America hadn't in a long time seen progress and change like it did in the 1920s. After all, this was the "New Era," where many industries (including plastic, rayon, and automobiles) were enjoying a new surge of interest and prosperity. World War I had bolstered the country's economics, and Americans began to consume in ways they had never before.
This was the time of the burgeoning motion picture industry, of impressive improvements in home appliances (toasters, washing machines, and vacuum cleaners all came into the American housewife's home during the 1920s), and great strides for the American worker (wages were bettered and hours were shortened).
And because of its far-reaching influence, the boom of the 1920s infiltrated the literature being written during the decade. The automobile industry factors squarely into the central terror of Ernest Hemingway's story "The Killers" and progressive new ideas about race and culture are the core focus of Jean Toomer's "Blood-Burning Moon."
"The Killers" is essentially a story about the new largeness of America. In terms of land mass, America had always been big, but it may not have felt so to its citizens, who, until the 1920s, were generally bound to their hometowns. There was not an easy way--especially for rural residents--to travel uninhibited from place to place. (Think, for example, of the slowness and inconvenience of travel in "A Jury of Her Peers" by Susan Glaspell.)
This all changed with Ford's introduction of the Model T, which, in the 1920s, cost a reasonable $290. And even if $290 was out of a family's price range, owning a new car was still possible. The new automobile industry prompted the popularity of credit plans that are established to help working-class families purchase automobiles.
The federal government, recognizing the new, more mobile American landscape, worked tirelessly to produce the first national system of highways. And suddenly--just like that!--the American public had options. Citizens were no longer sedentary.
This is what makes the fear that's imbedded deeply into Hemingway's "The Killers" so raw and fresh. After all, the simple folks sitting in and working at a hometown diner encounter two strange men from out of town who, because of all these new improvements--cars, fast-moving highways--have spent their time hunting a man from town to town in order to kill him to settle old debts for their boss.
Imagine the new kinds of fear that bloom for Americans at this time: It is no longer easy to disappear, to run. It is no longer easy to believe that small-town life is safe. After all, now anyone--even the fast-talking, dangerous men from urban areas, where, in the 1920s, mob life is running rampant--can show up in town with a violent agenda. They can do their work and disappear just as quickly as that. Nothing is easily-contained anymore--not men, not cultures, and certainly not violence.
Similar ideas are at work in Jean Toomer's "Blood-Burning Moon." Like "The Killers," this is a story about quickly-changing America, but Toomer's story deals with changing cultural mores. At its heart, it is a story about race relations. In fact, it is a story with plot points and themes we've been examining for years, but instead of concentrating on the differences between the two male characters--white Bob Stone and black Tom Burwell--the story sheds light on the similarities between these two characters.
After all, both men find themselves bewitched by Louisa, the object of their affections. She is portrayed in imagery that is both natural and spiritual (the controlling metaphor used to describe Louisa is that of a tall, strong oak tree; throughout the story she seems to control the actions of the world around her). And when each of the men hears rumor of the other, they react in the exact same way: They are singed by the hate and jealousy that roars up inside them. This is conveyed through the oppressive imagery of heat and fire that pervades Toomer's text--even the title ("Blood-Burning Moon") snaps with anger and fire.
Eventually, the men square off over Louisa--even Bob Stone, who represents a man on the very verge. He is, after all, a man steeped in the old tradition of master and slave and is caught between the old attitudes toward African-Americans and his feelings for Louisa, who he thinks is "lovely" and "beautiful" and "sweet." He decides to go to her, to seek her company out, to romance her, even if there is a part of him that feels it is his right to take her, as though she were his slave and he her master.
Both men, who have equal "claim" to Louisa's affections, have the same notion: They need to confront one another and determine once and for all who will have Louisa. The men scuffle, and Tom Burwell strikes a fatal blow to Bob Stone, who is quickly avenged by his neighbors who are more than eager to throw Tom Burwell into a fire, to let him burn under the blood-burning moon.
Therefore, both of the stories from our 1920s decade do well to show us the consequences of the massive changes that are rolling across America, which are substantial in things (automobiles, travel, and consumer purchases) and in idea (race relations, fear, and new awareness).
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