A review by korrick
for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf by Ntozake Shange

3.0

i loved you on purpose
i was open on purpose
i still crave vulnerability & close talk
& i'm not even sorry bout you bein sorry
you can carry all the guilt & grime ya wanna
just dont give it to me
i cant use another sorry
next time
you should admit
you're mean/low-down/triflin/& no count straight out
steada bein sorry all the time
enjoy bein yrself

3.5/5

I knew I was setting myself up for a less than complete experience by reading this play script rather than seeing the play performed, but after such a long school period of being trained on the reading of myriad Shakespeare plays, the comparatively inaccessible means of watching specific ones, whether filmed or live, leads me to choose to experience in whatever form I come first upon and worry about better means of exposure later. Plays don't get a lot of traction these days whether on GR or in real life, leastwise to my untutored gaze, so this and [b:A Raisin in the Sun|5517|A Raisin in the Sun|Lorraine Hansberry|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1165522672s/5517.jpg|3154525] remain remarkable for being some of the best known examples outside of the Shakespearean monopoly, and how outside that monopoly the very structural fiber of this play is. It almost begs to be not seen or herd but witnessed, borderline liturgical in its confessions and damnations and revelations, even tending towards celebrations amongst the deprivations that continue to plague black womanhood near a half century later. My personal rating is helped by this comprehension as much as it is hindered by the form by which this choreopoem comes to me. A later, more holistic performance awaits, but when and by what means I will encounter it, I do not yet know.

This work didn't really start coming together for me till the very end, and it ultimately left me somewhat moved but neither totally blown over or completely in hatred. There's a number of random Internet strangers I've recently come into contact with through a discord group who I know would throw conniptions over the choices of spelling and capitalization Shange makes, but I've read too much and too widely to still be bothered by such trivial nitpicking, so it wasn't the framing that interfered with as much as it was what came with [b:The Bluest Eye|11337|The Bluest Eye|Toni Morrison|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1388208495s/11337.jpg|1987778], where I acknowledge that my personal experience and that of every white chick under the sun will forever lack the resources, nay, the paradigm needed to encounter this narrative of black womanhood and resonate with it in any way deeper than a murmur near completely superficial with its white washing. Fortunately, the average rating for this work is just fine and likely filled with the recognition of those who have actually seen this performed rather than merely the words on their pages, and as I am committed to accompanying my reading in the same manner, I'm not too concerned about my own lackluster appraisal. These aren't the kinds of pains or pleasures that have buffetted me throughout my own experience, and my recognition of the need for such stories to be told in whatever forms they choose has next to nothing to do with such a simple representation as an honest star rating.

It's early enough in the year for me to be keeping track of the number of books read on the fingers of one hand, and while this work is nowhere near the top, I find it good to stretch my reading faculties so early on. I don't often read plays these days, and this and another work are likely the only representatives of the genre amidst my shelves, leastwise off the top of my head. I don't particularly see myself seeking out more scripts, but I'm hoping this will be ameliorated by my graduating from text to to live performance even if that should take place far further in the future than I unconsciously assume. The 21st century doesn't seem to have been to kind to plays, but that may be sufficient reason to dig the relatively buried examples out from the usual muffled demographics. A project for a time when I'm more in the mood. In the meantime, I have a growing pile of translated behemoths to pin down to my satisfaction, and such projects wait on no woman.

i sat up one nite walking a boardin house
screamin/cryin/the ghost of another woman
who wz missin what i was missin
i wanted to jump up outta my bones
& be done wit myself
leave me alone
& go on in the wind
it waz too much
i fell into a numbness
til the only tree i cd see
took me up in her branches
held me in the breeze
made me dawn dew
that chill at daybreak
the sun wrapped me up swingin rose light everywhere
the sky laid over me like a million men
i waz cold/i waz burnin up/a child
& endlessly weavin garments for the moon
wit my tears


i found god in myself
& i loved her/i loved her fiercely