Opinions of a Wolf

A lyrical and haunting novel about two Black women whose lifelong friendship is tested by betrayal, love, and the weight of their small-town community’s judgment.

Summary:
Sula and Nel are two young black girls: clever and poor. They grow up together sharing their secrets, dreams and happiness. Then Sula breaks free from their small-town community in the uplands of Ohio to roam the cities of America. When she returns ten years later much has changed. Including Nel, who now has a husband and three children. The friendship between the two women becomes strained and the whole town grows wary as Sula continues in her wayward, vagabond and uncompromising ways.

Review:
This was my second Toni Morrison novel—the first being The Bluest Eye, which I read back in college. Morrison’s prose is deeply lyrical, which makes her books swift reads on the surface, even when they delve into painful and challenging themes. Sula is no exception.

Each chapter is titled with the year it takes place in, but only covers a brief vignette from that year. Despite spanning several decades, this is a short novel, structurally and in page count. Though the title suggests a singular character focus, Sula is as much about a place—the Bottom, a Black neighborhood in a Southern state situated on the hillside, land the white residents had no interest in. The reason for its ironic name is revealed in the first chapter through a racist tale, setting the tone for the book’s critique of systemic racism.

Indeed, one of the novel’s most striking accomplishments is how clearly it shows that systemic racism ruins lives, whether characters comply with social expectations or resist them. For me, Nel represents compliance while Sula represents defiance—yet neither of them leads a life free from pain. Every person in their orbit suffers in some way, and that suffering is deeply entangled with the racist systems surrounding them.

The edition I read included an introduction in which Morrison writes: “Female freedom always means sexual freedom, even when—especially when—it is seen through the prism of economic freedom.” While I respect Morrison’s craft, I don’t personally agree with this framing. Throughout the book, the freest female characters are also the most sexually unrestrained, choosing partners without regard to consequences. For me, this reflects the central tensions I’ve often felt when reading Morrison’s work: I recognize the literary prowess but don’t agree with this belief. As someone who values intentionality in relationships and ethical sexuality, I believe there is freedom in discernment. My personal worldview differs from Morrison’s here, and I think that’s worth naming—especially since this quote helped me finally articulate why I sometimes feel at odds with what I’m “supposed” to take away from her narratives.

Of course, I also acknowledge that I am not Morrison’s intended audience. She has stated clearly that she writes for Black people—and I am a white woman. I honor that intention, while also appreciating the beauty, lyricism, and cultural specificity of this novel. Morrison evokes a place, a time, and a community with precision and poetry, showing rather than telling how racial injustice permeates generations.

For readers in recovery, or those who love someone with substance use disorder or alcohol use disorder, be advised that this book contains a disturbing scene involving the violent death of a character who struggles with addiction. A mother sets her son on fire, intentionally killing him because of his drug use. It’s a horrific and deeply stigmatizing portrayal. While I understand that literature doesn’t require characters to always make the “right” choices, scenes like this can be deeply harmful and may reinforce stigma around addiction. To anyone reading this who is struggling: You don’t deserve to die. You are not disposable. You can recover. We do recover. I acknowledge that the story is set in a time when resources for addiction recovery were nearly nonexistent, especially for a Black man. But violence is never the answer, and stories like this can perpetuate dangerous beliefs about addiction and worth.

With regards to diversity, the book explores colorism in the Black community, as well as racism faced by Black folks coming from immigrant white communities. It has multiple characters who fought in World War I who struggle with mental health afterwards. It also has a character who uses a wheelchair and is missing a limb. There is not any LGBTQIA+ representation that I noticed.

This is a novel that quietly devastates, not through high drama, but through its unflinching portrayal of how systemic racism, personal grief, and societal expectations shape lives over time. It’s beautifully written, deeply character-driven, and emotionally complex. Whether or not you’re part of Morrison’s intended audience, Sula is a compelling and powerful read. If you’re in recovery or close to someone who is, approach with care due to the painful and stigmatizing depiction of addiction. For those looking for fiction that treats mental health and recovery with care, check out my novel Waiting for Daybreak.

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3 out of 5 stars

Length: 174 pages – average but on the shorter side

Source: Library

Buy It (Amazon or Bookshop.org)

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