Of my first time reading Beloved, I remember most the violence of the book, and my own horror at learning that such violence was at the root of my country’s history. Of course I knew about slavery and the Civil War, but most history classes are a lesson primarily in sugarcoating, if not in outright lies. Still, lucky me, to have lived so long so blithely unaware.
At seventeen, though, I was primed to see violence everywhere: through copious amounts crime shows I watched each evening, so fond of their pretty dead girls of the week, but also day after day in my own life: sexual harassment in the hallways at school; teachers getting caught, year after year, exploiting and molesting their students; the slurs and whistles and slow creeping of cars weekly (daily?) on my way home from school.Read More