My Review of "The Color Purple": Is This OK for White People?

I saw the movie "The Color Purple" way back, years and years ago. I didn't remember many of the particulars, but I recalled the basic gist of the story, enough to make me anticipate that reading Alice Walker’s 1982 Pulitzer prize-winning novel upon which the movie was based a cakewalk. And this actually was the case - it turned out to be easy going for the most part. Reading the book did dredge up another memory, however: when the movie adaptation was released, there was a certain amount of outrage that it had been directed by Steven Spielberg, a white director. The disconnect between the story of the early twentieth century southern African American female experience and the interpretation of that experience by a white male (white and Jewish, yet) director raised more than a few eyebrows and objections. And frankly, after reading the book, I can understand why. This is delicate territory for white folks to tread when reading the novel, much less to feel comfortable enough about it and its themes to attempt to reshape it from one medium to another.

As a side note: I watched the movie again after reading the book; Oprah’s 2010 reunion and revival of praise notwithstanding, I found the movie to be pretty cringe-inducing in several parts (I actually thought Oprah was pretty great as Sofia). Probably the most awkward part was the Disneyesque soundtrack with wacky “ain’t people silly” melodies during inappropriate scenes. But whatever, it’s Steven Spielberg, what do you expect? At least Celie’s heart didn’t glow every time she saw Shug.

Anyway, back to the book. The biggest hurdle by far when I started reading was the language. I gather Walker herself anticipated readers having some difficulty with the “black folk language,” as she described it (not sure if that’s “folk” like “people” or “folk” like “folk art”), and a few things I read suggested it might help to read the letters out loud (the book is epistolary, and takes the form of letters to and from Celie, the main character). So yeah, I didn’t do that, but opted to read silently. While I did find the language to be somewhat difficult in general, I actually found myself experiencing something else as well: I was kind of embarrassed, the same way I might get a embarrassed if somebody were telling a slightly racist joke - like, feeling some trepidation about listening to it (or, in this case, reading it) in the first place, but also feeling a little bit of embarrassment for the teller (i.e., the writer). I had to tell myself that it was cool and that the dialog was probably pretty faithful to the dialect of the time, that I wasn’t reading some parody. I still can’t help but wonder if there has been some fundamental sea change in the thirty or so years since the novel was written and whether we have become more comfortable, less comfortable or just more familiar with this sort of language. Of course, there is also the chance that the book or the movie version of “The Color Purple” made this increase in familiarity possible. Regardless, it was surprisingly difficult for this white devil at first to get past the language and get into the flow of the book.

The plot is pretty straightforward. Celie, born poor and black in early 20th-century rural Georgia, writes letters to God et al., describing her life and times growing up as a slave (in everything but name) to race, place, sexuality and men. She is separated from her sister Nettie when both are little more than children (though by the time of their separation Celie has already been married to the abusive Albert, initially known only as “Mister”). Over the course of forty or so years, Celie gradually increases in confidence and becomes comfortable with herself as a creature of worth emotionally, sexually, financially and creatively. Ultimately, she discovers her intrinsic value as a human being, unifying all the separate components of value into a single whole and then integrating that whole into her other interpersonal relationships. By the end of the book, the whole “journey of healing” thing was starting to get a little treacly and annoying, particularly some of the final scenes in which essentially every character in the book pretty much comes together as one big happy family, including Celie’s abusive and overtly adulterous husband (he digs the pants she has begun sewing as an aspiring clothing designer/seamstress, so she makes him a pair and all is forgiven).

A lot of my discomfort with the language and nausea from the sickly-sweet plot was abated by the letters to Celie from her sister Nettie, who, estranged from Celie at an early age, has traveled to Africa as part of a missionary group. Her experiences provide a proxy for Celie to the larger world outside her small life in Georgia. Nettie’s story is an interesting read on its own, dealing with the rape of the African bush by British invaders and the disruption to the core way of life of the native people amongst which Nettie and her adoptive family live. It’s a pretty heartbreaking side-plot, and even though the tribe and events are fictional (as far as I can tell from some very basic Googling, anyway), it would be difficult to deny the truth of the basic scenario.

So, this was really supposed to be about Celie and why she is thought to be such a compelling character. I would basically agree that she is pretty engaging. Her journey from obscurity, shame and fragmentation  to self-respect and wholeness was satisfying, albeit occasionally corny. The high points - her sexual awakening as a lesbian (this is how I read it, anyway); her realization that she has the ability to love and desire and to in turn be loved and desired; her confidence as a being independent of men; her entrepreneurial spirit despite an oppressive racial climate and economy - made her more complex than I think the actual words of the book or the rather shallow portrayal in the movie showed. In other words, I got the feeling that I knew who Celie was better after reading and digesting the book than I did while reading it or watching the movie. But she’s a good character, and a worthy addition to the list of the 100 Best Fictional Characters Since 1900 (and my first stab at said list).