![]() ![]() I read Black Boy around the age of 11 or 12, then Morrison’s The Bluest Eye a year or two later. ![]() Although I grew up in a town in Nigeria, the two first American writers I ever read were black: Richard Wright and Morrison. With the death of Morrison, many writers today feel like we have lost our literary mother. There was no sign that the end of our constant supply from her reserve of wonderful stories and ideas was anywhere near. ![]() And until recently, we have seen a steady stream of novels from her, including God Help the Child, which was published on the same day as my debut novel The Fishermen, in 2015. The Source of Self-Regard – a further exploration on some of the broader themes of race and dignity that she explored throughout her life in novels such as Beloved and The Bluest Eye – was released only a few months ago, published in outside of the US under the title Mouth Full of Blood. At the age of 88, she had continued to give us her stories and thoughts. If we judge being old as a more feeble state, or characterised by a gradual withdrawal from work, then Morrison, like most great writers, had not become old. ![]()
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