Starting a book review is always the hardest part. For me, reviews aren’t just about reflecting on the book itself; they’re also about reflecting on my experience with it. This weekend, I went book shopping, intending to pick up The Myth of Sisyphus, a widely acclaimed philosophical work on absurdity. Instead, I stumbled upon Sula by Toni Morrison. I’m no stranger to Morrison’s writing; her novel Song of Solomon made me fall in love with her style. So, I knew I had to grab this one. To make it even more enticing, it was a new edition featuring an introduction by Jesmyn Ward—an author I deeply admire—which I was eager to explore.
I spent nearly my entire Saturday immersed in this book, even switching to the audiobook while helping cook dinner for my family. The narration was by Morrison herself, which added a unique dimension to the experience: you can hear her inflections and the rhythm she intended for the novel. I finished the book in one sitting at home, and I highly recommend reading it that way. This isn’t a story to consume fragments; it deserves your full attention in one go. By the time I closed the book around 9 p.m., I was in awe. More than just that, I felt deeply satisfied, fulfilled by Morrison’s beautiful writing and her lyrical prose. It’s storytelling that only she could deliver so masterfully.
Sula is a story that most consider is about friendship, while I think the story focuses little on that and rather focuses on womanhood and what it means to be liberated. It is a story that focuses on the complexity of friendship through characters Sula Peace and Nel Wright and how this is seen through the lens of gender, race, and freedom.
The narrative begins with the history and symbolic significance of the setting‘s name. This name signifies a social standing linked to the land‘s poor quality and low value for farming. Consequently, the town‘s very name serves as a commentary on the marginalized position of its inhabitants. The neighborhood is set in a fictional town in Medallion, Ohio, called The Bottom.
The story goes that a farmer offered slave freedom and property in exchange for the completion of challenging labor. After the slave fulfilled the conditions, the farmer evaded his promise. He manipulated the language of their agreement, claiming the only property he could grant was “valley land,“ which he then situated in the hills.
When challenged on how a valley could be located in the hills, the farmer responded with an elaborate and indirect falsehood.
“High up from us,‘ said the master, “but when God looks down, it‘s the bottom. That‘s why we call it so. It‘s the bottom of heaven—the best land there is.”
In 1917, many black men from the community were deployed to fight in World War I, undertaking a perilous duty to defend their country without receiving any increase in rights or respect upon their survival. A pervasive feeling of deep helplessness affects the characters throughout the book, who sense that, despite their best efforts, they are doomed to face ridicule, inferior treatment, and a life of poverty and misery.
Surrounded by only misery and despair, the people of the Bottom accept a pessimistic outlook on life. Yet the members of this community become content with the way their lives are and couldn’t imagine living any other way. Paradoxically, accepting this outcome serves as a sense of peace and security for the community. This ultimate sets up the invention of National Suicide Day, a day created by community member and war veteran Shadrack. This day serves as a day for the members to process and make light of their lives
Each character in this book shows a different side of identity and what freedom looks like, and what an identity crisis feels like. One of the main characters, Sula, is incredibly complex. To me, she represents what it means to truly not care about what society expects. Her instinct to rebel against norms, her unusual ideas about love, her curiosity, and her unpredictability all make her who she is. And the book makes it clear that this doesn’t come from anything mental or abnormal; it’s something she inherits from her family.
Her mother, Hannah Peace, was a woman who embraced sexual freedom. There’s a powerful moment where Sula mirrors her mother’s behavior, pulling men into the same pantry where Hannah once had her own encounters. Then there’s her grandmother, Eva, who stands for survival, endurance, and the heavy responsibility of carrying a family legacy. Eva represents the part of womanhood that comes with endless sacrifices.
It’s also worth noting that the men in this family are almost completely absent, and that absence plays a huge role in shaping these women. Morrison uses this brilliantly, creating a sense that the missing men are haunting the narrative even when they’re not there.
Then there’s Nel, who I feel didn’t get as much dialogue as Sula but was still pivotal to the story. Her character represents conformity and what it means to live a life that follows the rules. There’s a moment in the novel—one I won’t spoil—that ultimately shatters Nel and Sula’s friendship. I don’t think the incident itself breaks them apart, though; it’s more about two opposing ideologies colliding. Nel’s journey is a personal struggle between wanting freedom and sticking to societal norms. In the end, I think she begins to find herself after reflecting on her choices and actions. She realizes that true happiness isn’t written down anywhere or laid out for everyone to follow; it comes from being honest with yourself and embracing your own identity.
Most of this book focuses on its characters rather than a fast-moving plot, and honestly, I found that refreshing. Whenever I write about a Toni Morrison novel, it feels less like reviewing the story and more like reflecting on her craft and what you take away from it. I can’t recommend this book enough, not just this one, but all of her work. Morrison is, in my eyes, a writer of true American classics.