Notes

What other things? For one, it’s clean. One of the paradoxes of rain is how clean it is coming down and
how much mud it can make when it lands. So if you want a character to be cleansed, symbolically, let
him walk through the rain to get somewhere. He can be quite transformed when he gets there. He may
also have a cold, but that’s another matter. He can be less angry, less confused, more repentant,
whatever you want. The stain that was upon him – figuratively – can be removed. On the other hand, ifhe falls down, he’ll be covered in mud and therefore more stained than before. You can have it either
way, or both ways if you’re really good. The problem with cleansing, though, is the problem with wishes:
you have to be careful what you wish for, or for that matter what you want cleansed. Sometimes it
backfires. In Song of Solomon, Toni Morrison gives her poor jilted lover, Hagar, an encounter with
cleansing rain. Having been thrown over by her longtime lover (and cousin – it’s very awkward),
Milkman, for a more “presentable” love interest (with looks and especially hair nearer the “white”
ideal), Hagar spends a desperate day buying clothes and accessories, visiting hair and nail salons, and
generally turning herself into a simulacrum of the woman she thinks Milkman wants. After spending all
her money and psychic energy in this mad plunge into a fantasy image, she is caught out in a rainstorm
that ruins her clothes, her packages, and her coiffure. She is left with her despised, kinky “black” hair
and her self-loathing. Rather than washing away some taint, the rain cleanses her of illusions and the
false ideal of beauty. The experience, of course, destroys her, and she soon dies of a broken heart and
rain. So much for the salutary effects of cleansing rains.