Celie, a nearly illiterate black Georgia girl, writes a short note to God, confiding to him that she's only fourteen, but already she is burdened with cooking, cleaning, and caring for a multitude of brothers and sisters because of her mother's failing health. In addition, her father has raped her.
We are stunned. Seldom has a novel begun so melodramatically — and yet so briefly and in such a matter-of-fact style. We are caught off-guard. Clearly, this letter to God is not a prayer, as one might expect a letter to God to be. But, on the other hand, despite the sexual violence described in the letter, there is nothing excessively melodramatic about the letter in terms of its style. In fact, what we notice, first of all, and perhaps most important, is the fact that Celie is writing to God in much the way that she would write to, or speak to, a good, close, loving friend. This letter, written in what Walker has called black folk language, contains a strong and sustained sense of naturalness throughout.
Talking to her friend God, Celie uses the words "titties," "pussy," and "his thing" without any sense of embarrassment. These words are the only words that Celie knows for these terms. Celie is an innocent young girl who has been sexually abused by her father, and now she is confused as to why it happened to her. So she asks all-knowing God: why? And in telling God what has happened, there is nothing shocking about her language because it is the natural language of this black girl. What is shocking is the fact that her father has raped her and has threatened more violence if she tells anyone about it. The violence itself is shocking — not Celie's language.
