The narrative voice in this novel begins with a truly omniscient, bold, frank, sympathetic and descriptive voice.
Characterized by lush language this narrator promises to see and show all. This wise voice creates a distance that allows full honesty from the two protagonists and gives the reader full access to thoughts with even the occasional acknowledgment that some thoughts cannot be accessed — some feelings not entirely known across the divide of race and class in 1960’s Mississippi. This graceful, incisive narrative voice is our guide through the turbulence of 1960s Mississippi.
This voice is a critical voice, too, examining the storytelling authority of two women who work together. There is no wishful thinking - no assurances that, despite the world of unrest and incivility and racial injustice, things will be fine for our protagonists. No. Douglas says that the life that’s been given to them is the life they’re going to live. And these lives bear scrutiny. Ultimately, these protagonists have nothing to hide.
"I can’t quit you, baby, but I got to put you down a little while." This is the Willie Dixon song lyric from which the book's title comes . Douglas uses the blues idiom beautifully. This line then becomes the theme — the comment on the circumstances of the relationship between Black and White people - especially that relationship between black and white women. The relationship between the women is uneasy, unequal, uncomfortable at times, but it is, within the novel’s narrative sphere, an equivalent place. Both of their voices are heard, embedded in the text without quotation marks and embellished with descriptions, attitudes, reactions. Though at times Douglas seems to reach for contrasts in her descriptions of Julia, aka Tweet and Cornelia, she finally relaxes into less sharp contrasts. She allows her SUPER omniscient, companionable though critical third storytelling voice remind us that WE are looking at them, gleaning and sorting and “making up our minds about”, reading while packing our prejudices and, whether or not we have a right to do it, we are making judgements. Perhaps Douglas is making the point that storytelling is all about the judgements we make — the lies, half-truths, omissions, gentle bullshit, embellishments and the hackneyed, racial shorthand we often use when we write. We all bring a bit of that to our stories.
The skill with which Ellen Douglas situates her narrative voices in “Can’t Quit You, Baby” is instructive for the writer creating characters with what is understood (by themselves and/or others) to be a different race than the writer. In this case, Ellen Douglas is a white, southern writer. The book was published in 1988. It is worth noting that Douglas does not use the complete the “I” in her title - she does, however, credit Willie Dixon in her epigraph - important that she is not suggesting that this is a folk phrase - but a known lyric, poem, etc. belonging to the authorship of Willie Dixon, bluesman.