Morrison’s narrative story, her use of language is both stark and colorful. It seemed as though the reading flowed on language, causing me to stop and marvel, but driving me onward with story. Something like this:
How Sethe was walking on two feet meant for standing still. How they were so swollen she could not see her arch or feel her ankles. Her leg shaft ended in a loaf of flesh scalloped by five toenails. But she could not, would not stop, for when she did, the little antelope rammed her with horns and pawed the ground of her womb with impatient hooves. (p. 30)
What else can I say?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology