Abyssinia's Voice

The Power of Song

One of the first things we learn about Abyssinia is that she has an instinctive connection to music. While she's still a tiny little baby, we see her at church:

It was not often the baby cried, though, particularly during the music and singing portions of the service.

The baby felt the music in an immediate way. Spirituals lulled her to sleep, and church-rocking gospels roused her awake. When the chorus of certain songs was repeated, some folks claimed that Abby hummed along with the singers. Even Mother Barker, who was known for telling the truth, said it sounded like the baby was humming. (3.81-82)

Importantly, right away, Abyssinia is connected to music—and this music is connected to church. As she grows, we see this connection continue: Abby becomes one of the best singers around and a favorite at her church:

Everyone knew Abyssinia was one of the best singers in the state, even if she was only ten years old. It was her honor to begin the services with her favorite hymn, "I'll Fly Away." […]

Mother Barker sat with her eyes closed, her flower-decorated white hat teetering on her head. Abby's sweet song carried her past the pain in her leg, past the brittleness of old age.

Suddenly it seemed as though a streak of lightning scratched across the sky, and the old woman was on her feet. Stretching herself out, she did a holy dance inside the rhythm. […]

The church continued the song. Patience fanned Mother Barker.

Abby sat back down with the congregation. The song continued. […]

To Abyssinia, it seemed like a mighty wind tore through the place and shook the church members like leaves. People began falling into the aisles and running, running. Sometimes in one place, sometimes up and down the bench rows. Some folks still sat quietly humming with their arms wrapped around their waists, afraid they might lose themselves."

[…]

"Abyssinia rocked the church house," said a mother from Sweetwater.

"Yes, Lord," commented Mother Barker. (8.6-22)

This scene unfolds at the anniversary day service at Abby's church. It's a big event and a bunch of different churches attend, so it's no small accomplishment that Abby's chosen to sing. When she does, it has a powerful affect over the congregation, bringing people to their feet—it's as though Abby has the power to command their bodies with her voice. Singing, then, is a way in which Abyssinia is powerful. Given how religious her community is, it's no wonder she's told her singing voice is a "gift from God" (13.42).

Thing is, Abby comes to have some major beef with God thanks to Brother Jacobs. After he rapes her, Abby falls into crisis, unable to get out of bed for months and developing some major beef with God. As she explains to Lily Norene:

"But the worst part was I felt like I was being spit on by God."

"Girl!"

"Like I must have done something mean and sinful. Something so wrong. Something wicked." She stopped walking. "I must have tempted Brother Jacobs."

"No, you didn't. The devil got into Brother Jacobs. God wouldn't allow…"

"How do you know?" Abby screamed. "It didn't happen to you!"

"I know God wouldn't…"

"You don't know anything!" Abby screamed at her friend. "God knew about it!" […]

That day Abyssinia gave God's gift back to Him. They had told her that her singing was a "gift from God."

She did not trust any of His gifts, she thought. She did not want His gifts for she could not tolerate His punishments. She did not want His presence in her life for the absence of His grace was awful. (13.33-43)

Abby feels powerless after she's raped. She feels like God did this to her as much as Brother Jacobs (who's a deacon at the church, remember), and the only thing she can do back is refuse to sing. Singing, then, is still a source of power for her—it's a way for her to demonstrate her displeasure with God—though it's certainly a more muted form of power than letting her voice ring out. When this happens, we know that Abby won't fully be fully healed until she can sing again.

Sure enough, four years later, Abby's forced to sing at the Christmas program at her school, despite protesting the task. When she gets on stage, her voice croaks out—her singing is so bad the accompanist actually walks off stage (22.33)—making it clear that much as she's returned to "normal," studying and hanging out with her friends and whatnot, Abby is still disconnected from her full power.

When Abby recounts her public humiliation to Mother Barker, however, her godmother offers reassurance, saying:

"Tuck this in your memory, Abby. The music's still there. It's running through your soul like a deep river." (23.32)

And Mother Barker—per usual—is right. When she dies, she requests that Abby sing at her funeral service. At this point, Abby has graduated from high school at the top of her class and studied healing and folk medicine with Mother Barker to the point of being ready to step into the role of town healer. She is knowledgeable and becoming a community leader, and as a final gift, Mother Barker guides her to reconnect with singing, her original source of power:

Before she knew it the minister was requesting that "Abyssinia Jackson come up here and sing 'Deep River' for the passing over of Mother Barker."

Could she? She was rooted to her seat, paralyzed.

Could she? Patience, sitting next to her, gently pushed her, answering the unspoken question.

Abby stood up, but she could not move. Her mind said, "Move!" but her body would not obey. An usher reached for her hand. Strong said, "Go on, daughter."

Somehow Abyssinia got from her seat to the aisle. She could feel the trapped melodies pushing against her heart. She could hear the lost notes trembling, trembling on the borders of her soul. The song was waiting to be set free, waiting for the chambers of her heart to open so the music could ring out ripe and full.

The song began creeping from the deep recesses of her soul, and her body began spinning in the aisle. In a series of small, spinning circles, she stitched her steps to the front altar.

While the church held its breath, her voice wove its way from within the cavities of her heart. A sweet, sweet sound poured from her mouth. The notes hung silver above the congregation. (26.9-14)

Despite the passing of time, and despite extraordinary accomplishments, Abby still doubts her power; she's still hesitant to connect fully with God and his gift to her. And yet, thanks to Mother Barker, she pushes through her resistance, rising to the occasion and, in the process, becoming her full self again. When this happens, we know Abby has turned a corner—there will be no stopping her now.

What's in a Word?

Singing—and not singing—aren't the only ways that Abby's voice packs a symbolic punch in this book, though. There's also her regular old speaking voice to address.

See, after Brother Jacobs rapes Abby (boo and hiss), she goes completely silent. For almost two months, she doesn't make a peep. It is a powerful metaphor for the violence Brother Jacobs commits against Abby—he violates her so severely that she no longer knows how to interact with the world; she no longer knows how to share herself with those around her.

In an interesting twist, Abby's voice returns thanks to Trembling Sally. Go figure, right? When Sally fills the girl's bedroom with wasps, Abby is frightened to the point of exclaiming. If Brother Jacobs frightens her into silence, then Trembling Sally frightens her back into her voice.

We have more to say about this over on Trembling Sally's page in the "Characters" section, so be sure to check it out, but for now we'll just say that it's only once Abby speaks again that she decides to stop singing—which makes not singing not only a doozy of a thanks but no thanks to God, but also a way of laying claim to just how hurt Abby remains. She might be talking again, but all is definitely not right.