Change in perspective

         When I first read the scene where we see Ruth breastfeeding Milkman long after he's too old for it, I wasn't really sympathetic to her. I was more... freaked out. If the author had written the scene differently, I would've seen it as more like a mother having different or more old-fashioned ways of raising her child. But, in that scene the author makes it clear that this isn't the case. Ruth knows that it's strange or even wrong. That's why she does it in secret. And we see in that scene that Milkman doesn't even really want to still be breastfeeding, so the problem isn't that Ruth can't get him to wean. Part of the reason I was weirded-out by this scene was that Ruth thought of it as her one secret pleasure during the day. This came across as creepy, but that was before I knew her backstory.
          Now, after having class discussions and having read much more of the novel, I'm able to see this scene much more differently (one of the trademarks of Morrison's writing style). As a reader I now know much more about Ruth's life and am able to see her perspective much more clearly. Ruth is a very lonely woman, and I think this ritual of breastfeeding was a way for her to feel relevant, and connected to someone (namely her son). In her childhood, the only person she had was her father, who was quick to marry her off and didn't have as much affection for her as she did for him. After a few years, her husband distanced himself from her and she became isolated once again, especially since her father had died. Although they never had love, Ruth was desperate to regain some kind of affection and went to Pilate to get a sort of love potion. She then became pregnant with Milkman and I think she wanted to hold onto him as long as possible since he was really all she had, and she had gone through so much for him to be born. Thus, she continued the ritual of breastfeeding him long after it was necessary.

Clipped wings

         Something that really intrigued me when reading Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys was the image of the burning parrot falling from the roof and the metaphors it portrays. The first time I read that scene in the book, without contemplating the meaning behind it, I found it somewhat gruesome and felt awful for the parrot. It had lived in a cage all it's life, and had it's wings clipped so it didn't have any freedom. When it's life was put in danger, it wasn't able to free itself and instead died a horrible and painful death.
          The parrot embodies Antoinette in many ways. They both are confined for most of their lives, for example. The parrot is caged and has it's wings clipped. Antoinette is confined by her lack of identification with any social group, so she is forced to be alone for a lot of her childhood. After Coulibri burns, she is confined to the convent which she never leaves until her stepfather comes to get her. Once out of the convent, she marries Rochester and is confined by that marriage to live with her husband and how he wants to live. They move to England and she's confined in the attic which is the last place she lives.
          At the end of the novel Antoinette is sick of being confined, and sick of having to live for everyone else and unable to live for herself. She doesn't want to be a parrot for anyone, being cooped up in the attic and only supposed to tell people what she'd been told to say, much like a parrot only repeats back what the people around it say. She ends this by throwing herself off the roof of the house and taking her own life. This is similar to how the parrot is on fire with clipped wings, unable to fly, and in a lot of pain. Instead of going on like this for as long as it could, it threw itself off of the top of Coulibri and died. Antoinette is also unable to fly in a way, since she inhibited by perhaps some mental or emotional blocks that restrain her from coherently saying or doing what she's trying to accomplish, and/or the people around her not trying to understand her or give her a chance to fly.