. Spinning .

As with all fiction based on historical fact, I approached this novel by William Styron warily and come away from it pretty much in the same frame of mind.

Extremely well-written, beautiful language, dramatic arc–yes, even as Nat’s condemnation is fairly well established immediately. Styron solves the “letdown” problem for those readers who insist upon an unrevealed ending by cleverly introducing the one murder that Nat Turner has actually committed by his own hand, a lovely young empathetic character named Margaret Whitehead. With this knowledge at the beginning of the story, and with further scenes between Nat and Margaret, Styron not only emphasizes the relationship but maintains the biggest question that seeks an answer throughout the book: Why did Nat kill her?

What bothers me about historical fiction (and Styron states his intention is less to produce a historical novel than a meditation on history), is still the speculation rather than knowledge of the central character of Nat Turner and what made him not only stir up such a bloodthirsty revolution but to follow in this first person narrative his innermost thoughts and dealings.

Then I must remember that it is only that; speculation. And in no one’s words but Nat’s alone (the “confessions” are fact, as are some of the events) could we ever truly know the character of Nat Turner and the day by day accounts offered within the story. Had the book been written by a contemporary of Turner’s, it still would be interpretation rather than pure fact and so with this in mind, I can read the narrative of the events of 1831 and the story of this man’s life as a “possibility” that is close to truth.

I’ve since read elsewhere that Styron’s book was viewed as racist by many but without finding the specific claims of offense I would have to say that I find much in the depiction of Nat Turner’s character that would apply to human nature and tendencies towards bigotry and superiority that we find in ourselves. It is clearly a great injustice that was done to a people, but there is honesty–I think–in Styron’s implication that there were indeed many Negroes who at the time felt they had it pretty good in comparison to others, even free whites. The whole idea of “freedom” however, is what rankled the most. And this, I think, is again something that is deep inside all of us.

No where is this more clearly illustrated than the answer to that question that plagues us of the killing of Margaret by Nat. Turner has already realized that he can no longer claim God and the Bible as a direct exhortation to go on the murderous rampage. Margaret is heartbroken by the ill treatment of blacks and yet it is the manner in which she feels free enough to speak of it with him that emphasizes the difference between them and inspires the hatred that burns within him. He himself uses the sore points of others to inflame their own feelings to get them to kill. Nat Turner, I think, recognizes the sameness in each of us.

As Nat makes his plans and recruits a small band of friends, this passage stops me cold:

One of these, an older man named Joe, has told me that he wants to be baptized and I look forward to the rites with satisfaction. (It is rare enough that I encounter a Negro with spiritual aspirations, much less one who also might become, potentially, a murderer.) (p. 320)

It is historical fact that religion and violence are inextricably entwined, that much evil is done in the name of faith and yet Nat appears to be more than just affected by spirituality (his original direction from God could be attributed more to the weakness and hallucinatory effect of a five-day fast) than by pure hatred and cunning. He handpicks his followers based on their degree of strength as well as depth of anger and hurt. He looks down upon his own even as he builds to a bloody rage against those who look down upon him.

It’s interesting. For me, it goes beyond cultures and offenses, but goes to the heart of all argument; human nature.

Lord knows it didn’t look like I was ever going to keep on this book, but even though it was tough for me to enjoy reading–and I’m still not sure whether it was the story thus far or just my own overdose to reading–I hit a new pace with it today, determined to either read it or shelve it.

The story begins with the days before the trial of Nat Turner, so we are immediately made aware of what he’s accused of, what he admits to, and the ultimate and likely effect of that being his condemnation to death for the crimes. Once this happens, we are then left with Nat’s reflections on his life and this is in fact where the story became more interesting.

There’s a lot going on with this, the writing style is beautiful, the story bothers me both for its view of pre-Civil War plantation life and (for me) the concept of its being based on historical facts yet a work of fiction, and how we then view the character of Nat Turner in this work. If we trust the author, William Styron, to have kept to the basic facts, then we have a Negro child who is a slave with same privilege based on his mother’s position in the house, the luck of being in the “possession” of a kindly and sympathetic master, and having the intelligence to grasp opportunity and learn to rise above what for other blacks was a horrendous life.

First, the writing:

It was a Saturday, one of those dusty, ocherous autumnal days whose vivid weather never again seems so sweet and inviting after that youthful time of discovery: wood smoke and maple leaves blazing in the trees, an odor of apples everywhere like a winy haze, squirrels scampering for chinquapins at the edge of the woods, a constant stridor of crickets among the withering grass, and over all a ripe sunny heat edged with feathery gusts of wind smelling of charred oak and winter. ( p. 182)

There is a beauty in the description, in this, as Nat is about to hear from his owner, Marse Samuel, that he is going to eventually be freed. Yet Styron is just as precise in his imagery when Nat is sitting awaiting his own execution.

There is a natural distaste for the word “nigger” as we have come to know it, and yet it is contemporary to the time and natural in use in this book, as is true of many novels set in the time span of the American South. What I find more discomforting is the image of the human nature of man that goes deeper than color; it is instinct to want to feel superior to someone, and thus, Nat is repulsed by the black laborers who do not share the benefits that he enjoys in his place in the family.

This is also where I wonder how much of it is the truth about the man, Nat Turner, himself, and what is inspired by him but interpreted by the author.

In the same section as the excerpt above, we go into another area of both Nat and again, human nature itself, in seeking love and sexual bonding as Nat and his friend Willis explore their friendship.

Getting back to writing style, If find Styron to be expertly skilled in transitioning story as he plays within the various time spans of Nat’s story. And this, in foreshadowing, as what would seemingly be a perfect day comes to a close:

Yet as I say, whenever I reflected upon that eighteenth year of mine and that day and the events which quickly followed, it was clear to me that this promontory had been not a restful way station but an ending; beyond that place there was no gentle, continuing climb toward the great hills but a sudden astonishing abyss into which I was hurled like a willow leaf by the howling winds. (p. 204)