Somehow it took me three English degrees, writing and teaching for over twenty years, and a hazy summer in 2023 to finally pick up Alice Walker’s The Color Purple. Sometimes with modern classics such as these, it is easy to put too much weight and expectations on the many opinions, interpretations, and adaptations that have come about over the years. Thankfully, it is one of those books that deserves all of the praise and attention it has ever received. It is truly a masterpiece.
The Color Purple mainly tells the story of Celie, a young Girl in turn of the century poor Georgia who writes epistles and mouths prayers to God throughout the novel. God is the only entity that seems to make any sense to her as she was born into a world of horrific sexual, emotional, and physical violence that is primarily the fault of brutal, monstrous men, including her father. Celie has two children by her father, both taken away; this remains a thread throughout the novel. Shug Avery, a magnetic female singer in a jazz club who is the girlfriend of Mister (Celie’s husband-owner-father figure), is a similar thread through the storyline as Celie has a sexual awakening that brings the two of them together in the suffocating environment of their lives. Through a variety of other moments and characters, including a stint in Jail, a big move to get away from the abusive men, and new successes in business, Celie begins to turn her back on the God that she trusted with her unanswered prayers. The danger of same-sex relationships, disobedience, loyalty, the frailty of human love, and faithlessness is not lost on the life Celie finds herself struggling to keep together or make any sense of, and it is this loss of faith, confused identity, and the rotten cruelty of men that makes up the core of this narrative.
This is one of those novels with a great deal of gravity over its importance. Like many other moments of picking up a book where the hype is built up over decades, I am always skeptical and feel like any approach but a clean mental slate is sure to equate to a massive letdown. This is a book that lives up to all of the expectations, however. Its prose is masterful, the use of regional dialect and heavily centered history lends authenticity to the story, and it is ultimately one of the greatest books ever written about the human condition, the disproportionate power and cruelty of gender norms, and love and loss. It is a perfect novel.
Stephen Spielberg’s 1985 film is absolutely gorgeous, and one thing that I think really makes it special is the degree to which he manages to capture the curiosity and beauty of youth while alluding to and capturing the cruelty of the world in which Celie lives. The first twenty minutes set the stage for the beautiful soap-scrubbed lens of youth, save for the trauma of the birth of the second child Oliver by the child herself Celie. Spielberg manages to showcase the experience of youth in such a strange way – one that captures the innocence and ignorance while nodding to the horrors of what is happening in the adult world that we the audience are well aware of. In a way, he really leans into the epistolatory God element of the book by seamlessly creating the atmosphere and tone on celluloid. Like any virtuoso, one watches in awe as you see him doing this magic trick before you, but one has no idea how he accomplished it so beautifully. Additionally, I found it striking that he made such a genuine film about the Black experience. It is a testament to the amazing team and performers he organized as a leader to make this beautiful, affirming piece of art. The film is another thing I was somewhat skeptical about, mainly thinking that it was wild that the Jewish Spielberg was the one slated to be the director – wouldn’t a team of highly talented black creators be more capable and appropriate for the job – but he was the biggest director at the time and perhaps money is the message more, here… That said, the film pulled 11 Academy Award nominations and it is truly an excellent film, however, the real shame in the politics and branding of Hollywood (not to mention again, the money of Hollywood) is that it did not earn a single one. (Side note, I absolutely love Amadeus and it deserved every accolade it got that year…)
Unfortunately, Walker’s reputation as a writer with her finger on the pulse of true humanity has been tarnished by the decision to vocally support her indoctrination into modern antisemitism and insane conspiracy by David Icke. Even with a rebuttal and revision in a later NYT interview, I find it difficult to separate the art from the artist. Accusations and false testimony have brought down many artists who have deserved it and who have not, and cancel culture certainly has both and leads to positive and negative outcomes… But when one directly mentions a conspiracy among a certain group of people in print, and it is coming from one’s own belief system one walked into after listening to Alex Jones, David Icke, and others way too much, we are met with the serious boomer brain rot vibes we see in countless advice columns of young family members trying to save their parents from their cognitive decline. Luckily, Walker blessed us with her best work before this humiliating exercise in oversharing… And in a novel such as this, with such heavy human truths about sexism, racism, and abuse, it is somewhat deflating to know that these very tropes are the ones she is engaging with (and encouraging others to engage with) four decades later. She just keeps doubling down on it, though, and it is sad her mind was poisoned and continues to spread the spores of these disgusting ideas to her audience every opportunity she gets like every boomer Facebook relative we try to avoid at all costs. It’s a shame, as the thematic, emotional, and social rally she presents in her work can be so quickly undermined by a conspiracy theorist’s diarrhea parroting The Protocols of the Elders of Zion in new packaging and just as counterfeit.
Hate is hate is hate.
Garrett Zecker 