Hurston once told the author Carl Van Vechten (who, although white, wrote best-selling works--both fiction and non-fiction--about blacks) that she had "hopes of breaking that silly old rule about Negroes not writing about white people." Her last major work, "Seraph on the Suwanee," fulfilled that hope; her lead characters are an impoverished upper-class Southerner, Jim Meserve, and his Southern "cracker" wife, Arvay.
The first 70 pages or so are among the slyest Hurston ever wrote--it's impossible not to chuckle at the description of Jim and Arvay's courtship, especially his handling of her psychosomatic catatonic fit. The novel takes a sharp turn, however, once the couple are married and have three children. Part soap opera, part morality tale, Jim and Arvay's story begins as a clash of the Titans and ends like "The Taming of the Shrew."
As Jim becomes wealthy and rises in social status, Arvay's insecurity increases, and she worries that "he had never taken her for his equal. He was that same James Kenneth Meserve of the great plantations, and looked down on her as the backwoods Cracker." She feels increasingly out of place around their educated, well-off neighbors and even her children. For his part, Jim fears that all his efforts at providing comfort and security to Arvay have come to naught: "He didn't make her out at all. Didn't she want him anymore?" And he feels that Arvay expresses her "love like a coward." What plagues the couple more than anything else is simply an inability to communicate.
Yet it's unclear what message Hurston is trying to convey; at times the "lesson" seems a little creepy. Although Jim never abuses Arvay (in many ways, he's a dashing prince to her Southern Cinderella), the mental and social "tests" to which he subjects her are, at the least, emotionally vexing. Hurston seems to feel that the real problem is Arvay's refusal to mature with her surroundings instead of Jim's expectation that Arvay should appreciate what he's done for her and their family. He clearly loves his wife, but wants her to change. (Sound familiar?) Ultimately, the barometer for success in their relationship is Arvay's ability to redefine herself on Jim's terms, and one wonders if Jim's last name, Meserve, is meant as a wicked pun. (A cynic might argue, hyperbolically, that it's a short skip to the premise of "The Stepford Wives.")
Hurston wrote "Seraph" in 1948, when she had become increasingly conservative, both politically and socially. She was a zealous Republican, she once asserted that "the Jim Crow system works" (although she later claimed she was quoted out of context), and she condemned the Supreme Court decision in Brown vs. the Board of Education. She also joined the Florida Negro Defense Committee largely because she felt the group did not view blacks as "victims"--similar to the way that she seems to lack sympathy for Avray's lack of confidence. One is tempted, then, to read the novel through this prism. Fortunately, however, the book's message is a little more ambiguous than I make it out to be; in the end, "Seraph" describes the emotionally excruciating path necessary to achieve a mutually sympathetic relationship. Whatever the meaning, it's a great story: sometimes funny, often brilliant, and absorbing like a train wreck: you can't take your eyes off Arvay and Jim even when you see they're heading for a collision.