An (unusual) Toomer sandwich!

It is interesting that we are close reading these Jean Toomer excerpts at the end of the semester because I find his style to be among the most obvious and overt that we have read. Therefore, it is pretty easy to close read, but no less interesting. As others have noted in their blogs, "Becky" opens and closes with the same three evocative sentences. The story expands from this opening, and ends with it, forming a sandwich. Actually, it is not really a traditional sandwich, because sandwiches are usually made with two pieces of the same bread and, while this story appears to begin and end with the same slices of bread, it actually ends with the same piece of bread transformed. The top slice is straight from the bread box, the bottom slice is toasted, if you will.

In the opening, "The Pines whisper to Jesus. The Bible flaps its leaves with an aimless rustle on her mound" is taken as a metaphor. Obviously, the pines have been personified, and we assume that the whispering of the pines in the wind is interpreted by the narrator through his own religious conviction. The next sentence must be interpreted as following the former. If the pines are in fact 'whispering' in the wind, then it would seem that there is not really a Bible lying on top of the grave, not 'leaves' of a book but leaves rustling on the ground, again being interpreted in a religious context. We also assume that the mound is a proper grave, and the religious overtones support this assumption, despite their gothic nature. By the story's end, the opening has been transformed. We understand that Becky does not have a grave, but has in fact been buried in her cabin under her collapsed chimney. The bricks have formed a mound, on which Barlo throws a Bible. The haunting scene has been left there, the Bible continuing to flap in the wind, the pines whispering to Jesus as they have done since time immemorial.

This structure informs the rest of the narrative, the latter sentences following on the former sentences and transforming them. "Becky was the white woman who had two Negro sons" becomes in the second paragraph, "Becky had one Negro son." The second sentence has simplified the first. Not only is the qualifier "was the white woman" removed, making the verb 'had' to emphasize Becky's action, but the number of sons is reduced. Interestingly, Becky's race is removed in the second sentence, but the Negro race of the son is repeated. Toomer constantly plays with the action of his sentences in this story, giving the characters agency and denying it to them. In the first sentence, Becky's action becomes her identity, although the syntax removes Becky's agency from the action. In the second, simplified version, Becky performs the action, she 'had one Negro son,' but the verb is not active. Rather than connoting a violent birthing or an active possession, it seems to say that she simply had the son, as one would have a teakettle on the stove. When the townsfolk opine about Becky's situation, Toomer does not allow them to give voice to their own opinions; it is only their mouths that do, as disembodied creatures, making the vitriolic words even more sinister.
"Who gave it to her? Damn buck nigger, said the white folks' mouths." By posing the first part of this idea as a question, Toomer again removes the action from the actor. He could have written this as, "The damn buck nigger gave it to her, said the white folks' mouths" but that would have meant that the nigger would have actually acted in the sentence. In the Toomer way, the question becomes accusatory of Becky, since the actor has been removed, and in the following explanation, the only actor is the 'white folks' mouths,' making the sentences really an argument between Becky and her fellow 'white folks.' The point is clearly that whoever 'gave' her the son is unimportant, insofar as the white folks will find someone to blame, rightly or wrongly, and inflict punishment. In the story, the focus is on Becky as the more punished, since she is not only exiled by the townspeople, but also bears the cross of God, who has cast her out of his kingdom, as indeed in her death she is not buried properly in the earth. These two sentences are repeated and transformed again,
"Who gave it to her? Low-down nigger with no self-respect, said the black folks' muths." The same structure is repeated, only this time the 'nigger' has been qualified by 'with no self-respect.' Essentially, the judgment is the same from both side of the town.

"The pines whispered to Jesus" becomes a dramatic refrain that builds throughout the story, as the action proceeds. The refrain moves from despair, to compassion, to desperation, "Pines shout to Jesus!" Finally, the story ends with the Pines again whispering, and they seem totally ineffective in reaching the divine.

"Seventh Street" also uses the sandwich beginning and ending technique, which seems like a very effective structure for a short story. In both, everything operates on multiple levels. Language has literal and figurative meanings always, and in this way, the stories play with our perception.