more intersectional discrimination than bell hooks. Hurston grew up in the Jim Crow south. Her love for education, writing, and stories motivated her to rise above the imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. She wondered and found her way to Harlem during the Harlem Renaissance, through Howard University. She was a free spirit and thinker. She wouldn't give up writing and working for any of her three husbands, all divorced.

And still, in the other friends' language, Hurston was a constrained thinker. She talked about a feminism very much constrained to her place in time. Her revealed preferences prove her faith in black people. She saw and predicted the failures of Brown v Board. She worried about the victimization of black people. She was critical of what she called the "Race man" and "Race Champions." She was critical of Communism and the NAACP. She was loyal to facts over feelings. And she believed in individuals:

“I do not share the gloomy thought that Negroes in America are doomed to be stomped out. We will go where the internal drive carries us like everybody else. It is up to the individual.”

Reading List

For a quick sample read "How It Feels to be Colored Me." Hurston's autobiography is excellent. Most of the essays below are included in You Don't Know Us Negroes and Other Essays. After you fall for Hurston and her writing read Their Eyes Were Watching God!

• "How It Feels to be Colored Me" (personal essay)
  
• "The Last Slave Ship" (historical, predates Barracoon)
  
• "High John de Conquer" (folklore)
• "My People, My People" (essay)
• "Seeing the World as It Is" (essay)
  
• "You Don't Know Us Negroes" (essay)
  
• "Art and Such" (essay)
  
• "Crazy for This Democracy" (essay) (for Drew)
• "The Characteristics of Negro Expression" (linguistics essay) (for Forrest)
• Their Eyes Were Watching God (Novel)
• Dust Tracks on a Road (autobiography)

I'm going to check out a collection of her letters next. Then I want to read her "The Eatonville Anthology." After that I want to try more of her fiction.

Rereading Their Eyes Were Watching God

A friend and I are rereading our 5 star books. While recently rereading The Color Purple, I saw pieces of Zora Neale Hurston in Alice Walker's writing and story. It made me want to reread Their Eyes Were Watching God. So we did, here is my reflection.

I first gave Their Eyes Were Watching God four stars of five. I will promote it to five of five stars. I want and need to reread it again, maybe next year. The story is very rich. A lot richer than The Color Purple. Maybe it isn't fair to compare them, but I read them back to back. Walker's story is very much on the surface. There are twists, great characters, character arcs, redemption, and a happy ending. The frame of the story is a diary the main character writes to God. The simplicity of the story is partially the simplicity of the main character, not intended as a criticism. The point of view works for the story and it kept its five stars on my reread. But I doubt I'll reread The Color Purple again.

Their Eyes Were Watching God can also be enjoyed and read on the surface. The dialogue, dialects, and idioms can make for a slower and tougher read. But it's worth it. The dialogues are a lot f fun and the side characters are funnier and more interesting. Hurston captures a time and place in Florida. Without giving much history, she is showing history. I understand and feel the time period in Hurston's novel. There is also more imagery and descriptive prose. Hurston's writing is fresh. There is a lot more between the lines and inside the text for closer readers. I love writers and stories that keep pulling back ad rewarding rereads. In addition, my friend and I have been debating the characters, plot, and ideas. That alone suggests five stars to me.

The main character has been criticized for decades. Hurtson, the author, was blamed for not being feminist enough or not doing x for black people. It's very ironic to read some the the criticisms. I would strongly suggest readers pair Hurston's autobiography or essays with this novel. Hurston was an independent woman and free thinker. Hurston was very interested in telling and recording the stories of black people. I really like Hurston. She was very smart. She was a great writer. She had a fun personality.

Janie, the protagonist, is a complex character. Criticism of Janie, or Hurtson, highlight a naivety of the criticizer.

Slight Spoiler Warning

Janie spends most of her life tryng to conform to her Grandmother's ideals. Janie is the second generation product of rape. She's very light skinned. She marries 3 times. Her second husband wants Janie to be his trophy wife for the city he is founding. Janie is the first lady of Eatonville. She's wealthier and higher status than all the women she knows, but she hates her life. When she realizes her role doesn't involve love and companionship, she becomes cold and distant. When she finds out she can hurt her husband with her words, he hurts her with his hands.

When her second husband dies, she is reborn. She has wealth and freedom. She can pick any man she wants or no man at all. What does she pick? Tea Cake a younger charismatic lowest class black man. He gambles, knife fights, and eventually beats Janie over his jealousy. Still Janie loves Tea Cake. She follows and adores him. But unlike her second marriage, Janie does so by her choosing. Tea Cake doesn't and can't force her. She is free.

There is a lot more to the story. You should read it.

It's not clear what to make of Janie or Tea Cake. What does Janie learn? What should readers think of Tea Cake? What should readers think of the violence? Why are they watching God?

I hope to investigate this question closer on my next read.