LITR 5731: Seminar in American Minority Literature
University of Houston-Clear Lake, Fall 2001
Sample Student Midterm

Rosalyn Mack
LITR 5731 2003 midterm

Names and Naming: A Battle fo r Identity in African American Literature

             A name not only identifies an individual, it provides a mooring to the past, joining them to the history that has gone before them.  Names can be shields that guard and protect as well as weapons of change and defiance.  A simple change of name can bestow a new status, safety or even honor upon the bearer.  The African American experience is often deeply tied to the importance of a name and its history.  A common thread running through The Classic Slave Narratives, Song of Solomon, and Push is the importance of a name and knowing the how and why of it’s choosing. 

            Many times the strongest influence of a name lies in the ability to recognize it, particularly if it is a new name in an unknown tongue.  In The Life of Olaudah Equiano, Equiano goes through several rapid name changes.  From his native name, chosen by his parents and most likely given with some reverence, to the random and completely thoughtlessness names selected by his slave owners, Equiano experiences no less than three name changes.  While at the Virginia plantation immediately following his capture he is “called Jacob; but on board the African Snow I was called Michael” (Equiano 39).  Equiano’s tone suggests that the names were randomly chosen with little to no thought other than to strip him of any connection to his past or African home.  As was quite common during the slave era, newly captured slaves were given biblical names more out of expediency than any real sense of religious sentiment.

A significant naming event takes place after the captain of the Industrious Bee purchases Equiano.  The name Gustavus Vassa is bestowed upon Equiano, strangely there is no indication of why this name was chosen by the English captain.  The name itself is exotic and foreign sounding, which may be an indication of the ship captain’s inner feelings regarding the young slave boy.  Equiano states that he was meant to be a present for some of the captain’s friends in England, so it stands to reason that the name was meant to enhance, and highlight, the exotic nature of the gift.

Equiano refuses to answer to this new name, preferring to retain the name “Jacob,” which he is familiar with and which was also his first slave name.  He speaks very little English and yet manages to make himself understood in this regard.  “And when I refused to answer to my new name, which at first I did, it gained me many a cuff; so at length I submitted, and by it I have been known ever since” (Equiano 40).  Oddly, although Equiano makes this claim, his life story is published under the African name of Olaudah Equiano, perhaps recognizing that his audience would be more open to a personal account of the horrors of slavery if the name on the cover was recognizably African.  This emphasizes the impact a properly chosen name can have on the emotional and mental perceptions of others.

Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon wraps itself around this concept that names are imbued with an impact and weight that affects not only the name holder but also all those surrounding him or her.  The names found in Song may seem randomly chosen or arbitrarily bestowed but each carries it’s own meaning, telling something about the bearer.  “Names they got from yearnings, gestures, flaws, events, mistakes, weaknesses.  Names that bore witness.” (Song 330)  In this way, identity is solidified; a marker is set which allows others to feel that something is known about that person.  An individuality is born within which the named person becomes as much, or as little, as he chooses to be.  A kind of mask is crafted, which can expose a private shame or highlight a public triumph.

            Morrison subtly leads the reader into this discovery of the importance of name-giving, offering up an irony in the first name presented: a name that doesn’t tell anything about the bearer.  A generic name, giving no indications about its person.  Robert Smith, the insurance agent and the man who believes he can fly, is the first person presented to the reader.  Yet Smith’s name leaves the reader unprepared for the extraordinary event about to occur in Smith’s life.  It’s a generic name, Robert Smith, nondescript, much like the general population’s ideas of him. But Robert Smith believed he could fly and tried to prove it.  A frightfully bold act that many believed to be “the most interesting thing he had done” (Song 9) and yet we later learn that the mild-mannered man incapable (or unwilling) to look his clientele in the eye was a member of the Seven Days.  Here then is an example where the anonymity of a name helped to disguise an occupation more interesting than insurance agent. 

The most important name in the novel is Macon Dead.  Our first introduction to the history of the name comes during Macon Dead’s brooding resentment of the nickname his son has acquired.  The name Macon Dead originated as “[a] literal slip of the pen handed to his father on a piece of paper” (Song 18) and Jake, unable to read, kept the name.  It’s obvious from the passage that Macon feels the name to have been a rather cruel joke played on his father and that he has some confused feelings about the name and therefore his parents and their decision to abide by the naming. 

“His own parents, in some mood of perverseness or resignation, had agreed to abide by a naming done to them by somebody who couldn’t have cared less.  Agreed to take and pass on to all their issue this heavy name scrawled in perfect thoughtlessness by a drunken Yankee in the Union Army” (Song 18).

Macon believes his father was too cowed by his slavery or too ignorant to stand up for himself and change his name.  Later we learn that Jake was discouraged from it by his wife, Sing.

Although we’re never told why he kept the name, other than at Sing’s encouragement, it seems likely that accepting a new name, no matter how discomforting or weighty, was a way of solidifying his freedom and releasing his past.  The person that would become Macon Dead was never a slave; he was a free man who could own property and work hard to gain the respect of his neighbors and friends.  He was a man who could take pride in what his hard work earned him.  And he could die protecting what was his.  So although his progeny cannot see the worth of the name, it’s very likely that the newly minted Macon Dead (Jake) understood the value in gaining a new name and thus a new identity, a blank slate to take out into his new freedom and make himself whatever he wanted to be without the stigma of “slave” attached to it.

But sometimes a family name carries too much weight and then becomes burdensome and resented, especially by those who follow after.  The second Macon Dead seemingly tries to bear his name with fortitude but the underlying bitterness is there for all to see.  He longs for some normalcy within the naming rituals of his family.  He wonders if there has ever been anyone in his ancestry “…who had a name that was real.  A name given to him at birth with love and seriousness.  A name that was not a joke, nor a disguise, nor a brand name” (Song 17-18).

But Macon persists in the naming rituals that he himself detests.  He named his daughters according to the family tradition of “the blind selection of names from the Bible for every child other than the first male” (Song 18) and he passed on his name to his son.  So there is some hypocrisy to his resentment.  Rather than be the person who names his children at birth with love and seriousness, he gifts his children with names that are outside the norm.  He lacks the courage to execute his convictions and the fortitude to move beyond the ritual and name his children as he chooses.  

He excuses his propagation of the naming ceremony by claiming youth and the newness of fatherhood.  But in truth, Macon cannot release the past enough to travel uncharted territory by naming his children simply and lovingly.  He recognizes the importance of naming but not of the names themselves.

Within Sapphire’s Push, we experience a character, Precious, who is opposite Macon Dead in this regard.  She recognizes the importance of names even if she doesn’t yet understand the literal meaning and the irony of her own. 

Precious begins her story by introducing herself using her full name; openly admitting to the reader “I don’t know why I’m telling you that” (Push 3) perhaps recognizing, but not knowing, that to fully reveal one’s name is to allow another to feel they know you and will get to know you better.  It’s the first step to a fully open discourse between two people. 

She also uses her name to establish the rules of engagement between herself and her audience, stating “[e]verybody call me Precious.  I got three names – Claireece Precious Jones.  Only mutherfuckers I hate call me Claireece” (Push 6).  So right from the beginning Precious has established the rules of her name and her identity and set the tone for her narrative. 

Significantly Precious seems to feel that it is disrespectful to address certain people by their first names.  She internally refuses Miz Rain’s offer to call her Blue. 

“I look at her like she crazy–why we want that?  I might say some bad things I get mad or somebody fuck with me or somethin’, but I try to show respect for peoples.  So I say to myself, No, Miz Rain, I don’t want call you Blue” (Push 53).

  Obviously the student-teacher relationship is so deeply ingrained in her that she cannot allow herself to address Miz Rain by her first name but it’s more than that.  Within Precious’ cultural heritage, the young do not address their elders by first name.  Not even if invited.  Precious’ reaction is tinged with horror and embarrassment that Miz Rain would even offer the option.  By making the offer, Miz Rain is lowering herself to their level, and violating societal rules that do not allow fraternization between adults and children.  Since Precious still sees herself as a child, which she is, she clings to the tenets of her childhood and follows the rules she knows. 

For Precious, and most of the girls in the room, addressing Miz Rain as “Blue” would lessens her ability to distill the knowledge they seek.  They would be unable to respect her and therefore would have difficulty learning from her.  It is a complex and convoluted hierarchy of age and respect that these young women were born into and the boundaries are most often reinforced by how you allow others to address you.  Children do not address their elders by first name or without a designation of respect. 

Furthermore, Miz Rain is part of this hierarchy and knows that offering to allow the use of her first name will change the dynamics of the classroom.  The offer seems to come as an afterthought and she’s uncomfortable making the offer, so while those in the classroom might not realize what she’s offering, the value of the action lies in the fact that it was made.

At the beginning of the narrative we meet a young woman whose only true possession is her name.  By controlling what she allows others to call her, she maintains her identity and sense of self.  And yet even her identity is under siege since Precious must fight her mother’s attempts to refashion Precious into a younger version of herself.  Precious seems to realize that she is being forced along a path to nothingness and fights to retain her individuality. 

As Precious becomes literate, she gains more confidence in herself and her abilities and she begins to shape a new image of herself and her future.  She adopts a new name to reflect this change in herself.  When she begins writing poetry in her journal she drops the name Claireece and experiments by signing her poetry with various forms of the name Precious.

Ironically it is only after the birth of her son that Precious learns the meaning of her own name.  She carefully selects the names she gives her son using a book of African names.  “Abdul Jamal Louis Jones.  That is my baby’s name.  Abdul mean servant of god; Jamal, I forgot; Louis for Farrakhan, of course.  […] My name mean somethin’ valuable–Precious.  Claireece, that somebody else’s name” (Push 69). 

In her parents’ eyes, Precious’ only value lies in what she can do for them and what they can do to her.  Otherwise they take no interest in her.  Her mother’s lack of concern goes so far as to become jealousy, molestation and physical abuse.  Yet there is a hint that perhaps she had high expectations for her daughter.  She named her Precious which implies that at some point that’s how she viewed the child.  The name is the only hint that her mother must have once loved her very much but by the time Precious learns the meaning of the word, she knows that her only value to her mother comes in the form of a welfare check and free maid service. 

Significantly Precious never tells her mother’s name.  She details most of the people in her life and many of the strangers and yet her mother remains unnamed.  By failing to provide a name, she reduces her mother to a grotesque and inhuman caricature.  Lacking a name her mother almost fades into the background, seemingly too bizarre and disturbed to be real.  In this way, Precious has her revenge.

As she grows and matures, Precious finds worth in herself and learns to trust and respect other people and herself.  She develops confidence in her abilities and discovers that she can have a future of her choosing.  Finding her voice and knowing her name allows her to grow in ways that neither she nor her society expected she could manage.

Throughout all three novels the recurring theme seems to be about making a name for yourself – whether out of necessity or vanity is unimportant.  The importance lies in the journey and how you interpret those experiences.  Equiano, while appearing to be an exception to this theme, is perhaps the best example of it because his story is real.  But he used his natural skills and hard work to make his name known and earn his freedom, then he used it to fight for the abolition of slavery in Britain by writing his life’s history.

Song of Solomon and Push both illustrate that the young must travel their own path to discover who they are and where they belong.  Along the way they create a name for themselves and establish the rituals and meanings they will pass on to their children.  While the principle characters from each book seem fundamentally different, they are both searching for a place in the world where they do not feel burdened with the baggage of their parents and others.