Toni Morrison crafts a narrative in Beloved that uses the motif of a tree to explore concepts of trauma and healing that looks at the deeper roots of generational trauma and Sethe’s response to it. Sethe’s perspective on her “chokecherry tree” scar go back and forth, similar to her emotions about remembering her past and living her own life in the present. This is especially apparent when looking at Sethe’s first conversations with Paul D. She subtly brings up her scar, stating that she only calls it a chokecherry tree because a white girl (who we later learn is amy) said it looked like one. Sethe then says, “But that was eighteen years ago. Could have cherries too now for all I know” (18). In this, we see how Sethe doesn’t like to consciously think about her past. Her biggest and most traumatic scar is something she can’t see, and because she can’t see it, is easier to try to forget. The fact that it “could have cherries now for all I know” implies that much more has happened to Sethe, but she also pushes it down so much that she doesn’t really “know”. The words “for all I know” are often used casually, for things that don’t matter or things we don’t feel have significance to talk about. In reality, she does know. Her body knows, at least, but she brushes it off in her mind like she does in her words, because talking about it would dig deeper into it and open it up again. This is similar to Amy’s phrase, “Anything dead coming back to life hurts” (42), which also captures what Sethe’s healing process looks like. It emphasizes the painful process of confronting historical trauma and acknowledging that its essential for healing, but it also reopens wounds that are never truly closed and maybe never will be because it’s so deeply scarred.
This same inner conflict is discussed on page 43, when Sethe explains her understanding of time and rememory. “Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it’s gone, but the place– the picture of it– stays, and not just in my rememory, but out there, in the world.” In this, Morrison establishes that trauma leaves a permanent mark on both memory and the world itself. Morrison compares it to physical things, stating that even after something is physically destroyed or no longer present, its impact and the memory of it shape how we understand our present– like trauma and the past do. It becomes something that is not responded to in a set way, but is approached subjectively to how the carriers of this trauma are feeling in their present.
This is exemplified when Sethe’s description of her scar changes when she first lays with Paul D. Instead of her “Chokecherry tree” she calls it a, “clump of scars” (25). At this point, Sethe had just experienced a very intimate opening of her scars, lying with Paul D. The act of intimacy likely brought out her sexual trauma, and she and Paul D were described as “resenting” each other after the act (24). She calls her chokecherry tree a “clump of scars” because she assumes that Paul D thinks that. She is put in a position where she is forced to be seen as vulnerable and as a harbor of trauma, so she digs into her insecurities, and instead of brushing off her deeper issues like she did before, she insults them as a defensive response. She does this in a way that opens up ideas of self-loathing that she was likely trying to avoid previously by pushing down her trauma. In fact, the aging of her trauma shows in this statement of self-loathing.
This “aging” of trauma is interesting to think about when compared to the physical form of a tree. With age, trees become more hollow on the inside. The recurring symbol of a tree being used might be used to explore how although “time heals”, time can also worsen the issues developed by trauma in a person, making them more “hollow” or emptier because a part of them feels missing. This can also be applied to an entire generation of people, especially if they are traumatized as a collective, like previous slaves. In this context, Morrison’s use of trees reveals how ingrained trauma– especially the trauma of previous slaves, affects more than the individual, but instead entire communities and even future generations. Although Sethe is continually healing in her own ways, or at least with time, the past is something that isn’t easily erased, especially when the past is a shared experience. Morrison shows how healing is ongoing with collective generational trauma, and doesn’t necessarily have an “answer” that fits all.
2 thoughts on “The Aging of Trauma”
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In my African American Women Writers class, we read Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward; this novel also embodies some of Morrison’s themes of “aging” trauma and connections to ecological motifs. A central character in the latter half of the book is the disembodied spirit of a young Black man who used to be a prisoner on a prison farm; his spirit is trapped in the mortal world and occasionally burrows underground for reprieve from the land of the living. You talked about trees becoming increasingly hollow as they age–as this spirit occasionally resurfaces from the same agricultural land he was once forced to work, time is increasingly nonlinear. It’s almost as if the land itself holds these memories. This fertile farmland is abused for prison labor in a sort of neo-plantation, and not only does it remember the past, but it also holds the past and present all at once.
When I read Beloved, I was struck by the multifarious roles nature played in the characters’ stories. As you point out, nature acts as both a reminder of and witness to the characters’ trauma, but it also serves as a refuge for them. As I read your post, I was reminded of the grove that Denver often escaped to, as well as the clearing where Baby Suggs held community gatherings. These natural locations seemed to act as spaces where the characters could process their trauma.