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Post by sheridanf on May 11, 2014 20:55:35 GMT
Hey let's talk about flying.
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Post by sheridanf on May 11, 2014 22:01:19 GMT
Alright so flying. Flying is a cool motif that is prominent in the beginning with the flightless insurance guy and at the end with possibly-flying Milkman but is kind of lost in the middle. Starting at the beginning, not having the ability to fly is one of the first characteristics of Milkman:
After this, flying isn't brought up much, except for the white peacock and the song "O Sugarman done fly." Honestly, I forgot about Milkman's attachment to flying until the end, when he discovers the tale of his great-grandfather who could fly:
(I love this quote because Milkman's actually really excited about something for once, and he ditches the nice-ish way of speaking he's had from being higher class and just lets go. It's great.) And then finally, the motif of flying comes to fruition in the very last page when he jumps from the cliff:
In the novel, flying is a dream of Milkman that he promptly forgets when reality hits him at the early age of 4. Just as flying isn't explicitly discussed and forgotten by the reader in the middle section of the novel, Milkman doesn't think about his dream, even with little hints and signs around him, and it isn't until the end when we see his excitement and utter joy at discovering his ancestor could fly that the readers remember his dream. If Morrison's question has to do with identity, how people change, and/or what people live for, flying answers the question by showing that when it comes to hopes and aspirations, people don't really change- even when in his thirties, within Milkman is that two- or three-year old who wanted to fly.
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Post by stever on May 11, 2014 22:44:15 GMT
In addition to the examples Sheridan brought up, Morrison mentions the idea of flight in the epigraph: "The fathers may soar / And the children may know their names." Morrison brings up the idea of flight before the novel begins, emphasizing the importance of the motif.
While flight is usually discussed with positive connotations in the novel (Milkman dreams of flying, flight is discussed as beautiful), the literal meaning of flight seems to be very negative. Flight is used to describe Mr. Smith's suicide and Milkman's implied suicide at the end of the novel. It is strange to see suicide described in such a beautiful way; it is as if the characters in the novel do not view suicide as negative but instead as a necessary escape.
Flight seems to symbolize escape in the novel. Milkman's great grandfather escape from slavery is described as him flying away from his life as a slave. Returning to the epigraph, "The fathers may soar / And the children may know their names," it seems like stories of flight from the past serve as inspiration for the present, and help people keep hope that they too may fly.
Another interesting aspect of the theme of flight is its surrealistic quality. Characters do not literally grow wings and fly, but because flight symbolizes the escape from oppressive reality, flight is narrated in such a way that it does not reflect reality.
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Post by natalieskowlund on May 12, 2014 6:06:51 GMT
I like Steve's proposition that flight takes on a paradoxical representation in the story--at once alluding to the hope and romanticism commonly associated with flight while also displaying sinister undertones through its linkage to suicide and escape in the novel. I wonder if perhaps flight symbolizes the conflict between hope and optimism vs. the harsher side of reality. It plays with the notion our own desire to believe in the everlasting "green light" (to make a random Gatsby reference)--our longing to believe that the impossible is possible, and tosses it around with the other side, the reality of a world that doesn't necessarily buy into the whole "happily ever after" rigamarole. As Steve mentioned, Mr. Smith dies because he believes he can fly in the beginning of the novel, and Solomon leaves a destitute wife and 21 children behind when he flies away in the song Milkman hears. And of course, Milkman also dies in the end as a product of flight.
While in one sense Morrison seems to be warning of the danger of buying too wholeheartedly into romantic notions of the world, I definitely think there is a sweet essence to flight in the novel. While it does lead to death, betrayal and poverty for the characters who deal with it, it also represents a sort of comfort in the past and longing for a world entirely different from the one at hand. It raises the question of whether it really is so wrong to "fly away" from one reality if that reality completely suppresses an individual's true spirit. So while Milkman "flew" to his death in the end, somehow his spirit seemed brighter and more full than it had throughout all of his previous life. This also kind of channels Nora's escape from her life with Helmer in "A Doll's House"--a very frightening, difficult transition for her, but also one necessary for her to be able to move forward as a woman and an individual.
Furthermore, that Solomon "goes home" by flying away demonstrates the connection between flight and returning to comfort and origins. Like flying, it may not be all we had hoped it would be, and it will certainly be more painful than we had expected, but it also allows us an escape from the struggles we'd been facing when we disconnected ourselves from our true inclinations to fly. I often think of Pilate's refrain, "Sugarman gone home, Sugarman done fly away" (or something like that, because I can't find the exact passage). The words are melancholy, but when combined with the lilt of Pilate's voice and the repetition, it seems to mirror a sad lullaby. Thus, flight is, in essence, a sad lullaby in the novel. It reeks of loss and escape and unknown, but it also carries the sweet tune of a promise land we know not of until we jump off a cliff, spread our wings, and reach out to touch it ourselves.
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joelk
New Member
Posts: 36
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Post by joelk on May 13, 2014 3:37:28 GMT
I'd like to combine what Sheridan said with what Steve and Natalie have written, which would take the "it's always been Milkman's dream" concept and just add it to the "flying is escape from reality to some unknown better world." Milkman's dream would then seem to be a lifelong wish to leave his current life (probably in a more metaphorical sense, although this wish seems to manifest itself physically at the very end of the novel with his final jump). It seems, in Morrison's depiction of flying and Milkman's own character, that this combined statement runs strongly through the novel.
At one point, Morrison gives us a solid description of what the actual flight is like. After Milkman confronts Guitar, who accuses him of taking all the gold, Milkman returns to Sweet:
"Milkman slipped into Sweet’s bed and slept the night in her perfect arms. It was a warm dreamy sleep all about flying, about sailing high over the earth. But not with arms stretched out like airplane wings, nor shot forward like Superman in a horizontal dive, but floating, cruising, in the relaxed position of a man lying on a couch reading a newspaper. Part of his flight was over the dark sea, but it didn’t frighten him because he knew he could not fall." (298)
The first thing to note about this quote is the deliberate distinction of Milkman's sort of flying from stereotypical images. This leaves no doubt in the reader's mind about the relaxing nature of this flight, an idyllic nature the passage further emphasizes when it mentions that Milkman knew he could not fall. For me, at least, the supreme tranquility of this image calls to mind archetypes of death. Often, death is described as something peaceful and quiet. Perhaps Milkman cannot fall (though keep in mind that this is only a dream) because the sort of flying he dreams of occurs after he has already fallen, and it is only his spirit that is able to fly.
The idea of needing to give up something of central importance to fly also appears back when Milkman and Guitar are discussing the white Peacock. Milkman asks why the Peacock can't fly well, and Guitar replies, "Too much tail. All that jewelry weighs it down. Like vanity. Can't nobody fly with all that shit. Wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down" (179).
Were one to interpret this literally, "vanity" is something you must give up before you can fly. Looking to the all-encompassing "shit that weighs you down," though, suggests that unless your only weight is vanity—as it is in the case of the peacock—you may need to give up everything that anchors you to this world. Heck, even in the case of the bird, for a peacock to give up it's "tail," "jewelry," and "vanity" it would need to undergo seriously harmful physical pain, if not death. In other forums and in class, we've touched upon how Milkman seems held back by his surroundings and family history. To fly, then, Milkman must renounce—or escape—them all.
Taken alone, I think the idea of Milkman needing to throw off the constraining strings of his situation and family makes sense in the context of the novel. When we combine that with what Sheridan suggests, though, that Milkman has always wanted to fly, things get a little more complex. I don't think it is off base to suggest flying has always been a dream of Milkman's (it's pretty darn clear in the text), but I also don't think the interpretation of flight these quotes imply and Steve and Natalie explain is incorrect. With that in mind, has Milkman, since this very young age, really spent his whole life wishing to escape everything around him?
From what most of the novel focuses on, I think we can say yes pretty easily, but it gets a little murkier when we look at Milkman ages ~2-5. Milkman, or anyone, would seem too young to understand every factor of identity and his past, let alone wish to be completely free of it. At the same time, though, let's recall why he's called Milkman in the first place. In his words, speaking to Ruth, "You nursed me. Until I was…old. Too old" (126). From birth, then, Milkman's involuntary family ties seem overpoweringly and abnormally strong, an idea that fits our picture of flight.
If Morrison suggests that one must give up everything, including life, to fly, I think the question is therefore "Can you escape what you are born into?" and the answer is "You can run from it, but you can only hide in death." Perhaps the better choice, then, is to use what you're born into as a foundation for any change, rather than running from it and trying to start afresh.
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Post by coreybrown on May 19, 2014 5:54:05 GMT
Wow, um, well whatever notions I had about what I was going to post in this thread, you guys totally summed it up better than I could while also adding things I didn't even think about.
I guess the thing that intrigues me most, and that you guys touched on, is the fact that this notion of Milkman's desire/dream of flying seemingly disappears for a large portion of the novel and ends up serving as book ends to the story instead. For me this dream of flying, like you guys said, is a manifestation of his desire for an escape and I don't think that that desire goes away. Instead, for a large portion of the novel, Milkman's focus is shifted. We see him attempt to escape through his money and the things he can get through that, a fact that Guitar heavily criticizes him for, and then later his epic quest for the lost gold. These are all distractions and temporary escapes that, once over, leave Milkman back where he started. And dang it Joel you stole my quote, because these distractions parallel the idea put forth about the Peacock. Too much vanity and stuff that weighs you down. These distractions don't free him from his ties to what he's trying to escape from, in fact much of what Milkman is doing is directly related to those ties.
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Post by keelycorrigan on May 19, 2014 20:11:00 GMT
SO... my knowledge of this topic is limited. But, I think its pretty obvious that flying is an important motif to this novel. What with the multiple instances of flying at the beginning and throughout the book it seems to me that flying is used as a symbol for escape, rather than just freedom. My thoughts are REALLY scattered right now, so I'm going tot take some time to contemplate this but I really do think that it says something about the characters that they see that as a mode of escape (focus on negative) rather than freedom (focus on positive). Could the central question of the novel be about the ways that perspectives play into our lives, or the ways that people with problems can solve them by omission? I don't even know. But I think this is cool topic and I would love to be in this group!
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Post by jessicapollard on May 19, 2014 20:11:19 GMT
I want to be in this one! Post TBA
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Post by amysohlberg on May 28, 2014 17:06:05 GMT
I find it really interesting that Milkman's life begins with a man's failure to fly and ends in the same way. Even though we know that Milkman fell off Solomon's leap at the end of the story, he believes that he is flying, for if "you surrendered to the air, you could ride it" (337). It seems like an odd reversal that at the age of four, Milkman's childish belief in flying is already crushed by reality: "that only birds and airplanes could fly..." (9), yet at the end of his life he goes back to believing again.This seems to deconstruct the archetype of the fall from innocence by flipping it on its head, giving new light to Milkman’s sacrifice at the end of the story. Instead of a dark suicide, Milkman’s leap represents his fall “into” innocence, his final acceptance of childish belief.
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steph
New Member
Posts: 13
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Post by steph on Jun 4, 2014 5:04:14 GMT
There is a lot that has been said about flying, a lot of fantastic quotes have been thrown out there, and many of the complex meanings behind flying have been discussed. I'd like to elaborate a little more on the potential facade of positive meaning behind flying and its more true, negative connotations. For example, the discovery of the song of Solomon. It's about flying, makes Milkman feel like he's going to fly, etc. What's happening here to Milkman though, is that in piecing together his family history he finds a feeling of belonging, a joy in understanding his lineage, his history, that his family is important that the town is Solomon and everyone is named Solomon and goddammit that's his patriarchal lineage. But Milkman is filling himself with non-selves, with history rather than the present, and people/actions/places that are not himself. Not only are they not himself, he doesn't even like his lineage. He doesn't want to be closely intertwined with his family, his shadowy mom, angry sisters, controlling father, crazy cousin, and "gold-stealing" aunt. Yet here this flying man has gone and given him a substantial rope to tie himself to his family with.
Milkman dreams of flying. Here, an incredibly passive, often shallow, character is sleeping, doing one of the most passive activities possible, and it's when he's most happy, because he's dreaming of flying. It's denial, it's escapism, it's enabling/favoring/rewarding inaction.
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Post by shannonfender on Jun 4, 2014 8:12:10 GMT
What I think this quote really accomplishes is a summation of this whole "flight" motif present throughout Song of Solomon. Flight is a liberating and surreal experience, but it requires the actor to abandon the responsibilities that keep him or her grounded. If you fly, you are limitless, and you can quite literally transcend any form of oppression, but with that discarded baggage you must also give up everything else that "weighs you down".
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Post by great hrand father on Jun 10, 2024 15:26:47 GMT
I like Steve's proposition that flight takes on a paradoxical representation in the story--at once alluding to the hope and romanticism commonly associated with flight while also displaying sinister undertones through its linkage to suicide and escape in the novel. I wonder if perhaps flight symbolizes the conflict between hope and optimism vs. the harsher side of reality. It plays with the notion our own desire to believe in the everlasting "green light" (to make a random Gatsby reference)--our longing to believe that the impossible is possible, and tosses it around with the other side, the reality of a world that doesn't necessarily buy into the whole "happily ever after" rigamarole. As Steve mentioned, Mr. Smith dies because he believes he can fly in the beginning of the novel, and Solomon leaves a destitute wife and 21 children behind when he flies away in the song Milkman hears. And of course, Milkman also dies in the end as a product of flight. While in one sense Morrison seems to be warning of the danger of buying too wholeheartedly into romantic notions of the world, I definitely think there is a sweet essence to flight in the novel. While it does lead to death, betrayal and poverty for the characters who deal with it, it also represents a sort of comfort in the past and longing for a world entirely different from the one at hand. It raises the question of whether it really is so wrong to "fly away" from one reality if that reality completely suppresses an individual's true spirit. So while Milkman "flew" to his death in the end, somehow his spirit seemed brighter and more full than it had throughout all of his previous life. This also kind of channels Nora's escape from her life with Helmer in "A Doll's House"--a very frightening, difficult transition for her, but also one necessary for her to be able to move forward as a woman and an individual. Furthermore, that Solomon "goes home" by flying away demonstrates the connection between flight and returning to comfort and origins. Like flying, it may not be all we had hoped it would be, and it will certainly be more painful than we had expected, but it also allows us an escape from the struggles we'd been facing when we disconnected ourselves from our true inclinations to fly. I often think of Pilate's refrain, "Sugarman gone home, Sugarman done fly away" (or something like that, because I can't find the exact passage). The words are melancholy, but when combined with the lilt of Pilate's voice and the repetition, it seems to mirror a sad lullaby. Thus, flight is, in essence, a sad lullaby in the novel. It reeks of loss and escape and unknown, but it also carries the sweet tune of a promise land we know not of until we jump off a cliff, spread our wings, and reach out to touch it ourselves.
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