toni morrison essay home

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Exploring the Themes and Symbolism in Toni Morrison’s Home: A Literary Analysis

• Toni Morrison

Toni Morrison’s Home is a powerful novel that explores themes of race, identity, and belonging. Through the story of Frank Money, a Korean War veteran who returns to his hometown in Georgia, Morrison delves into the complex history of the American South and the ways in which it shapes the lives of its inhabitants. In this article, we will analyze the themes and symbolism in Home, examining how Morrison uses language and imagery to convey her message about the enduring legacy of racism in America.

Historical Context

Toni Morrison’s Home is a novel that explores the themes of race, identity, and belonging in the context of the 1950s. This was a time when the Civil Rights Movement was gaining momentum, and African Americans were fighting for their rights and equality. The novel is set in a small town in Georgia, where the protagonist, Frank Money, returns after serving in the Korean War. The town is still deeply segregated, and Frank struggles to find his place in a society that sees him as a second-class citizen. Morrison’s novel is a powerful commentary on the racial tensions of the time and the struggle for African American identity and belonging.

Race and Identity

In Toni Morrison’s Home, the themes of race and identity are central to the story. The novel explores the experiences of Frank Money, a Korean War veteran who returns to his hometown of Lotus, Georgia, to confront the traumas of his past. As a black man in the Jim Crow South, Frank struggles to reconcile his sense of self with the racist attitudes and systems that surround him. Morrison’s portrayal of Frank’s journey highlights the complex ways in which race and identity intersect and shape our lives. Through Frank’s story, she invites readers to reflect on their own experiences of race and identity, and to consider the ways in which these factors influence our sense of self and our place in the world.

The Significance of the Title

The title of a literary work is often the first point of contact between the reader and the text. It is the first impression that the reader has of the work and can set the tone for the entire reading experience. In Toni Morrison’s Home, the title is significant in several ways. Firstly, it is a simple and straightforward title that immediately suggests the central theme of the novel – the search for a sense of belonging and home. Secondly, the title is ironic in that the characters in the novel are constantly searching for a home, but the physical home they return to is not a place of safety or comfort. Finally, the title is symbolic in that it represents the larger societal issues of displacement and the search for identity that are prevalent in the novel. Overall, the title of Home is a powerful and evocative choice that sets the stage for the complex themes and symbolism that are explored throughout the novel.

Family Dynamics

One of the central themes in Toni Morrison’s Home is the exploration of family dynamics. The novel delves into the complexities of familial relationships, particularly those between siblings and parents and their children. The characters in the novel are all struggling with their own personal demons, and their relationships with their family members are often strained as a result.

One of the most prominent examples of this is the relationship between Frank and Cee. Frank is the older brother, and he feels a deep sense of responsibility for Cee. However, he is also struggling with his own trauma from his time in the Korean War, and this makes it difficult for him to connect with Cee on a deeper level. Cee, on the other hand, is searching for her own identity and trying to break free from the expectations placed on her by her family.

The novel also explores the relationship between parents and their children. Frank and Cee’s parents are absent from their lives, and this has a profound impact on both of them. Frank is left to take care of Cee on his own, and this responsibility weighs heavily on him. Cee, meanwhile, is left feeling abandoned and alone.

Overall, the exploration of family dynamics in Home is a powerful and poignant aspect of the novel. It highlights the ways in which our relationships with our family members can shape our lives and our identities, and it underscores the importance of connection and understanding in these relationships.

The Importance of Memory

Memory is a crucial aspect of human existence. It shapes our identity, informs our decisions, and influences our relationships. In Toni Morrison’s Home, memory plays a central role in the lives of the characters. The novel explores the impact of memory on individuals and communities, highlighting the importance of remembering one’s past in order to move forward. Through the use of symbolism and imagery, Morrison emphasizes the power of memory to shape our understanding of the world around us. As readers delve deeper into the novel, they are reminded of the significance of memory in shaping our lives and the world we inhabit.

The Role of Women

In Toni Morrison’s Home, the role of women is a prominent theme that is explored throughout the novel. The female characters in the book are portrayed as strong and resilient, despite the challenges they face in a society that is dominated by men. One of the main characters, Cee, is a young woman who is forced to navigate the complexities of race and gender in the 1950s. Despite the obstacles she faces, Cee is determined to assert her independence and make her own way in the world. Another female character, Ethel, is a wise and compassionate woman who serves as a mentor to Cee. Through her guidance, Cee is able to find the strength to overcome her struggles and emerge as a powerful force in her own right. Overall, the role of women in Home is a testament to the resilience and strength of the female spirit, and serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of gender equality in our society.

The Concept of Home

The concept of home is a central theme in Toni Morrison’s novel, Home. The novel explores the idea of what it means to have a home and how it shapes one’s identity. The characters in the novel are all searching for a place to call home, whether it be physical or emotional. For some, home is a place of safety and comfort, while for others it is a place of pain and trauma. Morrison uses the concept of home to explore the complexities of race, gender, and identity in America. Through her characters, she shows how the idea of home can be both a source of strength and a source of oppression. Ultimately, Home is a powerful exploration of the human need for a sense of belonging and the struggle to find it in a world that often denies it.

The Symbolism of Birds

Birds have long been used as symbols in literature, representing a range of ideas and emotions. In Toni Morrison’s Home, birds play a significant role in the story’s themes and symbolism. For example, the character of Frank Money is haunted by the memory of a bird he killed as a child, which represents his guilt and shame over his past actions. Additionally, the bird motif is used to explore the idea of freedom and escape, as the characters in the novel are all searching for a way to break free from their past traumas and find a sense of liberation. Overall, the use of birds in Home adds depth and complexity to the novel’s themes and helps to create a rich and layered narrative.

The Use of Flashbacks

The use of flashbacks is a prominent literary device in Toni Morrison’s Home. The novel is structured around the memories of its protagonist, Frank Money, as he reflects on his experiences during the Korean War and his childhood in Lotus, Georgia. These flashbacks serve to deepen the reader’s understanding of Frank’s character and the themes of the novel, such as the impact of racism and trauma on individuals and communities. Morrison’s use of flashbacks also highlights the cyclical nature of history and the ways in which the past continues to shape the present. Overall, the use of flashbacks in Home adds depth and complexity to the novel’s exploration of its themes and characters.

The Impact of Trauma

Trauma is a recurring theme in Toni Morrison’s Home. The novel explores the impact of trauma on individuals and communities, particularly in the context of racism and violence. The characters in the novel are all affected by trauma in different ways, and their experiences highlight the lasting effects of violence and oppression. Through the use of symbolism and imagery, Morrison portrays the psychological and emotional toll of trauma, as well as the resilience and strength of those who have survived it. Overall, Home is a powerful exploration of the impact of trauma on individuals and society, and a testament to the human capacity for healing and growth.

The Power of Language

Language is a powerful tool that can be used to convey a wide range of emotions and ideas. In Toni Morrison’s Home, language plays a significant role in shaping the characters’ identities and relationships. The novel explores the power dynamics of language, particularly in the context of race and gender. Morrison’s use of language highlights the ways in which language can be used to both oppress and empower individuals. Through the characters’ interactions with language, Morrison reveals the complexities of communication and the importance of understanding the nuances of language in order to truly connect with others. Overall, Home demonstrates the power of language to shape our understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

The Theme of Belonging

The theme of belonging is a prominent one in Toni Morrison’s Home. The novel explores the idea of what it means to belong and the consequences of not feeling like one belongs. The main character, Frank Money, is a Korean War veteran who returns home to Georgia feeling disconnected from his family and community. He struggles to find a sense of belonging and purpose in his life. Morrison uses the theme of belonging to highlight the impact of racism and discrimination on individuals and communities. Through Frank’s journey, the novel shows how a lack of belonging can lead to feelings of isolation, despair, and even violence. Ultimately, Home suggests that true belonging comes from accepting oneself and others, regardless of race or background.

The Symbolism of Flowers

Flowers have been used as symbols in literature for centuries, and Toni Morrison’s Home is no exception. In the novel, flowers are used to represent various themes and ideas, such as beauty, growth, and transformation. For example, the character of Frank Money, who is struggling to come to terms with his traumatic experiences in the Korean War, finds solace in the beauty of flowers. He describes them as “miracles” and sees them as a symbol of hope and renewal. Similarly, the character of Cee Money, Frank’s sister, undergoes a transformation throughout the novel, and this is reflected in the flowers that surround her. At the beginning of the story, she is surrounded by dead and dying flowers, but as she begins to heal and grow, the flowers around her become more vibrant and alive. Overall, the use of flowers in Home adds depth and richness to the novel’s themes and symbolism, and serves as a powerful reminder of the beauty and resilience of the human spirit.

The Role of Religion

Religion plays a significant role in Toni Morrison’s Home, as it is a central theme throughout the novel. The characters in the novel are deeply religious, and their beliefs shape their actions and decisions. The novel explores the role of religion in shaping identity, community, and morality. The characters’ religious beliefs are often in conflict with their desires and aspirations, and this tension creates a sense of complexity and depth in the novel. Morrison uses religious symbolism and imagery to convey the characters’ struggles and to explore the larger themes of the novel. Overall, religion is an essential element of Home, and it adds to the richness and complexity of the novel.

The Significance of Names

In Toni Morrison’s Home, the significance of names is a recurring theme that adds depth and complexity to the characters and their relationships. The names of the characters are not just labels, but rather they carry a weight of history, culture, and identity. For example, the protagonist, Frank Money, has a name that reflects his struggle with his own sense of worth and belonging. The name “Money” suggests a materialistic and capitalist society that values wealth over human connection and compassion. Frank’s journey to find his sister, Cee, and to confront his traumatic past is a quest for a different kind of currency, one that is based on love, empathy, and community. Similarly, Cee’s name is short for “Celestial,” which implies a sense of otherworldliness and spirituality. However, Cee’s experiences in the novel are far from heavenly, as she faces racism, sexism, and medical abuse. Her name becomes a symbol of the gap between her aspirations and her reality, and her struggle to bridge that gap. Overall, the names in Home are not just arbitrary choices, but rather they are carefully crafted to convey the themes and symbolism of the novel.

The Theme of Redemption

The theme of redemption is a prominent one in Toni Morrison’s Home. The novel explores the idea of redemption through the character of Frank Money, a Korean War veteran who returns home to Georgia after experiencing trauma and violence during the war. Throughout the novel, Frank struggles to come to terms with his past and find a way to move forward.

One of the ways in which Morrison explores the theme of redemption is through the use of symbolism. For example, the character of Lily, a young girl who Frank meets on his journey home, is often associated with the idea of redemption. Lily is described as having a “bright, pure light” that seems to shine from within her. This light is a symbol of hope and redemption, and it serves as a reminder to Frank that there is still goodness in the world.

Another way in which Morrison explores the theme of redemption is through the character of Cee, Frank’s sister. Cee is a strong and resilient character who has also experienced trauma and violence in her life. However, unlike Frank, Cee is able to find a way to move forward and find redemption. She does this by confronting her past and taking control of her own life.

Overall, the theme of redemption is a powerful one in Home. Through the use of symbolism and character development, Morrison explores the idea that redemption is possible, even in the face of great adversity.

The Symbolism of Water

Water is a recurring symbol in Toni Morrison’s Home, representing both life and death. The novel opens with Frank Money’s memories of a childhood incident where he and his sister Cee almost drowned in a river. This traumatic experience haunts Frank throughout the novel, and water becomes a symbol of danger and fear for him. However, water also represents rebirth and renewal. When Frank returns to Lotus, Georgia, he is drawn to the town’s healing waters, which are said to have restorative powers. This water symbolizes the possibility of redemption and a new beginning for Frank. Additionally, water is often associated with femininity and motherhood in the novel. Cee’s journey to find her own identity and independence is paralleled with her pregnancy, which is described as a “swelling” and “ripening” like a fruit. The water that surrounds and nourishes the fetus is a symbol of the maternal love and protection that Cee never received from her own mother. Overall, the symbolism of water in Home is complex and multifaceted, representing both danger and hope, death and rebirth, and the power of maternal love.

The Importance of Community

In Toni Morrison’s Home, the importance of community is a recurring theme that is explored throughout the novel. The story takes place in a small town in Georgia during the 1950s, where the African American community is struggling to find their place in a society that is still deeply divided by race. The novel highlights the ways in which community can provide a sense of belonging and support, even in the face of adversity.

One of the most powerful examples of this is the character of Frank Money, a Korean War veteran who returns home to find that he no longer fits in with the people and places he once knew. Frank is haunted by the trauma of war and struggles with alcoholism and depression. However, he finds solace in the community of fellow veterans who gather at the local barbershop. These men understand the pain and isolation that Frank is experiencing, and they offer him a sense of camaraderie and understanding that he cannot find elsewhere.

Similarly, the women of the town form a tight-knit community that provides support and protection for one another. When Frank’s sister, Cee, falls ill and is taken advantage of by a white doctor, it is the women of the town who come together to seek justice and ensure that Cee receives the care she needs. This community of women represents a powerful force of resistance against the racism and sexism that pervades their society.

Overall, Home emphasizes the importance of community as a source of strength and resilience in the face of oppression and trauma. Through the characters of Frank and Cee, Morrison shows how individuals can find a sense of belonging and purpose through their connections to others. The novel reminds us that we are not alone in our struggles, and that the support of a community can make all the difference in our lives.

The Theme of Freedom

The theme of freedom is a prevalent motif in Toni Morrison’s Home. Throughout the novel, the characters struggle with the concept of freedom and what it truly means to be free. The protagonist, Frank Money, is a Korean War veteran who returns home to Georgia after experiencing the horrors of war. He is haunted by his past and struggles to find a sense of belonging and freedom in his own country.

Morrison uses the character of Frank to explore the complexities of freedom and how it is often tied to race and class. Frank is a black man living in the Jim Crow South, where segregation and discrimination are rampant. He is constantly reminded of his lack of freedom and the limitations placed on him because of his race.

The theme of freedom is also explored through the character of Cee, Frank’s sister. Cee is a young woman who is forced to navigate the patriarchal society she lives in. She is expected to conform to traditional gender roles and is often denied the freedom to make her own choices.

Morrison’s use of symbolism further emphasizes the theme of freedom in the novel. The symbol of the bird represents the desire for freedom and the struggle to attain it. Frank and Cee both have dreams of flying like a bird, which represents their desire to escape their current circumstances and find true freedom.

Overall, the theme of freedom in Home is a complex and multifaceted motif that is explored through the experiences of the characters and the use of symbolism. Morrison’s exploration of this theme highlights the struggles and limitations faced by marginalized individuals in society and the ongoing fight for true freedom and equality.

The Symbolism of Light and Darkness

In Toni Morrison’s Home, the symbolism of light and darkness is prevalent throughout the novel. The contrast between light and darkness is used to represent the characters’ internal struggles and the societal issues they face. The characters’ experiences with light and darkness reflect their journey towards self-discovery and the search for a sense of belonging. The use of light and darkness as symbols in the novel highlights the complexity of the characters’ experiences and the societal issues they face. Through the use of this symbolism, Morrison creates a powerful narrative that explores the themes of identity, race, and belonging.

Race and Meaning of Home in Toni Morrison’s Novel Essay

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The concept of “home” typically refers to a set of material, physical, and economic conditions in which a household – often a family or other kinship group – lives in a position of long-term security within a single domain or a broader yet close-knit community. In an essay on the topic, Toni Morrison discusses this traditional definition of “home” by arguing the concept refers not just to a domestic setting with a roof but rather to a place of long-term residence that provides safety and security. She represents this concept by describing a woman in her home as able to “rise from her bed and sit on the steps in the moonlight. And if she felt like it, she could walk down the road without a lamp and without no fear” (Home Essay). In her novel Home, however, Morrison argues that the history of race and racism in the United States complicates the concept of home. Her text represents the way that race, a historically and socially constructed concept, produces a form of Black identity that becomes a second, inescapable home that severely impacts the ability to enjoy the material security a traditional concept of home would provide.

In her essay on the subject of “home,” Morrison describes a sense of security devoid of reference to racism or violence. Safety in one’s domestic environment is produced through inference from these socially-based constructions. In her novel, however, such abstractions are banished to describe how the protagonist, Frank, encounters forms of violence and exclusion, especially in his appeal to community members in Lotus for assistance at the end of the text. The story says, “Miss Ethel? You in there? Frank Hollard. It is me, Smart Money. Miss Ethel.” (Morrison, 116). Frank and Cee are desparate for Miss Ethel to take him in, and he needs someone to make him and Cee feel safe again.

Despite being a social construction, Morrison’s novel suggests that race is a more “real” and fundamental “home” for Black Americans than a supposedly more concrete, material structure that typically constitutes concepts of a home. When Frank travels across the nation to hunt for his little sister, he endures the violent conditions that racism produces. For instance, in Chicago, Frank and Billy are accosted by the police based on their appearance, as when “[t]he police would have thought so too, but during the random search outside the shoe store, they just patted pockets, not the inside of work boots.” (Morrison, 37) The only reason the police decided to stop the two and search them was because of how they dressed. Later, Billy tells a story about how his son’s life was changed forever by the police: “Drive-by cop. He had a cap pistol. Eight years old, running up and down the sidewalk pointing it. Some redneck rookie thought his dick was underappreciated by his brother cops” (Morrison, 31). The police in Chicago during this time disregarded Black life. These forms of racism change Billy’s sense of how safe their home could possibly be. One’s home cannot accord to the definition of the term – safety and security – if the supposed guardians of private property, the police, harass you. Instead, one’s race becomes one’s “home without a home.”

The idea of “home without a home” is supported by the fact that physical home means little for Frank. Home in its physical sense does not generate in Frank a sense of belonging. Instead, throughout the book, it is race and racial communities that provide security and family, which racial prejudices undermine. The concept of racial prejudices that affect the perception of black race as inferior is traced in Frank’s memories of his childhood. Thus, his parents were “beat from work” because they could only find the lower-paid jobs and the beating they received from life in the form of police aggression and harassment are reflected in their treatment of their children. The description of Frank’s childhood serves as to portray race as a kind of social construction where people are enclosed by the color of their skin.

The idea of a home as a kind of ‘ghetto’, inescapable due to the prejudices that Afro-Americans face, is further developed when Frank speaks about his hometown. In fact, the very city he lives in generates a feeling of revolt. Thus, Frank says, “You all go fight, come back, they treat you like dogs” meaning that in his hometown there is nothing he wants to get back to, that is why he chooses to seek his chance elsewhere (Morrison, 18). In fact, Frank is even grateful for the chance in the army, because there, death gives equal chance for everyone, unlike Lotus governed by prejudices against the black race.

However, as an answer to racism that has a tremendous impact on the lives of Afro-Americans, they forge another kind of home – that of community where all people can find support and a sense of belonging. Thus, Frank says that his sister is his closest friend and opposes his attitude to her to the attitude to ‘home’ he lived in. Frank says, “Lotus, Georgia, is the worst place in the world, worse than any battlefield[…]It sure didn’t look like anyplace youd want to be[…]Thank the Lord for the army[…]Only my sister in trouble could force me to even think about going in that direction” (Morrison, 83-84). When Frank returns from the army, it is his sister he perceives as ‘home’ and family, and not the place where he lives. There is no security in town or in the house, but he feels he can find love and sympathy in his sister. The very fact that he took care of her since her first days is suggestive: it denotes his deep bond with his ancestors, with Afro-American community who, like Frank, have suffered tremendous injustice and aggression and carry this burden in their hearts.

This shared experience as well as the perception of one’s hometown as ghetto where no justice or human attitude can be found forges a strong bond among all members of African American community. Historically, the American house was often a plantation in the South of the United States and pushed African Americans behind its walls. Thus, the exiles were forced to look for a home somewhere else, forming communities on the outskirts. These communities, according to Morrison, were perceived as true home by those who lived there since there were people one could always count on and a place to return. The idea is well expressed by Frank when he says that “[His sister] was a shadow for most of my life[…]who am I without her?” (Morrison, 103). When Frank meets love, there is again the feeling of return, of belonging that no place in the world could have given to him apart from his sister and community. Frank says, “in her company the little wishbone V took up residence in my own chest and made itself at home[…] I felt like I’d come home. Finally. I’d been wandering. Not totally homeless, but close” (Morrison, 68). Thus, family and community bonds for Afro-Americans replace the notion of home in its physical meaning of a place one lives in and wants to return.

The very fact that Frank travelled a lot renders the idea of physical home as an empty unloved place more credibility. When Frank’s friends die, the boys he grew up in his hometown with, Lotus becomes devoid of any meaning for him, a place he wants to escape. Thus, Morrison writes that “all color disappeared and the world became a black-and-white movie screen” referring to Frank’s losing his sense of belonging when he loses his friends and family, the community that constitutes his home (68). Further Frank travels around the country without any knowledge of where he is going to stay since he loses his only home – that forged through his bonds with Afro-American community. At the same time, in the physical sense, he belongs everywhere since he has travelled widely and it does not make any difference for him where to live. Thus, he says, “ Aw, man. Korea, Kentucky, San Diego, Seattle, Georgia. Name it I’m from it” (Morrison, 28). No place is dear to his heart as these are community bonds that make his home and not some particular place.

The title of the book is also suggestive. On the one hand, it refers to the home Frank has never had – a space where one has security and comfort largely denied to Afro-Americans due to racial prejudices. On the other hand, it may refer to his strong spiritual connection to racial community he belongs to. Finally, it may refer to his family tree and bonds with his Afro-American ancestors who suffered the same treatment as Frank. In the final chapter, it is a tree Frank is looking at, which is “hurt right down the middle, but alive and well” (Morrison, 147). The tree may be allegory to Frank’s life, when he suffered aggression, misunderstanding, dog-like treatment on the part of whites but this very attitude pushed him to seek love and support in his racial community.

Morrison combines poetry, violence, and storytelling in one work. The story describes how black men have protracted conversations about shared and individual memories and experiences. In her work, Morrison highlights the most upsetting human situations changing the readers’ perception on the meaning of home. According to the writer, in Afro-American communities home is, one the one hand, associated with authenticity, race and community belonging and, on the other, is seen as a ghetto out of which people cannot escape. The idea of race as home is brought about by the prejudices and violence against Afro-Americans. The notion of race as a ghetto is closely connected with the idea of social construction that is formed by segregation practices, aggression and violence towards Afro-American population of the country.

Morrison, Toni. Home . Christian Bourgois Éditeur, 2012.

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Beyond the Books: Toni Morrison’s Essays and Criticism

The Nobel laureate and author of such novels as “Beloved” and “Song of Solomon” wrote extensively for The New York Times.

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By Tina Jordan

Toni Morrison , who died Monday at 88 , is best known for her literary fiction , starting with her 1970 debut, “The Bluest Eye,” and continuing through her 2015 novel, “God Help the Child.” But she was an incisive cultural critic and essayist as well, putting her mind to everything from black feminism to Disneyland. Below are some of her reviews and writing for The New York Times.

‘The kindest words, the sweetest euphemisms’

In her 1971 review of “To Be a Black Woman: Portraits in Fact and Fiction,” edited by Mel Watkins and Jay David, Morrison wrote:

“Somewhere there is, or will be, an in‐depth portrait of the black woman. At the moment, it resides outside the pages of this book. She is somewhere, though, some place, just as she always has been, up to her pelvis in myth, asking those sad, sad questions: When I was brave, was it only because I was masculine? When I was human, was it only because I was passive? When I survived, was it only because my man was dead? And when ship loads of slaves became a race of 30 million was that really only because I was fecund?”

[How did Toni Morrison’s words touch your life ? Tell us.]

‘The winds are changing, and when they blow, new things move’

In her 1971 essay “What the Black Woman Thinks About Women’s Lib,” Morrison wrote:

“They look at white women and see them as the enemy — for they know that racism is not confined to white men, and that there are more white women than men in this country, and that 53 percent of the population sustained an eloquent silence during times of greatest stress. The faces of those white women hovering behind that black girl at the Little Rock school in 1957 do not soon leave the retina of the mind.”

‘Delicate in its bitterness and tough in its joy’

In 1972, Morrison reviewed Albert Murray’s memoir of growing up in Alabama, “South to a Very Old Place,” writing:

“Murray’s going home, like the return of any black born in the South, takes on a special dimension. Along with an intimacy with its people and ties to its land, there is a separateness from both the people and the land — since some of the people are white and the land is not really his. This feeling of tender familiarity and brutish alienation provides tension and makes the trip down home delicate in its bitterness and tough in its joy.”

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The Work You Do, the Person You Are

By Toni Morrison

All I had to do for the two dollars was clean Her house for a few hours after school. It was a beautiful house, too, with a plastic-covered sofa and chairs, wall-to-wall blue-and-white carpeting, a white enamel stove, a washing machine and a dryer—things that were common in Her neighborhood, absent in mine. In the middle of the war, She had butter, sugar, steaks, and seam-up-the-back stockings.

I knew how to scrub floors on my knees and how to wash clothes in our zinc tub, but I had never seen a Hoover vacuum cleaner or an iron that wasn’t heated by fire.

Part of my pride in working for Her was earning money I could squander: on movies, candy, paddleballs, jacks, ice-cream cones. But a larger part of my pride was based on the fact that I gave half my wages to my mother, which meant that some of my earnings were used for real things—an insurance-policy payment or what was owed to the milkman or the iceman. The pleasure of being necessary to my parents was profound. I was not like the children in folktales: burdensome mouths to feed, nuisances to be corrected, problems so severe that they were abandoned to the forest. I had a status that doing routine chores in my house did not provide—and it earned me a slow smile, an approving nod from an adult. Confirmations that I was adultlike, not childlike.

In those days, the forties, children were not just loved or liked; they were needed. They could earn money; they could care for children younger than themselves; they could work the farm, take care of the herd, run errands, and much more. I suspect that children aren’t needed in that way now. They are loved, doted on, protected, and helped. Fine, and yet . . .

Little by little, I got better at cleaning Her house—good enough to be given more to do, much more. I was ordered to carry bookcases upstairs and, once, to move a piano from one side of a room to the other. I fell carrying the bookcases. And after pushing the piano my arms and legs hurt so badly. I wanted to refuse, or at least to complain, but I was afraid She would fire me, and I would lose the freedom the dollar gave me, as well as the standing I had at home—although both were slowly being eroded. She began to offer me her clothes, for a price. Impressed by these worn things, which looked simply gorgeous to a little girl who had only two dresses to wear to school, I bought a few. Until my mother asked me if I really wanted to work for castoffs. So I learned to say “No, thank you” to a faded sweater offered for a quarter of a week’s pay.

Still, I had trouble summoning the courage to discuss or object to the increasing demands She made. And I knew that if I told my mother how unhappy I was she would tell me to quit. Then one day, alone in the kitchen with my father, I let drop a few whines about the job. I gave him details, examples of what troubled me, yet although he listened intently, I saw no sympathy in his eyes. No “Oh, you poor little thing.” Perhaps he understood that what I wanted was a solution to the job, not an escape from it. In any case, he put down his cup of coffee and said, “Listen. You don’t live there. You live here. With your people. Go to work. Get your money. And come on home.”

That was what he said. This was what I heard:

1. Whatever the work is, do it well—not for the boss but for yourself.

2. You make the job; it doesn’t make you.

3. Your real life is with us, your family.

4. You are not the work you do; you are the person you are.

I have worked for all sorts of people since then, geniuses and morons, quick-witted and dull, bighearted and narrow. I’ve had many kinds of jobs, but since that conversation with my father I have never considered the level of labor to be the measure of myself, and I have never placed the security of a job above the value of home. ♦

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Borders and Belonging: Toni Morrison’s Prescient Wisdom on the Refugee Struggle, the Violence of Otherness, and the Meaning of Home

By maria popova.

What does home mean and where do we anchor our belonging in a world of violent alienation and alienating violence? I use “alien” here both in the proper etymological sense rooted in the Latin alienus , “belonging to another,” and in the astrophysical sense of “from another planet,” “not human,” for the combined effect of a dehumanizing assault on belonging for those treated and mistreated as alien to a country or a community.

That, and some hint of the remedy for it, is what Toni Morrison (February 18, 1931–August 5, 2019) — one of the titanic thinkers and writers of our time, and the first black woman to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature — returns to again and again throughout The Source of Self-Regard: Selected Essays, Speeches, and Meditations ( public library ), the final nonfiction collection that gave us Morrison on the singular humanistic power of storytelling and the search for wisdom in the age of information .

In a timely piece titled “The Foreigner’s Home,” originally delivered as a lecture at the University of Toronto in 2002, Morrison reflects on the notion of foreignness and the traversing of borders in light of our own disquieting feelings of otherness, whatever our national origin and citizenship, and the tremors of our crumbling belonging in an increasingly chaotic world:

Excluding the height of the slave trade in the nineteenth century, the mass movement of peoples in the latter half of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first is greater now than it has ever been. It is a movement of workers, intellectuals, refugees, armies crossing oceans, continents, immigrants through custom offices and hidden routes, speaking multiple languages of trade, of political intervention, of persecution, exile, violence, and poverty. […] The spectacle of mass movement draws attention inevitably to the borders, the porous places, the vulnerable points where one’s concept of home is seen as being menaced by foreigners. Much of the alarm hovering at the borders, the gates, is stoked, it seems to me, by (1) both the threat and the promise of globalism and (2) an uneasy relationship with our own foreignness, our own rapidly disintegrating sense of belonging.

With an eye to the central questions of belonging — how we decide where and whether we belong, what convinces us that we do, what constitutes foreignness and why it is so perturbing — she writes:

[There is an] inside/outside blur that can enshrine frontiers, and borders real, metaphorical, and psychological, as we wrestle with definitions of nationalism, citizenship, race, ideology, and the so-called clash of cultures in our search to belong. African and African American writers are not alone in coming to terms with these problems, but they do have a long and singular history of confronting them. Of not being at home in one’s homeland; of being exiled in the place one belongs.

Morrison takes up the crux of this search for belonging — the meaning of home — in another piece, titled “Home” and originally delivered as a convocation address at Oberlin College in 2009:

What do we mean when we say “home”? It is a virtual question because the destiny of the twenty-first century will be shaped by the possibility or the collapse of a shareable world. The question of cultural apartheid and/or cultural integration is at the heart of all governments and informs our perception of the ways in which governance and culture compel the exoduses of peoples (voluntarily or driven) and raises complex questions of dispossession, recovery, and the reinforcement of siege mentalities. How do individuals resist or become complicit in the process of alienizing others’ demonization — a process that can infect the foreigner’s geographical sanctuary with the country’s xenophobia? By welcoming immigrants, or importing slaves into their midst for economic reasons and relegating their children to a modern version of the “undead.” Or by reducing an entire native population, some with a history hundreds, even thousands of years long, into despised foreigners in their own country. Or by the privileged indifference of a government watching an almost biblical flood destroy a city because its citizens were surplus black or poor people without transportation, water, food, help and left to their own devices to swim, slog, or die in fetid water, attics, hospitals, jails, boulevards, and holding pens. Such are the consequences of persistent demonization; such is the harvest of shame.

Noting that the violent handling of populations at and across borders is not new, Morrison considers what history so clearly teaches us about the consequence, if only we have the conscience and courage not to turn a blind eye to it:

Forced or eager exodus into strange territory (psychological or geographical) is indelible in the history of every quadrant of the known world, from the trek of Africans into China and Australia; to military interventions by Romans, Ottomans, Europeans; to merchant forays fulfilling the desires of a plethora of regimes, monarchies, and republics. From Venice to Virginia, from Liverpool to Hong Kong. All these and more have transferred the riches and art they found into other realms. And all these left that foreign soil stained with their blood and/or transplanted into the veins of the conquered. While in their wake the languages of conquered and conqueror swell with condemnation of the other.

Two decades after Audre Lorde’s surprised encounter with the German women of the Diaspora prompted her to ask the crucial question of otherness and belonging — “How can we use each other’s differences in our common battles for a livable future?” — Morrison considers how the global fragmentation of identity has affected our private experience of belonging:

This slide of people has freighted the concept of citizenship and altered our perceptions of space — public and private. The strain has been marked by a plethora of hyphenated designations of national identity. In press descriptions, place of origin has become more telling than citizenship, and persons are identified as “a German citizen of such and such origin” or “a British citizen of such and such origin.” All this while a new cosmopolitanism, a kind of multilayered cultural citizenship, is simultaneously being hailed. The relocation of peoples has ignited and disrupted the idea of home and expanded the focus of identity beyond definitions of citizenship to clarifications of foreignness. Who is the foreigner? is a question that leads us to the perception of an implicit and heightened threat within “difference.” We see it in the defense of the local against the outsider; personal discomfort with one’s own sense of belonging ( Am I the foreigner in my own home? ); of unwanted intimacy instead of safe distance.

In a sentiment of chilling of prescience, offered a decade before her own homeland barbed its borders with unprecedented violence, racism, and inhumanity, Morrison adds a sobering admonition:

It may be that the most defining characteristic of our times is that, again, walls and weapons feature as prominently now as they once did in medieval times. Porous borders are understood in some quarters to be areas of threat and certain chaos, and whether real or imagined, enforced separation is posited as the solution. Walls, ammunition — they do work. For a while. But they are major failures over time, as the occupants of casual, unmarked, and mass grave sites haunt the entire history of civilization.

Complement this particular fragment of The Source of Self-Regard with Amin Maalouf on conflict, belonging, and how we inhabit our identity , David Whyte on how to be at home in yourself , and Hannah Arendt on the refugee plight for identity , then revisit Morrison on the deepest meaning of freedom and her spectacular Nobel Prize acceptance speech about the power of language .

— Published August 6, 2019 — https://www.themarginalian.org/2019/08/06/toni-mirrison-borders-home/ —

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A Foreigner’s Home

As many of us return home to celebrate family and gratitude according to our cultural traditions, Toni Morrison’s essay “A Foreigner’s Home” poses a fascinating question. “To what do we pay greatest allegiance?,” she asks. “Family, language group, country, gender? Religion, race? And if none of these matter, are we urbane, cosmopolitan, or simply lonely?”

Toni Morrison (Photo by Deborah Feingold/Corbis via Getty Images)

The Foreigner’s Home by Toni Morrison

EXCLUDING THE HEIGHT of the slave trade in the nineteenth century, the mass movement of peoples in the latter half of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first is greater now than it has ever been. It is a movement of workers, intellectuals, refugees, armies crossing oceans, continents, immigrants through custom offices and hidden routes, speaking multiple languages of trade, of political intervention, of persecution, exile, violence, and poverty. There is little doubt that the redistribution (voluntary or involuntary) of people all over the globe tops the agenda of the state, the boardrooms, the neighbourhoods, the street. Political maneuvers to control this movement are not limited to monitoring the dispossessed. While much of this exodus can be described as the journey of the colonised to the seat of the colonisers (slaves, as it were, abandoning the plantation for the planters’ home), and while more of it is the flight of war refugees, the relocation and transplantation of the management and diplomatic class to globalisation’s outposts, as well as the deployment of fresh military units and bases, feature prominently in legislative attempts to control the constant flow of people.

The spectacle of mass movement draws attention inevitably to the borders, the porous places, the vulnerable points where one’s concept of home is seen as being menaced by foreigners. Much of the alarm hovering at the borders, the gates, is stoked, it seems to me, by (1) both the threat and the promise of globalism and (2) an uneasy relationship with our own foreignness, our own rapidly disintegrating sense of belonging.

Let me begin with globalisation. In our current understanding, globalisation is not a version of the nineteenth-century “Britannia rules” format—although postcolonial upheavals reflect and are reminiscent of the domination one nation had over most others. The term does not have the “workers of the world unite” agenda of the old internationalism, although that was the very word—“internationalism”— that the president of the AFL-CIO used at the executive council of union presidents. Nor is the globalism the postwar appetite for “one world,” the rhetoric that stirred and bedeviled the fifties and launched the United Nations. Nor is it the “universalism” of the sixties and seventies—either as a plea for world peace or an insistence on cultural hegemony. “Empire,” “internationalism,” “one world,” “universal”— all seem less like categories of historical trends than yearnings. Yearnings to corral the earth into some semblance of unity and some measure of control, to conceive of the planet’s human destiny as flowing from one constellation of nations’ ideology. Globalism has the same desires and yearnings as its predecessors. It too understands itself as historically progressive, enhancing, destined, unifying, utopian. Narrowly defined, it is meant to mean instant movement of capital and the rapid distribution of data and products operating within a politically neutral environment shaped by multinational corporate demands. Its larger connotations, however, are less innocent, encompassing as they do not only the demonisation of embargoed states or the trivialisation cum negotiation with warlords, but also the collapse of nation-states under the weight of transnational economies, capital, and labour; the preeminence of Western culture and economy; the Americanisation of the developed and developing world through the penetration of U.S. culture into others as well as the marketing of third-world cultures to the West as fashion, film settings, and cuisine.

Globalisation, hailed with the same vigour as was manifest destiny, internationalism, etc., has reached a level of majesty in our imagination. For all its claims of fostering freedom, globalism’s dispensations are royal, for it can bestow much. In matters of reach (across frontiers); in terms of mass (of populations affected and engaged); and in terms of riches (limitless fields to mine for resources and services to offer). Yet as much as globalism is adored as near messianic, it is also reviled as an evil courting a dangerous dystopia. Its disregard of borders, national infrastructures, local bureaucracies, internet censors, tariffs, laws, and languages; its disregard of margins and the marginal people who live there; its formidable, engulfing properties accelerating erasure, a flattening out of difference, of specificity for marketing purposes. An abhorrence of diversity. We imagine indistinguishability, the elimination of minority languages, minority cultures in its wake. We speculate with horror on what could be the irrevocable, enfeebling alteration of major languages, major cultures in its sweep. Even if those dreaded consequences are not made completely manifest, they nevertheless cancel out globalism’s assurances of better life by issuing dire warnings of premature cultural death.

OTHER DANGERS GLOBALISM poses are the distortion of the public and the destruction of the private. We glean what is public primarily, but not exclusively, from media. We are asked to abandon much of what was once private to the data-collecting requirements of governmental, political, market, and now security needs. Part of the anxiety about the porous divide between public and private domains certainly stems from reckless applications of the terms. There is the privatisation of prisons, which is the private corporate control of a public facility. There is the privatisation of public schools. There is also private life—claims to which can be given up freely on talk shows, or negotiated in the courts by celebrities, “public” figures, and privacy rights cases. There is private space (atriums, gardens, etc.) open to the public. And public space (parks, playgrounds, and beaches in certain neighbourhoods) limited to private use. There is the looking-glass phenomenon of the “play” of the public in our private, interior lives. Interiors of our houses look like store displays (along with shelf after shelf of “collections”) and store displays are arranged as house interiors; young people’s behaviour is said to be an echo of what the screen offers; the screen is said to echo, represent, youthful interests and behaviour— not create them. Since the space in which both civic and private life is lived has become so indistinguishable from inner and outer, from inside/outside, these two realms have been compressed into a ubiquitous blur, a rattling of our concept of home.

It is this rattling I believe that affects the second point: our uneasiness with our own feelings of foreignness, our own rapidly fraying sense of belonging. To what do we pay greatest allegiance? Family, language group, culture, country, gender? Religion, race? And if none of these matter, are we urbane, cosmopolitan, or simply lonely? In other words, how do we decide where we belong? What convinces us that we do? Or put another way, what is the matter with foreignness?

I have chosen to comment on a novel written in the fifties by a Ghanaian author as a means of addressing this dilemma— the inside/ outside blur that can enshrine frontiers, and borders real, metaphorical, and psychological, as we wrestle with definitions of nationalism, citizenship, race, ideology, and the so-called clash of cultures in our search to belong.

African and African American writers are not alone in coming to terms with these problems, but they do have a long and singular history of confronting them. Of not being at home in one’s homeland; of being exiled in the place one belongs…

Although the sound of the name, “Africa,” was beautiful it was riven by the complicated emotions with which it was associated. Unlike starving China, Africa was both ours and theirs; intimately connected to us and profoundly foreign. A huge needy homeland to which we were said to belong but that none of us had seen or cared to see, inhabited by people with whom we maintained a delicate relationship of mutual ignorance and disdain, and with whom we shared a mythology of passive, traumatised otherness cultivated by textbooks, film, cartoons, and the hostile name-calling children learn to love.

(This is an edited excerpt published in Open Magazine from Mouth Full of Blood; Essays, Speeches, Meditations | Toni Morrison| Chatto & Windus | Rs 699 | Pages 345)

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Home (Morrison Novel)

By toni morrison, home (morrison novel) quotes and analysis.

Yet in spite of the threats from men, both hooded and not, and pleadings from neighbors, one elderly man named Crawford sat on his porch steps and refused to vacate...Just after dawn at the twenty-fourth hour he was beaten to death with pipes and rifle butts and tied to the oldest magnolia tree in the county—one that grew in his own yard. Maybe it was loving that tree which, he used to brag, his great-grandmother had planted, that made him stubborn. In the dark of night, some of the fleeing neighbors snuck back to untie him and bury him beneath his beloved magnolia. Narrator, p. 10

Morrison bookends the novel with scenes of Black men, trees, and white violence. Here, Black families are ordered to leave by a white mob, and the one man who stays is brutally tortured and murdered. His community buries him beneath the tree, which is the same thing that Frank does for the Black man at the end of the novel (who may have been lynched or the father killed by his son in the fights). There is a clear acknowledgement of the violence perpetrated on the Black body, but also of the community's role in honoring their members' lives and deaths.

"My name is Locke, Reverend John Locke." Locke, p. 13

Not a single detail in this spare, beautiful book by one of America's best novelists is capricious or accidental; thus, the name of this reverend Frank meets at the beginning of his journey doesn't allude to the Enlightenment philosopher for naught. As Maxine Montgomery writes, "More than any other, it is Reverend Locke who assumes paramount importance in an understanding of the novel's concerns recuperating the past. John Locke was one of the most influential of Enlightenment figures, someone who espouses the notion of the mind as a tabula rasa or blank slate shaped by knowledge, sensations, and emotions, so Morrison presents him as a major figure who helps to shape Money's thinking. It is Reverend Locke, an elderly wise man, who offers a historical perspective on the plight of the returning soldier." Even though Frank initially brushes off Locke's comment about the misery of the integrated army, he comes to embrace such thinking as he evolves and works through his trauma from the war.

He would have to concentrate on something else—a night sky, starless, or, better, train tracks. No scenery, no trains, just endless, endless tracks. Narrator, p. 8

Home is a novel about journeying, both mentally and physically. Frank traverses the landscape here in his mind, conjuring up a barren wasteland with only tracks, and traverses an equal ominous landscape as he travels through Jim Crow America to get to his sister. Donnie McMahand and Kevin L. Murphy write that Morrison "imagine[s] the landscape as evocative of the region's often submerged history of racialized violence." The southern landscapes are "engraved with the menace and memory of white terror," yet as the arc of the novel bends "toward resilience," the terrain "appear[s] mutably as bleak and beautiful, frightening and futurist." Ultimately, the critics write, Home "insist[s] that not even the bluntest disregard for history can sponge off the imprint it leaves on the virtual and actual bodies and on the earth itself."

"Custom is just as real as law and can be just as dangerous." John Locke, p. 19

With this brief but memorable comment, John Locke lays bare the reality of life in Jim Crow America: just because the North and the West don't have de jure segregation (segregation by law), doesn't mean they are free from racial discrimination or violence. White supremacy is embedded in the history of the United States from its very founding, and no place was free from its clutches. A Black man in the 1950s still had to be very careful where he went, what he did, and how he behaved, even if he wasn't in the South.

"Drive-by cop," he said. "He had a cap pistol. Eight years old, running up and down the sidewalk pointing it...Cops shoot anything they want." Billy, p. 31

Billy tells Frank the story of what happened to his son, which sounds very much like contemporary police violence perpetrated against Black people. Writing in 2012, Morrison could draw on decades worth of traumatizing examples of how police and "citizen vigilantes" like George Zimmerman, the murderer of Trayvon Martin in 2012, took it upon themselves to mete out life and death with an absence of justice. Even though over 60 years have intervened between the time period in which Home is set and the time in which Morrison writes—years in which the civil rights movement achieved the end of segregation—not enough has changed. This is perhaps Morrison's point—resisting nostalgia for to the 1950s, and wondering if we aren't closer to it than we might think.

He would, as always, protect her from a bad situation. Narrator, p. 51

There is much to admire about Frank and Cee's childhood relationship. Their parents were absent and their grandmother cruel; Lotus was dull and stultifying, school was nonexistent, opportunities were few. Frank stepping up to take care of Cee was noble and powerful, and offered her a profound sense of safety and him a profound sense of meaning. However, what this meant was that Cee never really learned to take care of herself. She depended on Frank to guide her and never developed a sense of self; thus, she easily fell into harmful situations as a result of not knowing how to navigate the world. This is not to blame Frank, of course, but it is part of Cee's journey to selfhood that she learns to take care of herself and see her brother as an equal, not a guardian.

Frank and Cee, like some forgotten Hansel and Gretel, locked hands as they navigated the silence and tried to imagine a future. Narrator, p. 53

The Hansel and Gretel tale informs much of the novel, a fact that Morrison herself has acknowledged. We have a brother-sister pair, alone in the world and dependent upon only each other. They are navigating that world with very little to guide them but their own wits, which often fail them. There is a cruel grandmother and a deceptively appealing house, perilous near-death experiences, and a miraculous escape. Then there is the healing and the fairy-tale ending in which Frank and Cee have triumphed over their own traumas and flaws to arrive at a place where they can be unified and at peace. Calling out the aspects of the fairy tale in Home is not meant to negate the novel's seriousness, but instead to show how it has a universal resonance.

The doctor raised his gun and pointed it at what in his fear ought to have been flaring nostrils, foaming lips, and the red-rimmed eyes of a savage. Instead he saw the quiet, even serene, face of a man not to be fooled with. Narrator, p. 111

The doctor is a dyed-in-the-wool Confederate and a eugenics practitioner; thus, he is extremely racist and inclined to harbor stereotypical views of Black people in order to sustain his own white-supremacist worldview. He expects to see Frank, a man who has broken into his home, in the most grotesque fashion, but instead sees a serious, calm man intent on rescuing his sister without bringing harm to anyone else. This defies the doctor's expectations, and also proves to be an important moment for Frank. In not choosing violence, he elevates himself above not only stereotype but above the doctor, who did cruelly enact violence on Cee.

"It's like there's a baby girl down here waiting to be born. She's somewhere close by in the air, in this house, and she picked me to be born to. And now she has to find some other mother..." Cee, p. 132

Several critics have compared this "ghost baby" of Cee's to the child Beloved in Morrison's famous novel of the same name. Maxine Montgomery says the "eerie visage" of Cee's unborn daughter is reminiscent of Beloved but also has "a more abstract, ephemeral role as the incarnation of maternal guilt the young woman feels because she cannot bear children." Irene Visser comments that in Home the baby girl is actually acknowledged, unlike Beloved, which is a "form of closure...that is essential to recovery from trauma."

Come on, brother. Let's go home. Cee, 147

At the end of the story, Cee takes charge in a gentle but powerful way. She knows what is right for her brother and for herself, and it is to turn their sights toward their new home. This new home is, of course, their old home of Lotus, but the two siblings are the ones that are new—rather, renewed . They are finally in a place that is sustaining and nurturing, a place where they can be the best versions of themselves and continue to work through the traumas that once defined them. Here they are making their own way in the world but with a supporting community of people, especially women, that will encourage their growth.

Home (Morrison Novel) Questions and Answers

The Question and Answer section for Home (Morrison Novel) is a great resource to ask questions, find answers, and discuss the novel.

Study Guide for Home (Morrison Novel)

Home study guide contains a biography of Toni Morrison, literature essays, quiz questions, major themes, characters, and a full summary and analysis.

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Home essays are academic essays for citation. These papers were written primarily by students and provide critical analysis of Home by Toni Morrison.

• The Temporal Realities of Imagined Pasts in Home and Yellow Earth
• Dehumanization of the African-American Community: Insights from Home

Lesson Plan for Home (Morrison Novel)

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Introduction, memory and trauma, identity and selfhood, motherhood and family bonds.

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Locate simply the city of Elektrostal through the card, map and satellite image of the city.

Elektrostal Nearby cities and villages

Elektrostal Weather

Weather forecast for the next coming days and current time of Elektrostal.

Elektrostal Sunrise and sunset

Find below the times of sunrise and sunset calculated 7 days to Elektrostal.

Elektrostal Hotel

Our team has selected for you a list of hotel in Elektrostal classified by value for money. Book your hotel room at the best price.

Elektrostal Nearby

Below is a list of activities and point of interest in Elektrostal and its surroundings.

Elektrostal Page

• Information /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#info
• Demography /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#demo
• Geography /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#geo
• Distance /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#dist1
• Map /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#map
• Nearby cities and villages /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#dist2
• Weather /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#weather
• Sunrise and sunset /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#sun
• Hotel /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#hotel
• Nearby /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#around
• Page /Russian-Federation--Moscow-Oblast--Elektrostal#page
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• Moscow Oblast
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• Elektrostal

State Housing Inspectorate of the Moscow Region

Phone 8 (496) 575-02-20 8 (496) 575-02-20

Phone 8 (496) 511-20-80 8 (496) 511-20-80

Public administration near State Housing Inspectorate of the Moscow Region