Kindred

I admit that I am engaging in a bit of overkill here, but I can’t stop writing about familial ties in Kindred. Every time I think about the book, something new pops up that I can’t believe I haven’t seen before. I keep on finding these random thoughts and facts that I should have thrown in the paper. This one is blaringly obvious, at least more so than the others: the title of the book. Dictionary.com defines kindred as many things:

1.  a person's relatives collectively; kinfolk; kin.

2.  a group of persons related to another; family, tribe, or race.

3.  relationship by birth or descent, or sometimes by marriage; kinship.

4.  natural relationship; affinity.

All of these can be seen in the book. The simple title of the novel conveys so much meaning. Dana and Rufus and all of the other related characters can be seen as part of a large tapestry of relatives. It is interesting to see these two focused on out of a huge number of relatives. Also, the book centers on this one group of people who are all related through the Weylin plantation, as well as focusing on race. The connections of both marriage and birth are explored deeply in the relationships between the Weylins, between Kevin and Dana, Rufus and Alice and Isaac, and almost every other character in the book. Lastly, I feel that natural relationships are explored. Dana definitely has an affinity for Rufus early in the book, being almost made to care fr Rufus as Tom Weylin says. Then there is the affinity between Alice and Dana, who are seen as similar in so many people’s eyes. These natural relationships are a huge focus in the novel. Octavia Butler accomplishes so much through the use of one word: kindred.

The Arm

Recently in class, we discussed the loss of Dana’s arm. A lot of people commented on how Dana did not lose her arm in the past, but on the return trip home and were consequently confused as to the importance of the loss of her limb. I thought that it was important that she had a physical reminder of her travels in addition to the psychological scars, and the loss of her arm was sort of a sick farewell memento. However, on rereading the ending for the purposes of writing my response paper, I found something very interesting that somehow escaped me on my first read:

“Nigel…” moaned Rufus, and he gave me a long shuddering sigh. His body went limp and leaden across me. I pushed him away somehow—everything but his hand still on my arm. Then I convulsed with terrible, wrenching sickness. Something harder and stronger than Rufus’s hand clamped down on my arm, squeezing it, stiffening it, pressing into it—painlessly, at first—melting into it, meshing with it as though somehow my arm were being absorbed into something. Something cold and nonliving. Something… paint, plaster, wood—a wall. The wall of my living room. I was back at home—in my own house, in my own time. But I was still caught somehow, joined to the wall as though my arm were growing out of it—or growing into it. From the elbow to the ends of my fingers, my left arm had become a part of the wall. I looked at the spot where flesh joined with plaster, stared at it uncomprehending. It was the exact spot Rufus’s fingers had grasped. (Butler 260-1)

Rufus’s attack is the reason Dana lost her arm. The fact that he grabbed and held her arm is the reason that she lost it. One cannot say that she lived in the antebellum South unscathed. I think the loss of Dana’s arm is meant to be a very real scar of Rufus’s behavior. Just like Alice had deep emotional scars, and arguably died (which is both physical and psychological), due to Rufus, Dana was also left scathed by him. This is the conclusion of Rufus’s story arc. He dies as a bad man. As my paper focuses on familial ties, the dynamics of family relationships can be discussed here. Rufus doesn’t just grossly mistreat a Black woman, which could be argued as just him doing what is ok/expected of him in his time, he hurts his family.  

It Begins

When I first started Kindred, I really enjoyed the straightforwardness of the novel. I liked the fact that it was an easy read, unlike so many other books we have explored. While I do appreciate and understand why many authors choose to write dense books in hard to follow styles, it is nice to read one that does not require much unpacking. I can actually understand what every sentence means in a very real way, instead of having to ponder it abstractly. After Mumbo Jumbo and, to a lesser extent, Ragtime, I have no complaints about this. I much prefer simple reading that holds a lot of deeper meaning such as in The Sun Also Rises. Thus, I really liked the style of Kindred.

I also really liked the prologue of the book. It starts out in utter confusion with Dana having lost her arm. The scene is hectic and presented without context; it is the perfect way to start the story. The reader is immediately hooked. How did Dana come to have her arm stuck in the wall? What happened that she cannot even try to tell the cops? How did she lose a year of her life? These questions that are provoked by the opening of the book promise a continued interest on the reader’s behalf in the novel. By starting after the action of the story, Butler eschews a traditional setup for a novel in favor of something more akin to Slaughterhouse-Five, like Vonnegut, she tells the end of the story at the beginning, which doesn’t actually spoil the plot, but makes the reader much more interested in seeing how the protagonist reached this place. I really enjoy Butler’s use of this device, and I thought her writing at the beginning of the book was both well done and engaging.