I kept asking myself as I read the book when will Solomon, an ancient king, will start playing

into this story about an African American man, Macon ‘Milkman’ Dead III, that is trying to find his place in a deeply fractured world, and honestly, part of me is still asking the question. This book will get you asking a lot and there were times I was lost in Morrison’s many colourful, yet at times confusing, tangents.

One thing that was clear, the book, made me think about the importance of my own name and identity. Milkman often

 questions where he fits and that his very existence seems to be at odds with the universe, he does not connect with his father and his mum, well I’ll let you read and find out about that. There were so many times I wished Milkman vocalised his deep vulnerabilities with those around him because I think he would have benefitted from a strong dose of therapy. To me that stands out to something I see a lot with men today, the difficulty of asking for help. Morrison really highlights this by allowing us into Milkman’s head but separately showing us events as they unfold outside as well.

We have Milkman’s friend, Guitar who often calls Milkman out for his own behaviour, without which it would have been easy to completely empathise with Milkman and his motivations. Without it, we do still consider Milkman as a flawed man, especially how he treats the women in his life. This is yet another aspect Morrison weaves into this deeply layered narrative. There’s no perfect character here, everyone is burdened by their upbringing and histories.

While this burden is accentuated throughout the book, Morrison really celebrates understanding your roots, your name, making peace with it and making it your own. She links a wonderful theme of flight with Milkman’s mission to discover his people and it made me ask, ‘who are my people’?, ‘Have I found my people’? ‘Am I at peace with who I am?’ and once you can answer those questions, you become weightless and capable of flight.

I ended up loving this book, pick it up and have a go, if anything it has my favourite final line of any book I’ve read.

Noam Jacoby (Melbourne City Chapter)

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Summers in Washington, DC, are always hot and humid. But on the first Wednesday of July, our pub was cool, and six goons gathered for the month's book chat. We read the club news, did our round of introductions, cheered our Bourdain Dinner from the previous week, and jumped right in.

Toni Morrison's protagonist in Song of Solomon is nicknamed "Milkman". He is born and raised in a Michigan rustbelt town and is surrounded by colorful characters. These characters struggle with complicated, strained relationships including those between Milkman and his immediate family members; between Milkman’s father and his father’s sister; and between Milkman’s parents. For much of the story, Milkman sees the tensions in these relationships but is too self-absorbed to play a role in mending or even understanding them.

Our chapter talked through most of the discussion questions for this book, but a particular group of questions took us into interesting territory: What does this book say about names? Do names have power? And do they shape us, or do we shape them?

Names in this novel confer social status. For example, Milkman's mother, Mrs. Ruth Foster, and her father, Dr. Foster, are referred to by their full, formal names throughout the book. For a time, the street on which they live was called "Doctor Street" by the local community because Black medical doctors were rare in early 20th century America. The Fosters occupied the highest socioeconomic status in their community and leveraged their high-status names.

In contrast, Milkman's father was Macon Dead, Jr., after his father, Macon Dead, Sr., a former slave who was assigned his name by an intoxicated white man--literally rewriting the history of a Black family. Ruth and Macon, Jr. name their son Macon III, a nod to their pride in having a son. But they name their daughters First Corinthians and Magdalena. Other prominent female characters also carry powerful biblical names, including Macon, Jr.’s sister, Pilate, and her daughter (Rebecca) and granddaughter (Hagar).

One of Macon, Jr.’s employees witnesses Ruth breastfeeding Macon III at age 4 years and, in an act of mockery, assigns to him the nickname “Milkman”. Those close to him understand it’s origin but are too ashamed to intervene. Milkman is kept in the dark well into adulthood and, like his father and grandfather, he seems powerless to choose his own name. In this story, like many others, namers hold power over the named.

Names also signal identity. Milkman makes no attempt to understand who he really is or how he relates to others until he is in his thirties. He finally musters the curiosity to learn more, leading him on a road trip to unfamiliar places. He meets a new cast of characters including many who knew his ancestors and their real names. It is only through this going back, searching, questioning and, most importantly, listening that he deciphers his family history—and his own identity.

Matt Moore (Washington DC Chapter)

If you missed it, grab a copy here.