Nhlanhla Dube is a native of Harare, Zimbabwe. He holds a PhD in English Studies from Stellenbosch University. In 2024 he completed a Postdoctoral Research Fellowship in English Literary Studies at the University of Cape Town. His research interests are Geocriticism, Spatiality, Literary Bulawayo and John Eppel. He has also published peer reviewed papers on Law and Literature and Literary Pornography.
“I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall–I will do such things,–
What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be
The terrors of the earth.”
William Shakespeare – King Lear (Act 2, scene 4)
“This is a nigger-whip!”: Violence and Vendettas in the Fiction of Richard Wright
Uncle Tom’s Children is a novella collection which stands as the first major work of fiction by Richard Wright. The figure of ‘Uncle Tom’ is emblematic of the perceived acquiescence that some Black people have to the whims of white people. Historically, some African American men were accused by other Black people of being an ‘Uncle Tom.’ The term is thus pejorative and, along with ‘house nigger,’ conveys the feelings of betrayal and disdain of those who hurl it on fellow Black people. Being an ‘Uncle Tom’ means one is perceived as agreeable by white people. In Native Son, Richard Wright describes an Uncle Tom as having “the charm of the average, harmless, genial, grinning southern darky so beloved by the American people” (317).
The collection, by focussing on Uncle Tom’s children, seeks to show how a new generation abandons attempts to appease white society by using violence to fight back and overcome racial discrimination. Many of the stories in the text often include justified violence against white people. The Black characters resist attempts at subjugation and are positioned to challenge white male hegemony. The psychological violence of the Jim Crow South means the “protagonists seek to restore in themselves a sense of psychological equilibrium and unity” (Delmar 3). While most of the attempts are unsuccessful because of retribution from the white establishment, there’s a thematic thread throughout that implies that resistance will eventually be fruitful.
Orphaned texts and the necessity of violence
Richard Wright and his position in the canon of African American literature is a much debated topic. James Giles (256) unpacks the particular aspersions cast on Uncle Tom’s Children by observing that:
“In the recent controversy over the literary achievement of Richard Wright, the novelist’s first book, Uncle Tom’s Children (1938), has been generally ignored. James Baldwin, of course, centered his now famous Wright criticisms around Native Son; Baldwin does mention Uncle Tom’s Children in his ‘Alas, Poor Richard,’ but the reference is a passing one and implies that this book, like Native Son, lacks the stature of Black Boy.”
Within Wright’s corpus, the autobiographical Black Boy serves as the gold standard according to some scholars. Even amongst Wright critics, Uncle Tom’s Children is not as much an object of criticism as is the more popular Native Son. Regardless, for Baldwin, Uncle Tom’s Children, and Native Son to some extent, both fell into the category of ‘protest fiction’ (Shelby 515). This classification denotes obtuse and superficial engagement with complicated racial relations and the convoluted dynamic between oppressor and oppressed. Most authors break through with their first published works, but it seems this was not the case for Wright. If Uncle Tom’s Children is generally ignored, then there exists a chasm of literary criticism that needs to be filled.
Although literary critics sometimes have the power to define genres, their opinions are not binding. Even the aspersions of other writers on their peers are not final indictments. Ralph Ellison castigated Wright for seeking solace in Marxism and not the African American experience (Caron 45). Wright himself, whilst facing literary attacks from James Baldwin, was notoriously hostile towards the work of Zora Neale Hurston. Wright went on to become a noted force in African American literature. Neale Hurston, after her rediscovery by Alice Walker, became a leading female voice in African American literary excellence. The trouble is when literary critics and the author themself both denigrate a particular text. Richard Wright thought poorly of his own novella collection. Giles observes that:
“Of course, Wright himself must bear the weight of responsibility for this evaluation of his first book; in his essay, “How ‘Bigger’ Was Born” published in 1940, the novelist himself labeled his first work a failure: ‘I had written a book of short stories which was published under the title of Uncle Tom’s Children. When the reviews of that book began to appear, I realized that I had made an awfully naive mistake. I found that I had written a book which even bankers’ daughters could read and weep over and feel good about. I swore to myself that if I ever wrote another book, no one would weep over it; that it would be so hard and deep that they would have to face it without the consolation of tears. It was this that made me get to work in dead earnest’. Thus only two years after its publication, Wright dismissed Uncle Tom’s Children as an overly sentimental, naive book. The evaluation seems to have remained unchallenged ever since.” (256)
Wright takes aim at Uncle Tom’s Children for what he perceives to be stylistic and emotional inadequacies in the narrative construction of the novellas. The fact that the text is relatable to white readers seems to be the major source of the discontent. It seems that the perfect narrative about race, at least to Wright, is one that is overwhelmingly searing and agonising. By casting the text as naïve, Wright does a disservice to himself and to Uncle Tom’s Children. In this way the book becomes orphaned. Since the text was “neglected by scholars for almost thirty years after its publication in 1938” (Delmar 3), there is a need to continue creating new knowledge about the mechanics of the text and how it functions comparatively.
One blow against white systems of oppression in “Bright And Morning Star”
“Bright and Morning Star” can be classified as a long short story or, alternatively, a novella. It’s the story of Sue’s crusade to protect the Communist Party in the Jim Crow South. Her two sons, Johnny Boy and Sug, are active members of the party, and Sug has been imprisoned for it. The narrative opens late one evening with Sue waiting for Johnny Boy to return from a Communist Party errand. Johnny Boy’s white girlfriend Reva arrives to tell Sue that local law enforcement, in the form of the Sheriff, has been alerted to a meeting of the party scheduled for the following day. When Johnny Boy comes back home and is told the news, he embarks on a dangerous journey to try to warn members of the party that their meeting must be called off. When he leaves, the Sheriff arrives with other white men looking for Johnny Boy, and they severely assault Sue. Booker, a new member of the party, arrives soon afterwards, and whilst tending to Sue, he asks for information about members of the party. Although reluctant to trust him, Sue gives up the information and Booker supposedly takes off to warn the other members. Reva returns and lets Sue know that Booker is a double agent and is not to be trusted. Realising her mistake, Sue takes a gun and goes off to stop Booker from revealing party information. Sue succeeds, but as the story ends, she and Johnny Boy are killed by the Sheriff and his crew.
We can explore violent revenge by discussing ‘Bright and Morning Star’ to see how this functions in the story. Demarest (236) postulates that:
“The memorable moments in Richard Wright are violent–a throttled kitten, a fight with a snake, a lynching, a wife watching as her husband is murdered, a body dismembered, a razor fight, an old man shot in the back. Any reader, teacher, or critic of Wright must decide what such scenes mean. Is there some psychopathic need in the author to register his rage, to wound and shock his audience? Does Wright create a mode of negative sentimentality in which he forces horror beyond meaningfulness, to a point of numbness?”
Violence in Wright’s work has long been observed, and its function in his canon is much debated. The shock factor of Wright’s portrayal of violence is a deliberate strategy in writing to his white audience which was often unaware of the suffering of African Americans. The graphic lynchings of Black characters in his prose speaks to this. In this essay I explore how Wright’s violence is focused on white society, inverting the trope of having only Black characters subjected to it.
The narrative structure of “Bright and Morning Star” produces a moment which initiates this violent response towards white society. Sue is assaulted by the Sheriff and his crew. The resistance to white oppression that drives the story is evident during the assault and builds up throughout the narrative.
“Yuh wanna git slapped?”
“Ah ain never seen one of yo kind tha wuznt too low fer…”
The sheriff slapped her straight across her face with his open palm. She fell back against a wall and sank to her knees.
“Is tha whut white men do t nigger women?”
She rose slowly and stood again, not even touching the place that ached from his blow, her hands folded over her stomach.
(Ch. 3)
That Sue does not tend to herself after experiencing such a vicious blow from the Sheriff indicates resistance. She does not let the Sheriff get satisfaction from the pain he’s causing her. Through this simple inaction, she asserts herself regardless of the fact that in that moment she does not have the means with which to fight back. She’s deterred neither by the pain nor the threat of violence. She makes another effort to show her resolution.
“Ah ain never seen one of yo kind tha wuznt too low fer…”
He slapped her again; she reeled backward several feet and fell on her side.
“Is tha whut we too low t do?”
She stood before him again, dry-eyed, as though she had not been struck. Her lips were numb and her chin was wet with blood.
(Ch. 3)
No amount of pain can dampen her spirit. The slaps mean nothing to her, and she defiantly refuses to answer the Sheriff’s question about her son’s whereabouts. If anything, Sue’s confidence and defiance actually increase: “She was consumed with a bitter pride. There was nothing on this earth, she felt then, that they could not do to her but that she could take” (Ch. 3).
This is one of the responses to white violence in Wright’s fiction. There needs to be a breaking point in the narrative, at which the pain threshold is reached and surpassed, and at which the violence loses its efficacy and power. It’s no longer a deterrent. Sue realizes this and intends to make sure the Sheriff knows she can no longer be defeated. She has mastered the game and gamed the system of oppression against Black people.
The sheriff walked past her. The others followed. Yuh didnt git whut yuh wanted! she thought exultingly. N yuh ain gonna never git it! Hotly, something ached in her to make them feel the intensity of her pride and freedom; her heart groped to turn the bitter hours of her life into words of a kind that would make them feel that she had taken all they had done to her in her stride and could still take more. Her faith surged so strongly in her she was all but blinded. She walked behind them to the door, knotting and twisting her fingers. She saw them step to the muddy ground. Each whirl of the yellow beacon revealed glimpses of slanting rain. Her lips moved, then she shouted:
“Yuh didnt git whut yuh wanted! N yuh ain gonna nevah git it!”
The sheriff stopped and turned; his voice came low and hard.
“Now, by Gawd, thas ernuff outta yuh!”
“Ah know when Ah done said ernuff!”
“Aw, naw, yuh don!” he said. “Yuh don know when yuh done said ernuff, but Ahma teach yuh ternight!”
He was up the steps and across the porch with one bound. She backed into the hall, her eyes full on his face.
“Tell me when yuh gonna stop talkin!” he said, swinging his fist.
The blow caught her high on the cheek; her eyes went blank; she fell flat on her face. She felt the hard heel of his wet shoes coming into her temple and stomach.
“Lemme hear yuh talk some mo!”
(Ch. 3)
In this scene, Wright’s well-known pattern of representing violence is clear. In his prose style, the violence needs to be all-consuming and forceful. It should take a character to the point of death, but not all the way, leaving them begging for that death which has not yet come.
The white Sheriff does not stop pummelling Sue until he feels she has learned her lesson. Even the other white men in his crew are shocked at the level of brutality the Sheriff engages in: “aw fer chrissakes leave her erlone its the nigger we wan” (Ch. 3). This scene sets the stage for later on when Sue realises she has to intercept Booker and kill him before he can divulge the party’s secrets, because it demonstrates that Sue has no fear anymore. Ordinarily the consequences of harming a white person are grim; another story from Uncle Tom’s Children, “Big Boy leaves Home,” shows us this; in that story, Big Boy shoots a white man in self-defence and needs to leave town immediately before being lynched. The fictional universe in which Wright’s Black characters operate does not tolerate white death at the hands of Black people, no matter what circumstances. Sue’s plot to kill Booker is even worse because it is premeditated. It is a well-formulated, reasoned, and deliberate challenge to white power and authority.
Sue is resolute in her plan to kill Booker: “Her whole being leaped with will; the long years of her life bent toward a moment of focus, a point” (Ch. 5). Sue realises that even if it means she dies, then this is the way she should meet her demise. “She stood straight and smiled grimly; she had in her heart the whole meaning of her life; her entire personality was poised on the brink of a total act” (Ch. 5). Sue is clear in her thinking because she realises that the extreme violence of the Jim Crow South can only be met with violence. Violence will only yield to violence.
Upon pursuing Booker, who has gone to deliver the information to the Sheriff, Sue discovers that her son Johnny Boy has been captured. Johnny Boy refuses to give up information on the Communist Party and Sue knows he would rather die than betray his cause. Fortunately, Booker has not arrived yet and she still has a chance to prevent further tragedy. “Booker would not tell; she was there with the gun to see to that” (Ch. 6). Johnny Boy is tortured in Sue’s presence, and this is very painful for her to witness. However, she knows her revenge has to be targeted and focussed, a blow against the system as whole. Stopping the Communist Party from being dismantled is a more effective way of fighting back, and this is true even if it means her son is going to die for this cause. Johnny Boy’s knees are broken and he is made deaf in full view of his mother; Sue holds on regardless. Booker is the most appropriate medium for her to channel her retribution.
When Booker eventually arrives, Sue takes her opportunity: “She fired, once; then, without pausing, she turned, hearing them yell” (Ch. 6). Booker is killed, and the job is done. Sue realises at this moment that her life is over; however, she is going to die for a cause she believes in. More importantly, she will die after having completed her mission, without fear of the white man, and having achieved justice and revenge. “She waited, giving up her life before they took it from her; she had done what she wanted” (Ch. 6).
What lessons can we learn from Sue’s pursuit for some form of revenge and race relations? This question has been asked before. According to Caron (61), “all of the stories of Uncle Tom’s Children posed one central question: ‘What quality of will must a Negro possess to live and die with dignity in a country that denied his humanity?’.” The answer is that, as seen through Sue, the will has to be absolutely resolute, is most often forged in the heat of violence, and demands that blood be shed.
Bibliography
Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. The New Press, 2010.
Timothy Caron, “‘The Reds Are in the Bible Room’: Political Activism and The Bible in Richard Wright’s Uncle Tom’s Children.” Studies in American Fiction, Vol. 24. No. 1, Spring pp. 45-64, 1996 DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/saf.1996.0000
David P. Demarest, Jr., “Richard Wright: The Meaning of Violence.” Negro American Literature Forum, Vol. 8, No. 3 (Autumn, 1974), pp. 236-239, 1974.
Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth. Grove Press, 1963.
Patrick Wilmot, “The role of violence in the works of Wright and Fanon.” The Black Scholar, Vol. 39, No1/2,2009.
Tommie Shelby, “The Ethics of Uncle Tom’s Children”. Critical Inquiry, Vol. 38, No. 3 (Spring 2012), pp. 513-532.
P. Jay Delmar, “Tragic Patterns in Richard Wright’s Uncle Tom’s Children.” Negro American Literature Forum, Vol. 10, No. 1 (Spring, 1976), pp. 3-12.
Richard Wright, Black Boy. Harper and Brothers, 1945.
Richard Wright, Native Son. Harper and Brothers, 1940.
Richard Wright, Uncle Tom’s Children. Harper and Brothers, 1938.
Harare Review of Books 
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