Having read this, I cannot stop thinking of my elderly Jewish friend, a Holocaust survivor. I'm not an American, but I was born in a country where literally a half of the total Holocaust death toll took place, and sometimes, speaking to her - and she is a wonderful, humorous, beautiful human being - I feel just as uncomfortable as I did when I was reading this book. She is, like Toni Morrison, someone who grew up with a bitter awareness of a murderous injustice and cruelty beyond belief done to her race, and Home
is laced with reminders of the same injustice, like pieces of broken glass. To me, this is an aging person's call to remember, and perhaps this is why I feel Morrison is somewhat rougher with her readers this time.