Some books visit for a moment, and some books unpack their bags and stay. The Color Purple by Alice Walker is one that settled into my heart and has never left.
My connection to it began with the film. I was way too young to grasp all the complex themes, but old enough to feel the ache of Celie’s story. It was the first film that ever made me cry. Even if I didn’t understand everything, something in her pain — and her resilience — reached out and grabbed me.
It wasn’t until I read the book as a teenager that I realised why it felt so familiar. Celie wasn’t just a character; she was a reflection, a companion, and a reminder of the struggles Black girls learn to carry without being taught.
And that’s why the book has never left me.
Recognising Myself in Celie: The Barriers We Don’t Have Words For
As I grew older, I began to see pieces of my own life in Celie’s experiences — the kind of recognition that tightens your chest.
I knew what it was like to be objectified by grown men while still a child, long before I understood what they were seeing or why. I knew the sting of being told, as a teenager, that “Black girls aren’t really attractive,” as if beauty came in a shade chart I could never win.
And even now, I’m still trying to pull myself away from the “strong Black woman” trope — that unspoken demand that we endure everything, pour into others, and smile through all of it in the face of a near constant stream of disrespect. Reading Celie’s story as a teen didn’t give me the vocabulary for these experiences, but it gave me a place to put the feelings.
The Smile That Changed Everything
There’s a small moment in the story — so small you could almost miss it — that felt like it reached inside my chest.
When Shug Avery sees Celie smile.
I have a gap-toothed smile myself. For years, I hated it. I perfected a look in photos that hid my teeth entirely — a kind of practiced, unimpressed expression that became my default. Smiling felt risky, like exposing something that might be judged.
So when Shug stops, stares at Celie’s smile, and sees beauty where Celie sees shame… my heart almost exploded. That moment reminded me that joy, for someone like Celie — someone overlooked, dismissed, told she wasn’t beautiful — was almost an act of resistance. And in that recognition, I felt a kind of unexpected tenderness toward myself.
Colourism, Racism, and Beauty: Naming the Wounds
Walker’s exploration of colourism and Western beauty standards hit me differently each time I revisited the book. Celie doesn’t just live under racism — she lives under a hierarchy within her own community, where beauty is something bestowed on lighter skin, looser curls, and features softened to fit someone else’s ideals.
It reminded me of the countless ways Black girls are told, directly and indirectly, that our features are wrong, our hair is too much, our presence too unpolished. Seeing these patterns so clearly on the page made me realise that the insecurities I carried weren’t born in me — they were inherited, shaped long before I arrived.
The Power of Female Friendship
The relationships between Celie, Shug, Sofia, and Nettie have always been some of the most powerful parts of the book for me. These women love each other, challenge each other, and save each other in ways that defy the limitations placed on them.
They reminded me that Black women have always been each other’s safe places — even when the world refuses to be. Sisterhood, in all its messy and healing forms, becomes its own kind of salvation.
Why the Story Still Stays With Me
The Color Purple stays with me because it feels like a conversation between generations of Black women — about pain, resilience, identity, beauty, and joy. It acknowledges the darkness without pretending that’s all there is. It holds space for hope, for healing, for self-discovery, and for the quiet, steady reclamation of our worth.
Celie taught me something I didn’t know I needed to learn; that a Black girl’s journey to loving herself is not only possible, its necessary, its revolutionary.
Some stories visit for a season. This one stayed — and helped me stay with myself.
What’s your “stayed with me” book?
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