The one and only Toni Morrison is here. She is one of our greatest living writers. She won the Pulitzer prize for fiction in 1988 for her novel "Beloved". Five years later she became the first African- American woman to win the Nobel Prize for literature. President Obama has said that reading her novel "Song of Solomon" taught him how to be. He awarded her the nation's highest civilian honor, the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2012. Morrison's new novel is called "God Help the Child". I'm pleased to have my friend Toni Morrison back at this table. Welcome. Thank you. This has been described as fable like. Is it fable like? Not to me. But -- not to me. I mean bad, reinventions, good, I guess that is fable like but I hope it's much more complicated than that. I'm sure it is. But it's the first one you have written with a contemporary setting since "Tar Baby" 1981. Yes, that's true. Why did you go back to contemporary settings? Well, I was a little alarmed about doing it. I wrote home, although I had started that book earlier because the contemporary world was hard for me to grasp. And I didn't have a whole -- seems slippery and -- It was always changing. Yes. You don't know what it is going to be six months from now. Right so when I finally got a way to talk about it through the confusion of race and color and class, then I could do it. Then I felt I could do it. Wait -- when you got through race and class -- When I began to think -- when I began to think of what was significant now in this 2007, 2008 -- whatever, period. One of the enormous topics was race, color, shades of color, reactions to it. What is the difference in race and color? Well, color is a substitute for racism. Race is just human beings. Right. Color has some -- there are privileges to certain kinds of color. These are social constructs. These are not inventions of science - - that is descriptions that are scientific. It's things human beings think of, for good reasons -- some profitable, some just personal. You know, thinking of how can you feel really, really good about yourself if there's nothing to be othered, if you can't separate yourself of something, that you are convinced is lower than yourself. Are these troubling times? Yes. These are. I think it's -- yes, I'm not sure that it's all that different. But it's obvious now. It's very obvious that the times are changing. And repeated. And a little cowardly, I think. How do you think cowardly? Well, when we think just about the media, and the journalistic stories, television stories about young or middle-aged black men, being shot by police, what -- what astonishes me is not so many because there's always been a lot just never been newsworthy, is the obvious cowardice of the police. I don't mean all police but those that we hear about. How are you afraid of a man running away from you? How are you afraid of somebody standing in the grocery store or phone, with a toy gun that you could buy in the store? How could you be afraid of a little boy? And who are these people who call 911? Who are they? You look out the window and you see a kid with a toy gun, you get on the phone? I like that policemen who was chasing a guy who had killed some people and turned around, faced the policeman and said "Shoot me, shoot me." And the policeman wouldn't. He said I'm not going to shoot you. I'm not going to shoot you. He kept saying it. The guy obviously wanted to be shot, suicide. But the cop, he didn't do it. And then finally took the guy down. But then I realized that policeman had been in the military. He was not a coward -- He had different training. Entirel different. He was brave. He stood up. But these guys, running around, you know, just popping people, over and over again. How can we change that? You have to change the police training. It can be done. That is the obvious. That's clear. And you know, perhaps you know, I was wondering the same thing during the civil rights, you know, parades with Martin Luther King -- what can we do, what can we do? In that instance you ha somebody who could actually talk to somebody in the administration. I'm not so sure that that can happen now. In spite of the fact, that the President of the United States is a black man. You don't think that anybody can talk to him? Oh, sure. I'm sure he's aware of it -- very keenly. Clearly. I think -- not only that, he's actually aware of what you have just said as far as I understand. It did not hurt by listening to him. In some of his -- the things that he supports, he is very much interested in the plight of young black men. Very much, yes. Because they are too caught up in the judicial process. I mean it's alarming numbers. And it's like they disappear into the legal process, whether it's courts or prisons or -- And I'm interested in the. But it's -- That's the whole, you know, everything we do that is confrontational in this country is deemed a war. A war on women, a war on Christmas, a war on drugs, you know, no three times you're out. There is this enormous pressure to change society, I suppose. And coupled with prison for profit, where you -- it just distorted everything. Tell me who Lula Ann Bridewell is. Lula An Bridewell is -- Came out of -- -- a beaten up little girl. You know, sort of a personally threatened by her mother, who was very upset when she saw her child, because of her color -- she's very, very black, really black. And this is what we used to call a high yellow woman who was looking at -- she could be looking at a toad as far as she's concerned. And she even thought, I think a little bit about giving her away. She doesn't, she tries to take care of her but she needs, she believes, to protect her from people who will perhaps feel the same way she does. And in so doing, she disabled her. And until the girl can use that very thing, deep blackness to her advantage, she is sort of a pitiful person, I think - - sad, aggressive, young. And it takes the book for her and her lover, who is also traumatized, to figure it out and become a three-dimensional person. This whole book is the bond between Sweetness and Lula. Most of it, yes. What's most of it? Yes. Sweetness opens it and she closes it. She learns a little bit but she's incorrigible. In "The New York Times" review of the book Carol Walker writes that you are "asking the reader to consider what happens to children who cannot forget the torment of an excruciatingly painful childhood." To repeat, you're asking the reader to consider what happened to children who can't forget the torment of an excruciatingly painful childhood. It's true. I think we all have some level of recollection of maybe not serious trauma but of unpleasantness, that someone who should have loved us who didn't. And we sometimes think we've gotten over it. But many times it is distorting and shadowing our behavior and it's debilitating. And you know, you have regrets but you do something about it. And I think, as in the book, the best thing is to stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about somebody else. Start taking care of somebody else. Move it out. It's not always about you. You say that you didn't appreciate the hierarchy of color until you went to Howard. That's true, yes. So what did you learn about the hierarchy of color? That it was more convenient, easier, more comfortable the lighter your skin was. That's what I thought. You could get into certain places and so on. And then there is the middle ground and there are some others. There were levels that I could even distinguish in sororities, schools, departments, et cetera where the obedience was and where the adoration was and the scorn for some people who were not light-skinned. So how did you experience that? Very differently. Yes. I didn't know about it. I thought my little hometown was the way the whole world was. And the hierarchy in my hometown was almost the opposite, you know. So I -- the only thing worse than that was Washington D.C. I mean out there was serious business, you know. It was segregated in a very strenuous way, so that I felt safe at Howard's but it was different. I didn't know these gray levels of color, you know, class, all of that. I didn't know that. And I learned. Because you are accomplished, a Nobel Prize for literature, what you mean to the world of letters in America, do you fully comprehend that and do you fully believe that you -- it's justified? Well, there are really two people. My name is Chloe Wofford. Yes. And Toni Morrison is a name I acquired as an adult. And they're not two different people. Toni Morrison thinks of what you just said, whether or not she is important in the world, and she has medals and she get attention, and that's fine. She can handle that. The other person, the Chloe person is the one who writes and thinks and invents is wholly uninterested in -- In Toni Morrison. -- yes. Likes what she does. So the talent is with Chloe. Oh, yes. And Toni is this sort of -- The one outside. -- the wrapping, you know, the package. Yes. That's right. That's right. Beating heart is Chloe. They are both nice, by the way. Yes. We like them. They just do different things. Yes. And you're happiest being Chloe. Very happy. Are you really? Yes. See I think you like it. Like what. I think you like being Toni Morrison. She -- Toni Morrison -- Yes. -- can make you think that. Right, right. She is good at it. Because she's good at it, she can make you think she likes it because she's good at it. Because she looks like it -- she has all the indicia of it. She is admired by people who matter. It's not all theater, some of it is really genuine, you know. Depending on circumstances and the people she's relating to. I was saying to somebody earlier that I'm really exhausted talking about myself - - really exhausted. However when I get the gab, the Chloe in me gets to gab -- Right -- is? -- signing books for readers, going to the 92nd Street Y -- going to Politics & Prose and reading a little bit, talking a little bit and then have people line up and I sign their books. I don't see readers normally. So you see people at the other end. Yes. That's great, you know. Now that I like. You are always surprised when people say I watch your show or read your book or -- you know, because it gives you a face. That's right. You know, a sense of -- what you don't like is when they remind you of a show you did five years ago. I know. Or like saying to you, I love it but I mean, you know -- "Beloved", God I loved "Beloved". It's interesting. People have different tastes. I thought Book A or B was going to be a knockout and it wasn't. Then I thought -- and it wasn't. It's different ways in which people read. It's like music, you know, the songs you love when you were 16 that you can't bear now, and so on. When did you start writing this? About three years ago. Three years ago. Did the death of your son Slade affect you? Oh, no. I know it affected you period, but did this book, because it's about a parent-child. He died when I wrote "Home". And I think I dedicated it to him. This one I just said "For you", whoever "you" is. Who did you think "For You" is? Doesn't it say that in there? For you. Yes. You know, you would say "For you" and you know who you are. Yes, that's what I wanted to do. You know who you are. How did that affect your writing -- the loss? It didn't. It didn't. No. Are you saying that because you're being protective? Maybe. The death of my son is so powerful, so endless, so without closure, so significant and important. I have every anticipation that it will always be this way -- will always be this way. So, you know, it's beyond being affected. It's like losing a -- like losing arms. And nothing -- You will be reminded of it the rest of your life if you lose your arm or if you lose your son. Yes. And it should be that way. As long as he's dead why should I forget? You are interested in writing without the white gates. Absolutely. That's what you are interested in -- That's what I'm interested in -- -- no white gates. -- no white gates. I did a play with Peter Sellers, "Desdemona". And I told him I would only do "Desdemona" if I could get rid of Iago. And Jason told me, Jason, he said he's the whole point. Jason Epstein (ph). Yes. He said he's the whole point. I said I don't want him in there. He talks too much. Nobody tells him the truth. He's in every scene. Why does he dominate? The play is called "Othello". Othello is never alone on stage. So if I could just get rid of this Iago -- white guy and concentrate on the moor, Othello, we could get somewhere. And we did. Was Jason your editor? No, no. He was my boss. He was your -- colleague at Random -- or wherever. Which publishing house was it? I worked at Random published at Knopf. Bob Gottlieb was -- And he's at Random -- right. Yes. Jason is at Random. Bob Gottlieb is my editor at Knopf. Even though you don't write about ballet, you don't -- He's flawless. He is writing a biography. Of himself. Of himself. His memoir biography. Yes, yes, yes. What does he add to you, Bob Gottlieb? Commas. That is an old cliche. Well, he does. Is that what it is? Well, he's always putting them in. I'm trying to have a certain sound, a certain music. I don't want breath here. I want breath over here. See -- that's what you are though. Yes. Because your writing has music. And I have to hear it. And you have to hear it. Yes. And you hear then you can put it on the page or if you put it on the page you can hear it. I hear it first. That's what I thought. You can hear -- You know, I -- signed up to do audio books, you know, my own. In the beginning, I didn't -- other people did that and then really good actresses. And then I never listened to them. And then once I did, my really, really first straight actress and I thought that is not right. The words were there. She's not hearing what I heard. She's not hearing the -- so then I -- I did them all myself. It takes about a month, doesn't it? It's awful. So you are what -- 84 now? 84. And proud of it. Well, I guess I have no alternative. No you don't. That's what my sister says. She is a year and a half older. She says what happened to us. I said Lois, we got old. And I said, and I think God, I took such good care of you, body. What's the matter with you? You said that to your body? You said body I took good care of you. Why are you treating me this way? Why are you treating me this way? So I convinced her that it was just as well we stayed around because the alternative was death. Yes. You prefer. I prefer. You prefer living with your body to the alternative. That's right. Separating yourself from your body. Indeed, yes. You said one thing though that "one's world as you get older becomes smaller". Do you remember saying that? No, you don't remember saying that -- and more insular as you age, basically is what you said. I wonder what I meant by small. I don't know. You said it becomes smaller and more insular. Well, I think maybe, I think just in your circle. That's true. Your circle of friends becomes smaller. One thing that some people have said to me is getting older -- they no longer care whether somebody likes them. They only care about who they like. That's probably true. Because time is -- hasn't -- It narrows to certain kind of value. It is not infinite in terms of your mind. It's finite. Yes. I remember saying when I turned 84 that I had three things to say. One was "no". The other one was "shut up" and the third one was "get out". No, shut up, get out. How about "tell me more". No. Tell me more. Oh, look, a woman told me once, and it was Jimmy Baldwin's mother. She said something I thought was a little sad. Which was? She said all the good people have already been born. Jimmy Baldwin's mother -- all the good people have already been born. I don't understand what she meant? She didn't seem to have much faith in the future. I see. I see. She was making a (INAUDIBLE) about, the best ones are here. Those coming around are not quite as good as the ones already here. Did you know Jimmy Baldwin? Oh, yes, yes. Did you know him well? Well, enough. I mean I visited him. Yes. In Europe. Paris -- was he living in Paris? No, in the south of France. He never lived in Paris? I think he lived there at some point but he spent most of his time in St. Paul de Vence -- Yes. I know St. Paul de Vence very well. That is where his house was and where I was. When I did -- yes. Did you know Josephine Baker. No. Who else did you know in that expatriate community over there? Nobody. Any of the jazz artists who were there? No, I didn't know anyone. I wish I had. Sydney Biche (ph), the most beautiful music there is. That was quite an exciting little group, now that I think about it. Paris is a different city too. Yes. But as much as I love it. Since we're talking about 84, a recent article in "Time" speculated about your legacy -- speculated about your legacy. And it made comparisons with William Faulkner. Makes sense. Why does it make sense? Because he had a relationship with black people that was very different from most of the other contemporary writers. And he was affectionate or stupid or contemptible but he was easy and clear. And also his language was explosive. And I don't know. The legacy thing, what I would hope is that at some point I would not be described as an African-American woman writer as though that were a category. I just want to be alphabetized. So you don't say William Tolstoy is a white male Russian. Yes, I agree. I totally agree, totally. -- which has nothing to do with rejecting any of those. It's just that might happen too. It hasn't yet. And some of it is because African-American writers want to say that. Look I'm an African-American, I can do this. And I understand that. But at some point somebody's grandchildren are going to say You're just saying look, the comparison for me is with all writers. Not any race or any particular defining -- or even gender. Not race, not gender, not anything, just writer. Writer. No, I'm serious, aren't you? Oh, yes. I remember being at an event and I think it was Doctorow who was going to introduce me -- E.L. Doctorow. -- E.L. Doctorow going to introduce me and he said wonderful things. He said I don't think of Toni as an African-American writer. I don't think of her as a female writer. I think of her as a -- he paused, and I said white male writer? And everybody laughed. But he was trying to say, I think, something along the lines that we just described. I would like that. I would like that. I think you've earned that. You think so? I do. It's great to see you. It's always good to see you, Charlie. I know I look forward to whenever you come here that you have a book out. And will you never, ever, I'm telling you, I'm praying you and begging you, you have to forgive me because I had something else to do and did not go with you -- I'm going to hold that against you. -- to the Nobel ceremony. You would have had such fun. I know, I know. Oh well. That shows you how unwise I was. But it wasn't because of you. It was because I thought I had something that I needed to do. I understand. And a wiser would say there is nothing you could be doing that can compare with watching this person you love accept and receive a Nobel Prize. The book is called "God Help the Child". "God Help the Child" -- Toni Morrison. Thank you for joining us.
