Love is or it ain't. Thin love ain't love at all.

Mi libro de noviembre, que lo vine terminando en enero fue Beloved. Tengo que confesar que después de leer esta obra de arte, he aumentado considerablemente la barra con la que juzgo la literatura. No solamente la autora sabe manejar las palabras de manera casi mágica, sino que la variedad de recursos literarios utilizados de manera tan natural hacen que la historia se desprenda del papel y flote a tu alrededor.

Morrison utiliza una especie de realismo mágico al contar esta historia. Este recurso hace posible que algo mágico se acepte como real, pero también ayuda a nivelar los hechos monstruosos como comunes. Es tan natural que exista un fantasma en tu casa o que un árbol crezca de tu espalda, como es el hecho de que a una madre le arrebaten de los brazos a sus hijos o que se le niegue a un hombre el derecho a suspirar por un atardecer. De esta manera es posible aterrizar al lector a un mundo afortunadamente desconocido. El uso de este lenguaje figurativo no sólo ayuda a establecer el cimiento de la historia, pero la interacción entre los personajes, ya que el lenguaje literal no siempre es una opción de comunicación víable entre esclavos.

"I got a tree on my back and a haint in my house, and nothing in between but the daughter I am holding in my arms"

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 18

"The last of her children, whom she barely glanced at when he was born because it wasn't worth the trouble to try to learn features you would never see change into adulthood anyway."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 163

Beloved no es una historia líneal, más bien la describiría como cíclica. Está situada en 1873 en Cincinnati, Ohio -- con regresos contínuos al pasado (1850s) donde poco a poco se va descubriendo el presente. ¿Es Beloved una historia donde el pasado cobra vida? ¿Es posible que el pasado nos abandone alguna vez? Tal vez. Tal vez no.

"I was talking about time. It's so hard for me to believe in. Some things go. Pass on. Some things just stay. I used to think it was my memory. You know. Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it's not. Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it's gone, but the place - the picture of it - stays, and not just in my rememory, but out there in the world. What I remeber is a picture floating around out there outside my head. I mean, even if I don't think it, even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened. [...] Someday you be walking down the road and you hear something or see something going on. So clear. And you think its you thinking it up. A thought picture. But no. It's when you bump into a rememory that belongs to somebody else."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 43

Durante las remembranzas de los personajes vamos conociendo poco a poco la clase de sufrimiento que tenían que soportar los esclavos. No obstante, no son los golpes, violaciones o torturas lo que desgarra nuestro corazón, pero las decisiones de hacer a un lado lo amado para dejar de sufrir lo que nos termina de deshumanizar.

"Anybody Baby Suggs knew, let alone loved, who hadn't run off or been hanged, got rented out, laned out, bought up, brought back, stored up, mortgaged, won, stolen or seized. So Baby's eight children had six fathers."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 28

"For a used-to-be-slave woman to love anything that much was dangerous, especially if it was her children she had settled on to love. The best thing, he knew, was to love just a little bit; everything, just a little bit, so when they broke its back, or shoved it in a crocker sack, well, maybe you'd have a little love left over for the next one."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 54

"They killed the flirt whom folks called Life for leading them on. Making them think the next sunrise would be worth it; that another stroke of time would do it at last. Only when she was dead would they be safe. The successful ones -- the ones who had been there enough years to have maimed, mutilated, maybe even buried her -- kept watch over the others who were still in her cock-teasing hug, caring and looking forward, remembering and looking back."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 128

"[...] They were not supposed to have pleasure deep down. She said for me not to listen to all that. That I should always listen to my body and love it."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 247

"Anybody white could take your whole self for anything that came to mind. Not just work, kill, or maim you, but dirt you. Dirty you so bad you couldn't like yourself anymore. Dirty you so bad you forgot who you were and couldn't think it up."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 295

Morrison es muy cuidadosa al hablar de libertad. Así como al recuperar la vista, la explosión de colores te puede cegar. La libertad tiene su propia saga que hay que atravesar.

"Freeing yourself was one thing; ownership of that freed self was another."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 112

"What for? What does a sixty-odd-year-old slavewoman who walks like a three-legged dog need freedom for? And when she stepped foot on free ground she could not believe that Halle knew what she didn't; that HallE, who had never drawn one free breath, knew that there was nothing like it in this world. It scared her."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 165

"Listening to the doves in Alfred, Georgia, and having neither the right nor the permission to enjoy it because in that place mist, doves, sunlight, copper dirt, moon -- everything belonged to the men who had guns. [...] So you protected yourself and loved small. Picked the tiniest stars out of the sky to own [...] Anything bigger wouldn't do. A woman, a child, a brother -- a big love like that would split you wide open in Aldred, Georgia. [...] to get to a place where you could love anything you choose -- not to need permission for desire -- well now, that was freedom."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 191

En fin. Pudiera continuar citando gran parte del libro, pero terminaré con la frase que le da título a mi mensaje, una frase simple, intensa, y que se ha apoderado de mi mente varias veces durante este mes. 

"Love is or it ain't. Thin love ain't love at all."

Morrison, Toni. "Beloved". Page 194

Una excelente lectura, digna de disfrutar, discutir, y analizar por muchas horas.