Chapter 7 'Taxonomy' Summary: Categorization and Its Consequences

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This guide contains detailed spoilers for the entire novel. Proceed only if you've finished reading or are comfortable knowing the plot.

Summary

The chapter opens with a scene of creative blockage: the speaker goes to meet a poem and it will not meet her, so long as she believes she is owed something. She calls the poem by the first name she learned, a word that, stripped of its vowels, sounds identical to her brother’s hair. Her brother’s hair is the longest it has been since they were children, curling around his ears, and she has no name for that sweetness.

The speaker explains that she must write things down because otherwise she will forget—as she has forgotten so many other words, and also the suffix built into her identity that marks her labors: specter, daughter, agent noun attached to the verb of her origins. She references a sheet dotted with blood and a thumbprint against a dotted line. Even if she is not tender, she must tend; though she is only part water, she waits; and like any number, she numbs her “vulgar parts.”

The first word she learned, she reveals, simply means “girl”—her mother’s girl, her grandmother’s grandgirl, a garland of Egyptian jasmine. Her grandmother’s grandmother is called “nena,” which might not be her real name, but she never thought to ask. Before that name, the names for her go silent; she does not know what to call those women—her great grand others, her agents, her tender nouns.

The name she is owed will not meet her, even though she fasts until the corners of the room crowd with specters, even though her body swells with the volumes of her blood, even though she spilled it. She recalls reading that family honor resides in the body of the girl—and she spilled it. She overflowed and was called a flower. She grew up mapless and was pointed to a maple tree. She shrank her own body until the blood stopped coming, until she dropped her every suffix and woke up to sheets still white.

Key Events

The speaker attempts to meet a poem and finds it unresponsive, framing the chapter as a meditation on creative blockage and expectation.
She connects the poem to her brother’s hair through the shared absence of vowels, linking language to family.
She describes her practice of writing things down to prevent forgetting words and the suffixes that mark her identity.
She references a blood-stained sheet and a thumbprint against a dotted line, suggesting both bodily and contractual markers.
She traces her matrilineal lineage: mother’s girl, grandmother’s grandgirl, and “nena,” her grandmother’s grandmother, whose real name was never asked.
She fasts until specters crowd the room, and her body swells with blood she has spilled.
She recalls the belief that family honor resides in the girl’s body, and acknowledges she spilled it.
She was called a flower after overflowing, grew up mapless, and was pointed to a maple tree.
She shrank her body until her blood stopped, dropped her suffixes, and woke to white sheets.

Character Development

The speaker in this chapter is defined by her relationship to language, lineage, and her own body. Her attempt to meet a poem that refuses her reveals a creative impasse rooted in a sense of being owed something—a name, perhaps, or recognition. Her connection of the poem to her brother’s hair through vowel-less Arabic shows how deeply her thinking is shaped by her linguistic heritage.

Her relationship to memory is anxious: she writes things down because she fears forgetting, and she has already forgotten words and the suffixes that mark her identity. The suffix “specter, daughter, agent noun” suggests she experiences her identity as something grammatical, constructed, and possibly haunting.

Her matrilineal line is both a source of identity and a gap: she knows the word for “girl” as her first word, and she is her mother’s girl and grandmother’s grandgirl, but the names before “nena” go silent. She never thought to ask, and now the names are lost.

Her relationship to her body is marked by control and shame. She spills blood, is called a flower (a euphemism that softens the reality), and responds by shrinking her body until the blood stops. The white sheets at the end suggest a kind of purity achieved through self-erasure—but the chapter’s tone suggests this is not a triumph.

Themes, Symbols, or Motifs

Taxonomy and naming: The chapter’s title announces its central concern. The speaker is preoccupied with names—the first word she learned, the suffix marking her identity, the name she is owed, the names of her ancestors that have gone silent.

Vowel loss and linguistic connection: The poem and her brother’s hair are “the same” without vowels, a distinctly Arabic linguistic feature (Arabic script typically omits short vowels). This connects creative work to family and heritage.

Menstrual blood and family honor: The blood-stained sheet and the spilled blood are central. The speaker references the belief that family honor resides in the girl’s body, and her spilling of blood is framed as both a biological fact and a transgression.

The flower euphemism: Being called a flower after overflowing is a softening of the body’s reality—a euphemism that erases the messiness of female embodiment.

Maplessness and the maple tree: Growing up mapless and being pointed to a maple tree suggests being given a substitute or inadequate guide—a tree that isn’t the right reference point for her experience.

Self-shrinking and body control: The speaker shrinks her body until her blood stops, a form of self-erasure that connects to the dropping of suffixes and the white sheets.

Matrilineal lineage: The chain of mother, grandmother, grandmother’s grandmother, and the silent names before, traces a female line that is both cherished and incomplete.

Creative blockage: The opening image of the poem refusing to meet her frames the entire chapter as an exploration of what blocks creative and personal fulfillment.

Why This Chapter Matters

“Taxonomy” is a pivotal chapter in the collection because it brings together the book’s central concerns—language, naming, the female body, and family—into a single dense meditation. The chapter’s title suggests a scientific classification system, but the speaker’s taxonomy is personal and incomplete: she can name herself as “girl,” but the names of her ancestors go silent, and the name she is owed will not meet her.

The chapter also dramatizes the cost of the belief that family honor resides in the girl’s body. The speaker’s response—shrinking her body until her blood stops, dropping her suffixes, waking to white sheets—is a portrait of self-erasure in the name of purity. The white sheets are not a triumph but a loss, the result of a body disciplined into silence.

This chapter also deepens the book’s engagement with language itself. The vowel-less connection between the poem and her brother’s hair, the suffix “specter, daughter, agent noun,” and the practice of writing things down to avoid forgetting all point to a speaker who experiences identity as linguistic—and who is aware of what is lost when language fails.

Study Questions

1. What does the speaker mean when she says the poem and her brother’s hair are “the same” without their vowels?

The speaker is drawing on the Arabic writing system, which typically omits short vowels. Without vowels, the word for the poem and the word for her brother’s hair are identical in written form. This creates a linguistic connection between creative work and family—the poem and her brother are linked at the level of the written word, even if they seem unrelated on the surface. It also suggests that meaning depends on context and vocalization, and that the speaker’s identity is similarly shaped by what is spoken and what is left silent.

2. Why does the speaker say she “dropped her every suffix” and what does this signify?

The suffix is the grammatical marker that identifies her—“specter, daughter, agent noun attached to the verb of my origins.” Dropping her suffixes means stripping away the markers of her identity, her labor, and her lineage. This happens alongside the stopping of her blood and the white sheets, suggesting that she has erased herself to achieve a kind of purity. The suffixes are what connect her to her origins and her roles; dropping them is a form of self-erasure that the chapter presents as costly rather than liberating.

3. What is the significance of the name “nena” and the silence before it?

“Nena” is what the speaker calls her grandmother’s grandmother, but she notes it might not be her real name—she never thought to ask. The name is a placeholder, a term of endearment or approximation rather than a true name. Before “nena,” the names for the speaker’s female ancestors go silent; she doesn’t know what to call those women. This gap in her matrilineal knowledge represents a loss of heritage and identity. The speaker is her mother’s girl and grandmother’s grandgirl, but the chain of naming breaks before that, leaving her without a full taxonomy of her own lineage.