Apologies for getting cut off at the end. The camera I'm using automatically shuts off after 30 minutes. I had said most of what I had wanted to say, however.
This is a reread. As I mentioned in the video, I originally read The Jungle Books (which combined The Jungle Book and The Second Jungle Book into one volume) back in 6th grade. However, since this is my first time reviewing this book on this blog, according to my new rules, it gets a video only review.
This is a reread. As mentioned in the video, I originally read this book when I was in middle school (*). But since this is the first time I am reviewing this book on this blog, according to my new rules, it gets a video only review.
(*) Also as I mention in the video, the edition I originally read in middle school was actually The Jungle Books (A), which combined The Jungle Book and The Second Jungle Book (W) into one volume.
This book is by H.G. Wells, who is sometimes known as "the father of science fiction" (W). And in fact, this book is one of the books that helped establish that reputation (W). The Invisible Man has also become one of the iconic figures of horror fiction.
This book was first published in 1897. It's a slim little book. According to Wikipedia, it was 149 pages in the original edition. My copy (Arcturus Publishing--pictured on the left) is 207 pages.
My History With This Book
This is a re-read. I read this book once before way back when I was in middle school.
I've already recounted my history with H.G. Wells on this blog a couple times (HERE, HERE and HERE). But for the purposes of making this post stand independently, I'll recount it again here.
I first discovered H.G. Wells through Great Classics Illustrated (W).
When we were children, my sister was given a collection of Great Classics Illustrated one Christmas. Although it was given to my sister, we both devoured it.
There were two books by H.G. Wells in that collection: The Time Machine and The War of the Worlds. I was utterly captivated by both stories.
When I got slightly older (in middle school), I tried to seek out more H.G. Wells. I did not, at that time, feel any need to seek out the original versions of The Time Machine or The War of the Worlds. (Having read the Great Classics Illustrated versions, I considered those books "already read"). But I was interested in tracking down the other H.G. Wells books that had not been included in the Great Classics Illustrated collection. And, the most famous of these was The Invisible Man (*)
I was at this same time becoming obsessed with the classic black-and-white monster movies (as I've written about before HERE, HERE and HERE). And the 1933 horror movie, The Invisible Man (W) was one of the Universal Classic Monster movies (W) (**)
I also saw the 1933 The Invisible Man during these years when it was shown on AMC (W). I don't remember if it was before or after I read the book.
But at any rate, due to my interest in H.G. Wells, and due to my interest in classic monster movies, I bought a copy of The Invisible Man from my local bookstore and read it sometime in middle school. (I don't remember the exact year.)
That was many years ago now, and I'd since largely forgotten almost all the content from that book. I remember reading the book--I remember carrying it along with me on a family vacation on year, and I remember reading it on the airplane. I remember what the cover illustration on my copy looked like. And I remember the feelings I had reading that book. But aside from a few vague recollections, I had forgotten the story.
I do, however, remember the general feeling of reading that book. I remember find H.G. Wells' prose very dry and boring. And I remember finding the book painfully slow moving.
The only other H.G. Wells book that I read in middle school was In the Days of the Comet (W). (This is probably one of Wells' lesser known books, but it happened to be in my local bookstore, so I picked it up.) I found In the Days of the Comet to be much the same as The Invisible Man--very slow moving, and with a prose style I found dull and uninteresting.
I then developed the impression of H.G. Wells as a writer who had a lot of interesting story ideas, but who didn't write in a readable or engaging way.
I didn't read anything else by H.G. Wells until 1996, when I got caught up in the hype surrounding the release of the movie The Island of Dr. Moreau (W), and bought a copy of the book (W). Which I actually enjoyed a lot. (I was in college by this point, and I suppose my reading level had matured to the point where I could read Wells effortlessly.)
But in spite of this, I did not return to Wells until 8 years ago, when I finally got around to reading the original versions of The Time Machineand The War of the Worlds. And absolutely loved them. I decided that, now that I was an adult, I really like Wells' prose style.
Ever since then, I've been meaning to get around to re-reading The Invisible Man.
(*) Actually, according to Wikipedia, Great Classics Illustrated did eventually do a version of The Invisible Man in 1995, but by then I was no longer part of their target demographic. I was already in high school by then.
(**) Although the 1933 The Invisible Man is certainly an iconic monster movie, The Invisible Man character was never part of the shared universe of monster team ups with Frankenstein, The Wolf Man and Dracula. Unless you count The Invisible Man's cameo appearance in Abbott And Costello Meet Frankenstein.
There were also several other films in The Invisible Man franchise (see Wikipedia HERE).
I do not now remember if I saw during this period the 1940 The Invisible Man Returns (W). I might have. I don't think I saw any of the rest of The Invisible Man films. Although they look kind of fun. Maybe someday it would be fun to try to track down and review the whole series.
Why I Read This Book
In addition to all I've written above, the impetus for picking this book up now was Halloween and the month of October.
I had been toying with picking up a classic scary story for the month of October. It seemed like a fun thing to do for Halloween, and besides most of the other booktubers were doing it.
On the other hand, I am a very slow reader, and perpetually have a lot of half finished books on my currently reading list. So maybe starting a new reading project wasn't the best idea.
The other factor was that, for various reasons, I wasn't able to make my way to a bookstore at the beginning of October. I only made it to a bookstore near the end of October. (On October 19, the wife and I ended up doing some shopping at SC Vivo City, which has a bookstore with a selection of books in English.) So as I browsed that bookstore, I was looking for something short.
I'm overdue for a re-read of Dracula, but I decided that since October was already halfway over, Dracula looked too long to start now. (Maybe next year). But, The Invisible Man was only about 1/3 as long as Dracula, so it seemed the perfect book to start mid-month.
My Reading Journey / The Reading Experience
I wanted to make sure I finished this book off before October came to an end, so once I bought it, I put it on the top of my reading priority list. I easily finished it off in just 3 days.
Although I wrote above that I had largely forgotten this book, as I began to read it again, a lot of it came back to me. (I trust we've all had this experience --that Proustian experience of re-reading a book that we haven't read for years--or re-watching a movie-- and discovering that much more of it than we realized was actually still in our unconscious memory, just awaiting the right stimulus to come rushing back--so I won't waste time trying to describe that experience here. You all know what I mean.)
The book was on the whole a very easy read. It does have an older Victorian-era type prose style. I can see where it could easily have given middle-school-me some trouble. But from an adult perspective, it's completely readable. And largely enjoyable (although the pacing suffers in some sections.)
Plot Summary and Commentary (***SPOILERS***)
In a sleepy little countryside town in England, a mysterious stranger arrives at the inn. He is wrapped up in a coat and hat and gloves, which he refuses to take off, even when he is inside. And his face is all wrapped up in bandages, and his eyes are covered by dark glasses. He is working on some sort of mysterious experiment in his room. Meanwhile, several mysterious things seem to be happening in the stranger's room. Who could he be?
The mystery is teased out over several chapters, which can seem a bit overkill to the modern reader. Of course it's the invisible man! Everyone modern reader knows that instantly. The disguise of the invisible man is an iconic part of pop culture
Of course, when Wells' originally wrote this novel back in 1897, it was before the invisible man had become a pop icon. But still, even Wells' original audience had to know that this mysterious stranger was the invisible man, right? I mean, it's right there in the title of this novel.
[Unless... according to Wikipedia, this novel was original serialized in a magazine before being published as a novel. I wonder under what title it originally appeared under during serialization. Perhaps it originally had a different title which may have preserved the mystery?]
The narration throughout this section is told from the perspective of various villagers. The perspective jumps around from person to person, but never from the perspective of the invisible man the mysterious stranger himself. According to Wikipedia,
Then, finally, in chapter 7 (page 53 in my edition), the mystery is cleared up as stranger reveals himself to be invisible. There's a brief struggle, and then the invisible man disappears.
The narrative perspective then switches abruptly to a new character that we've never seen before, a tramp, Mr. Thomas Marvel, who the invisible man recruits as an unwilling accomplice.
There's then a confrontation between the invisible man and the villagers, and the perspective switches back to the villagers.
Thomas Marvel and the invisible man leave and travel to another village. The narrative perspective changes a few more times. (Sometimes from the perspective of Mr. Marvel, sometimes from the perspective of the people he encounters.)
Then, about halfway through the book, we are introduced to Dr. Kemp, who was completely absent from the first half of the book, but who will turn out to be the main protagonist of the second half of the book.
The invisible man, it turns out, is an old college classmate of Dr. Kemp's, and seeks refuge at Dr. Kemp's house. It is at this point that the invisible man also relates his whole backstory to Dr. Kemp.
This section is technically from the perspective of Dr. Kemp, who is listening to the invisible man monologuing, but the monologue itself is in the voice of the invisible man. So in this section we do get to hear the story of the invisible man in his own words.
The backstory is from chapter 19 to chapter 23 (pages 125 to 169 in my edition).
Parts of this backstory are interesting. H.G. Wells was of the school of science fiction writers that tried to incorporate actual scientific principles into his science fiction. So we get some discussion here about how visibility is created by light reflecting off of objects, and what the properties of a transparent object are. It's interesting as far as it goes, although I'm not sure I entirely understood all of it, and regardless I'm certainly not the person to evaluate it. (I'm certainly no scientist!) But at any rate, the science part is kept mercifully brief--only about 5 pages.
The rest of the invisible man's backstory is the story of how he struggled to find warmth, food, and shelter while being invisible. I thought this section went on for just a little bit too long. I started to get impatient with the backstory here, and wanted to get back to the main narrative. But this section is important for the main theme of the book--the invisible man wants invisibility because he wants to become more powerful than his fellow man. But he discovers that humans are reliant on each other for the basic necessities of life. Once he elects to separate himself out from society, he actually makes himself weaker, not stronger.
Here it is interesting to note that the whole plot of The Invisible Man is based on the fact that England has very cold and miserable weather. (The Invisible Man is a very British book in that regard. If H.G. Wells had been born in Vietnam instead of England, this book might have turned out very differently!) As soon as the invisible man puts on any clothes, then he's no longer invisible. (Only his actual body is invisible, not his clothing.) So he only has his invisibility powers as long as he is completely naked. But of course he can't go around walking naked for long in the English winter. So it turns out, being invisible in England is a very limited power.
The book eventually ends in a showdown between Dr. Kemp and the invisible man. And, to give credit where credit is due, the climax is suitably tense and exciting.
Evaluation / Extended Quotations
When I was a youngster, and I was first getting into all this stuff for the first time, I was extremely disappointed to find out that the old horror classics just weren't all that scary.
But I trust I'm not telling you anything that you didn't already know, right? We all know by now that the old classics just aren't scary anymore.
The question I do sometimes wonder is: how scary were they meant to be in the first place?
I mean, take The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, for example. I know it eventually went on to inspire a lot of monster movies, but I can't believe the original book was ever meant to be scary.
And then there's The Invisible Man. Like Frankenstein's monster and Mr Hyde, the character itself later went on to become synonymous with Universal Monster Movies, but what tone is the original book going for?
Much of the book doesn't seem to be trying to be scary at all.
The first half of the book actually has a lot more humorous scenes than scary scenes.
It's perhaps worth remembering that, back in his day, H.G. Wells was a noted comic writer as well as a science fiction writer. Nowadays, H.G. Wells is only remembered for his science fiction, but back in his day he was much praised for comic novels such as The History of Mr. Polly (W) (***).
And there seems to be a lot of comic scenes inserted into The Invisible Man as well. Take, for example, this scene where Teddy Henfrey, the clock-jobber, runs into Mr. Hall, the husband of the innkeeper Mrs. Hall:
At Gleeson’s corner he saw Hall, who had recently married the stranger’s hostess at the “Coach and Horses,” and who now drove the Iping conveyance, when occasional people required it, to Sidderbridge Junction, coming towards him on his return from that place. Hall had evidently been “stopping a bit” at Sidderbridge, to judge by his driving. “’Ow do, Teddy?” he said, passing.
“You got a rum un up home!” said Teddy.
Hall very sociably pulled up. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Rum-looking customer stopping at the ‘Coach and Horses,’” said Teddy. “My sakes!”
And he proceeded to give Hall a vivid description of his grotesque guest. “Looks a bit like a disguise, don’t it? I’d like to see a man’s face if I had him stopping in my place,” said Henfrey. “But women are that trustful—where strangers are concerned. He’s took your rooms and he ain’t even given a name, Hall.”
“You don’t say so!” said Hall, who was a man of sluggish apprehension.
“Yes,” said Teddy. “By the week. Whatever he is, you can’t get rid of him under the week. And he’s got a lot of luggage coming to-morrow, so he says. Let’s hope it won’t be stones in boxes, Hall.”
He told Hall how his aunt at Hastings had been swindled by a stranger with empty portmanteaux. Altogether he left Hall vaguely suspicious. “Get up, old girl,” said Hall. “I s’pose I must see ’bout this.”
Teddy trudged on his way with his mind considerably relieved.
Instead of “seeing ’bout it,” however, Hall on his return was severely rated by his wife on the length of time he had spent in Sidderbridge, and his mild inquiries were answered snappishly and in a manner not to the point. But the seed of suspicion Teddy had sown germinated in the mind of Mr. Hall in spite of these discouragements. “You wim’ don’t know everything,” said Mr. Hall, resolved to ascertain more about the personality of his guest at the earliest possible opportunity. (Chapter 2 p.21-23)
(Sidenote: I think Wells' humorous touch went entirely over my head when I was in middle school grade. Yet another reason why I appreciate this book more as an adult.)
I also got a chuckle out of the exasperated tone the invisible man took when he finally had to explain his condition to the villagers in chapter 7:
“Why!” said Huxter, suddenly, “that’s not a man at all. It’s just empty clothes. Look! You can see down his collar and the linings of his clothes. I could put my arm—”
He extended his hand; it seemed to meet something in mid-air, and he drew it back with a sharp exclamation. “I wish you’d keep your fingers out of my eye,” said the aerial voice, in a tone of savage expostulation. “The fact is, I’m all here—head, hands, legs, and all the rest of it, but it happens I’m invisible. It’s a confounded nuisance, but I am. That’s no reason why I should be poked to pieces by every stupid bumpkin in Iping, is it?”
The suit of clothes, now all unbuttoned and hanging loosely upon its unseen supports, stood up, arms akimbo.
Several other of the men folks had now entered the room, so that it was closely crowded. “Invisible, eh?” said Huxter, ignoring the stranger’s abuse. “Who ever heard the likes of that?”
“It’s strange, perhaps, but it’s not a crime. Why am I assaulted by a policeman in this fashion?” (chapter 7 pages 56-57)
But it's not all humorous. The invisible man himself actually has a lot of malice to him. And the tone of the story can switch quite suddenly from humorous to malicious. There's a part in chapter 11 where I thought this sudden tone shift was particularly well, so I'll quote part of it:
“Diary!” said Cuss, putting the three books on the table. “Now, at any rate, we shall learn something.” The Vicar stood with his hands on the table.
“Diary,” repeated Cuss, sitting down, putting two volumes to support the third, and opening it. “H’m—no name on the fly-leaf. Bother!—cypher. And figures.”
The vicar came round to look over his shoulder.
Cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed. “I’m—dear me! It’s all cypher, Bunting.”
“There are no diagrams?” asked Mr. Bunting. “No illustrations throwing light—”
“See for yourself,” said Mr. Cuss. “Some of it’s mathematical and some of it’s Russian or some such language (to judge by the letters), and some of it’s Greek. Now the Greek I thought you—”
“Of course,” said Mr. Bunting, taking out and wiping his spectacles and feeling suddenly very uncomfortable—for he had no Greek left in his mind worth talking about; “yes—the Greek, of course, may furnish a clue.”
“I’ll find you a place.”
“I’d rather glance through the volumes first,” said Mr. Bunting, still wiping. “A general impression first, Cuss, and then, you know, we can go looking for clues.”
He coughed, put on his glasses, arranged them fastidiously, coughed again, and wished something would happen to avert the seemingly inevitable exposure. Then he took the volume Cuss handed him in a leisurely manner. And then something did happen.
The door opened suddenly.
Both gentlemen started violently, looked round, and were relieved to see a sporadically rosy face beneath a furry silk hat. “Tap?” asked the face, and stood staring.
“No,” said both gentlemen at once.
“Over the other side, my man,” said Mr. Bunting. And “Please shut that door,” said Mr. Cuss, irritably.
“All right,” said the intruder, as it seemed in a low voice curiously different from the huskiness of its first inquiry. “Right you are,” said the intruder in the former voice. “Stand clear!” and he vanished and closed the door.
“A sailor, I should judge,” said Mr. Bunting. “Amusing fellows, they are. Stand clear! indeed. A nautical term, referring to his getting back out of the room, I suppose.”
“I daresay so,” said Cuss. “My nerves are all loose to-day. It quite made me jump—the door opening like that.”
Mr. Bunting smiled as if he had not jumped. “And now,” he said with a sigh, “these books.”
Someone sniffed as he did so.
“One thing is indisputable,” said Bunting, drawing up a chair next to that of Cuss. “There certainly have been very strange things happen in Iping during the last few days—very strange. I cannot of course believe in this absurd invisibility story—”
“It’s incredible,” said Cuss—“incredible. But the fact remains that I saw—I certainly saw right down his sleeve—”
“But did you—are you sure? Suppose a mirror, for instance— hallucinations are so easily produced. I don’t know if you have ever seen a really good conjuror—”
“I won’t argue again,” said Cuss. “We’ve thrashed that out, Bunting. And just now there’s these books—Ah! here’s some of what I take to be Greek! Greek letters certainly.”
He pointed to the middle of the page. Mr. Bunting flushed slightly and brought his face nearer, apparently finding some difficulty with his glasses. Suddenly he became aware of a strange feeling at the nape of his neck. He tried to raise his head, and encountered an immovable resistance. The feeling was a curious pressure, the grip of a heavy, firm hand, and it bore his chin irresistibly to the table. “Don’t move, little men,” whispered a voice, “or I’ll brain you both!” He looked into the face of Cuss, close to his own, and each saw a horrified reflection of his own sickly astonishment. (From Chapter 11, p. 73-76)
I thought that section was quite good when I first read it--the way it suddenly changes from the innocent humor of the Vicar and Mr. Cuss to the cold scary malice of the invisible man.
As you keep reading through that section, the tone changes again several more times between humor and scary in a way that I thought was very skillful.
**********************************
When it comes to classic monsters, the invisible man is in many ways the least impressive of the bunch. After all, he doesn't have any superhuman strength or special powers. He's just invisible. That's not really that deadly.
And yet, horror fiction has never been about what how potentially deadly the monster can be. Successful horror fiction is about how well the monster taps into our brain's primordial fear centers (****).
The idea that an adversary can be hidden somewhere in the room, unseen and unseeable, and can jump out to attack us at any moment is something that definitely triggers our primitive panic impulses. (I suppose their must be an evolutionary fear trigger here--the fear of unseen predators lurking in the bushes.)
There are a couple scenes in this book where H.G. Wells expertly plays on the panic of knowing the invisible man is out to get you, but not knowing where he is.
The “Jolly Cricketers” is just at the bottom of the hill, where the tram-lines begin. The barman leant his fat red arms on the counter and talked of horses with an anaemic cabman, while a black-bearded man in grey snapped up biscuit and cheese, drank Burton, and conversed in American with a policeman off duty.
“What’s the shouting about!” said the anaemic cabman, going off at a tangent, trying to see up the hill over the dirty yellow blind in the low window of the inn. Somebody ran by outside. “Fire, perhaps,” said the barman.
Footsteps approached, running heavily, the door was pushed open violently, and Marvel, weeping and dishevelled, his hat gone, the neck of his coat torn open, rushed in, made a convulsive turn, and attempted to shut the door. It was held half open by a strap.
“Coming!” he bawled, his voice shrieking with terror. “He’s coming. The ’Visible Man! After me! For Gawd’s sake! ’Elp! ’Elp! ’Elp!”
“Shut the doors,” said the policeman. “Who’s coming? What’s the row?” He went to the door, released the strap, and it slammed. The American closed the other door.
“Lemme go inside,” said Marvel, staggering and weeping, but still clutching the books. “Lemme go inside. Lock me in—somewhere. I tell you he’s after me. I give him the slip. He said he’d kill me and he will.”
“You’re safe,” said the man with the black beard. “The door’s shut. What’s it all about?”
“Lemme go inside,” said Marvel, and shrieked aloud as a blow suddenly made the fastened door shiver and was followed by a hurried rapping and a shouting outside. “Hullo,” cried the policeman, “who’s there?” Mr. Marvel began to make frantic dives at panels that looked like doors. “He’ll kill me—he’s got a knife or something. For Gawd’s sake—!”
“Here you are,” said the barman. “Come in here.” And he held up the flap of the bar.
Mr. Marvel rushed behind the bar as the summons outside was repeated. “Don’t open the door,” he screamed. “Please don’t open the door. Where shall I hide?”
“This, this Invisible Man, then?” asked the man with the black beard, with one hand behind him. “I guess it’s about time we saw him.”
The window of the inn was suddenly smashed in, and there was a screaming and running to and fro in the street. The policeman had been standing on the settee staring out, craning to see who was at the door. He got down with raised eyebrows. “It’s that,” he said. The barman stood in front of the bar-parlour door which was now locked on Mr. Marvel, stared at the smashed window, and came round to the two other men. (from Chapter 16, page 100-102)
The scene goes on, but you get the idea. There's also an extended confrontation at the end of the book which is also well done, and also plays on that creepy feeling of knowing the invisible man is there somewhere, but not knowing exactly where he is.
**** Actually while I'm on the topic, I can resist mentioning a different book which I think played very well on the contradiction between what is actually deadly, and what our primitive brains find scary: The Werewolf of Paris. The whole book the reader is focused on the werewolf attacks, and then, at the very end of the book, the narrator suddenly pulls back to ask: Why are we so focused on this werewolf, which has only killed a handful of people, when the government of Paris is killing 20,000 people by firing squads?
Links
* An interesting Youtube video on H.G. Wells: The History of Sci Fi - H.G. Wells - Extra Sci Fi - #2 by Extra Credits. They briefly mention The Invisible Man, and call it Wells' anti-libertarian novel because the invisible man's rejection of society for personal gain leaves him weaker than the weakest of us.
* The Intellectuals and the Masses by John Carey devotes 2 whole chapters to the works of H.G. Wells, but, unfortunately, mentions The invisible Man only very briefly. John Carey claims that some of Wells' other books appear to endorse the Nietzschean idea of the superior individual, but...
But in other stories--The Invisible Man, The Island of Dr Moreau, The Country of the Blind--the superiority of the singular individual is by no means apparent. The murderous, invisible Griffin and the crazed vivisectionist Moreau are prodigies that seem to endorse the ordinary man's suspicion of ruthless scientific genius (p.138)
8 out of 10 stars. Granted it's just a silly science fiction story, but you have to judge these things against what the author set out to do, and for what he was trying to do, Wells succeeded wonderfully. It's borderline 9 stars, but I'm taking one point off for the pacing issues.
Frederick Douglass has been on my list of "historical people I'm vaguely interested in, and keep meaning to read up on" for years now.
I don't remember hearing a lot about Frederick Douglass during my school days. Of course, I recognized the name. (Frederick Douglass is one of those names that everyone recognizes.) But I don't remember learning anything about his biography at school.
Sometime during my mid-20s, I started to become more interested in Frederick Douglass's life story. My memory is a little bit hazy, but I think this started as an off-shoot of my interest in John Brown. While reading up on John Brown's life on Wikipedia, I started reading about Frederick Douglass's association with John Brown, and then I got curious about Frederick Douglass himself and started reading his Wikipedia page.
[...wow, that was 15-16 years ago now. I suppose it's kind of pathetic that it took me that long to finally get around to reading a book on Frederick Douglass. But then, I'm a slow reader, and only manage to read a handful of books every year. So sometimes it does take me several years to work my way around to reading up on an area of interest.]
So that made me all the more curious to read this book.
And then in October, I was browsing Book Street here in Ho Chi Minh City, and saw the Collins Classic version of this book, and decided to snatch it up. (see video of the book haul HERE). My reading list was full at the time, so I waited until I had a free slot, but then finally started the book in April.
Background Information
Frederick Douglass lived a fascinating life. Go over to Wikipedia and check out his bio. The dude had an absolutely fascinating story. He started life as a slave. He escaped and became a celebrity in the abolitionist movement in both Britain and the United States--going around and giving speeches to huge crowds. He had some association with John Brown, and although Frederick Douglass ultimately decided he didn't want anything to do with Harpers Ferry, the fallout from Harpers Ferry still resulted in Frederick Douglass having to temporarily flee the country. During the Civil War, he was an active supporter of the union and met with Lincoln. After the Civil War, he was active in reconstruction era politics.
There is a really interesting story to be told about his life.
And Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass is Frederick Douglass's autobiography, so you get to hear his story in his own words.
[The publisher's introduction from Collins Classics informs me that slave memoirs were a popular genre at the time, and were often ghostwritten by white writers. But because Frederick Douglass was already a well-known orator when this book was published, and because Frederick Douglass had developed his own distinct rhetorical style which was also the same style that this book was written in, it was clear that Douglass had written this book himself.]
This books is actually the first of three autobiographies that Frederick Douglass published during his life. This book (the book I'm reviewing now) was published in 1845. Douglass later expanded on this material and included more details in a second autobiography published in 1855: My Bondage and My Freedom. And then finally, near the end of his life, he published in 1881 Life and Times of Frederick Douglasswhich apparently includes his account of not only his slave life, but also an account of his activism and political activities post slavery.
Of these 3 autobiographies, it sounds like the final one would be the most interesting. That one would include Frederick Douglass's retelling of all the great historical and political events he was involved with (according to Wikipedia, it includes his relationship with John Brown, Lincoln, Grant, etc). I'll have to remember to try to track down that book down someday.
But upon further research, it turns out that, despite being the shortest, the 1845 autobiography is the most famous of the three. It was hugely influential in the abolitionist movement back in its day, and because of that huge influence, it is the book that Douglass is best remembered for today and that is now regarded as part of the canon of Western Literature. And, no doubt, that's why this autobiography (and not the other two) is the one widely available in bookstores nowadays, and why I happened to stumble upon it when browsing the book displays here in Vietnam.
It's a short little book. (The Collins Classics edition that I read is only 122 pages). And only covers the life of Frederick Douglass up until he escaped from slavery. (In other words, it's a memoir of his slavery years, and not his abolitionist years.)
Summary of the Plot
The version I got (Collins Classic) starts out with a brief publishers introduction giving some of the background, and then we move into not one but two prefaces, both original to the 1845 publication, written by William Lloyd Garrison (W) and Wendell Phillips (W), respectively. (William Lloyd Garrison was a name I recognized, Wendell Phillips was not, but according to Wikipedia they were both famous abolitionists.)
Then on page 15, the narrative proper starts.
Frederick Douglass was born as a slave in Maryland. (Garrison and Phillips both note in their prefaces that Maryland was actually not the worst place to be a slave--the deep south was supposedly far worse. So if what Frederick Douglas is describing sounds horrific, just imagine what the slaves in Georgia and Mississippi were experiencing!)
Douglass describes how slavery affected him right from the beginning--being separated from his mother at a young age, not knowing when his birthday was, not knowing who his father was, etc.
For the first few years of his life he was under the care of his grandmother, and separated from the really harsh realities of slavery, but he observed the other slaves (including his aunt) being brutally whipped by the master. (The narrative is not only an account of the brutalities that occurred to Frederick Douglas personally, but also all the brutalities he witnessed on the plantation.)
Frederick Douglass was somewhat unique in that he moved around a lot as a young slave. (I think this is unique, right?) He was sent off of the plantation to the city of Baltimore to become the house-servant of a family, and there he had a much easier time of it than the slaves at the plantation. (And also began to learn to read and write).
But eventually, he was returned to the plantation.
Douglass is deemed to be unmanageable as a plantation slave. (Perhaps his time in Baltimore made him unaccustomed to plantation work.) And he is sent to live for a year on the plantation of Mr. Covey, who had a reputation as a "Negro-breaker". But after enduring several beatings from Mr. Covey, Douglass finally stands up to him and refuses to be beaten. Covey, astonishingly, backs down. (Mr. Covey could have had Douglass hauled in before the authorities, and it's somewhat puzzling that he didn't, but Douglass surmises that Mr. Covey would have lost his reputation as a Negro Breaker if he had had to get the authorities involved, and that is why he did not.)
After this, Douglass begins to plan how to escape. Although the actual details of the escape are omitted from the narrative, because back in 1845 Douglass didn't want to make public any details about how slaves were able to escape.
I now come to that part of my life during which I planned, and finally succeeded in making, my escape from slavery. But before narrating any of the peculiar circumstances, I deem it proper to make known my intention not to state all the facts connected with the transaction. My reasons for pursuing this course may be understood from the following: First, were I to give a minute statement of all the facts, it is not only possible, but quite probable, that others would thereby be involved in the most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly, such a statement would most undoubtedly induce greater vigilance on the part of slaveholders than has existed heretofore among them; which would, of course, be the means of guarding a door whereby some dear brother bondman might escape his galling chains. I deeply regret the necessity that impels me to suppress any thing of importance connected with my experience in slavery. It would afford me great pleasure indeed, as well as materially add to the interest of my narrative, were I at liberty to gratify a curiosity, which I know exists in the minds of many, by an accurate statement of all the facts pertaining to my most fortunate escape. But I must deprive myself of this pleasure, and the curious of the gratification which such a statement would afford. I would allow myself to suffer under the greatest imputations which evil-minded men might suggest, rather than exculpate myself, and thereby run the hazard of closing the slightest avenue by which a brother slave might clear himself of the chains and fetters of slavery. (p.99 in my edition)
Also largely absent from this book is Anne Murray, who Frederick Douglass met and fell in love with while he was still a slave, and how helped Douglass escape, and then married him after he escaped. (See Wikipedia.) I'm guessing that the omission of Anne Murray's role was for her own protection at the time.
Extended Quotation
The overseer’s name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable drunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always went armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I have known him to cut and slash the women’s heads so horribly, that even master would be enraged at his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not mind himself. Master, however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required extraordinary barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slaveholding. He would at times seem to take great pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened at the dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks of an own aunt of mine, whom he used to tie up to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from his gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its bloody purpose. The louder she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where the blood ran fastest, there he whipped longest. He would whip her to make her scream, and whip her to make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue, would he cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin. I remember the first time I ever witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well remember it. I never shall forget it whilst I remember any thing. It was the first of a long series of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be a witness and a participant. It struck me with awful force. It was the blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of slavery, through which I was about to pass. It was a most terrible spectacle. I wish I could commit to paper the feelings with which I beheld it.
This occurrence took place very soon after I went to live with my old master, and under the following circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one night,—where or for what I do not know,—and happened to be absent when my master desired her presence. He had ordered her not to go out evenings, and warned her that she must never let him catch her in company with a young man, who was paying attention to her belonging to Colonel Lloyd. The young man’s name was Ned Roberts, generally called Lloyd’s Ned. Why master was so careful of her, may be safely left to conjecture. She was a woman of noble form, and of graceful proportions, having very few equals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance, among the colored or white women of our neighborhood.
Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out, but had been found in company with Lloyd’s Ned; which circumstance, I found, from what he said while whipping her, was the chief offence. Had he been a man of pure morals himself, he might have been thought interested in protecting the innocence of my aunt; but those who knew him will not suspect him of any such virtue. Before he commenced whipping Aunt Hester, he took her into the kitchen, and stripped her from neck to waist, leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely naked. He then told her to cross her hands, calling her at the same time a d——d b—-h. After crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her to a stool under a large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose. He made her get upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now stood fair for his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched up at their full length, so that she stood upon the ends of her toes. He then said to her, “Now, you d——d b—-h, I’ll learn you how to disobey my orders!” and after rolling up his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy cowskin, and soon the warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the floor. I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the sight, that I hid myself in a closet, and dared not venture out till long after the bloody transaction was over. I expected it would be my turn next. It was all new to me. I had never seen any thing like it before. I had always lived with my grandmother on the outskirts of the plantation, where she was put to raise the children of the younger women. I had therefore been, until now, out of the way of the bloody scenes that often occurred on the plantation. (From Chapter 1)
The Reading Experience
I guess the first thing to note is that the prose is very easy to read.
You can't always take that for granted with a 19th century book, but in this case it is. Hopefully the above quotation illustrates that well enough. It's written in a bit of an older style, but you quickly get used to that after a couple pages, and then it flows smoothly enough.
It is also both enraging and depressing to read. (And again, hopefully the above quotation illustrates this.)
Because this book is so small and portable, I had been using this book as my lunch-break book at work, but it can be pretty depressing lunch time reading.
It can also make you very angry to read.
I suspect I speak for most people when I say that reading about these horrible cruelties makes your blood boil with outrage. It is, of course, an entirely irrational reaction. After all, the injustice committed is a fact of history, and is now beyond our power to remedy. Everyone connected with the horrors of slavery died 150 years ago, what good does it do to get angry about it?
And yet, for whatever reason, we humans react with anger when reading about these great historical injustices. Why is that? I guess it's just another one of those strangely irrational characteristics of human nature.
But although this book can be both enraging and depressing, it's never boring. In fact, the book can be quite gripping. When Douglass is describing one of the confrontations between a master and a slave, or when he's describing some sort of cruel punishment, you feel like you can't put the book down. (More than once, I lingered over this book after I finished eating my lunch, reluctant to put it down until I had finished the chapter.) There's a macabre fascination with the horror and the tragedy on display in this book.
The publisher's introduction to my edition (Collins Classics) informed me that in the 1840s and 50s, slave memoirs (both real and fictional) were a popular genre with the reading public. Nowadays we are only familiar with the most famous ones (Uncle Tom's Cabin, 12 Years a Slave, and of course Frederick Douglass) but apparently the market was flooded with many more of them at the time. But, as Collins Classics informs:
Many of these slave narratives were also tied into the American Romantic movement and audiences demand for sensationalist stories, so their prevalence didn't always have humanitarian or politically-minded roots. (p.viii)
In other words, people read these books as much for the sensationalist entertainment as for the humanitarian reasons. As terrible as that is, I do have to admit to kind of seeing the appeal.
This is a short little book, but it will really get you thinking about a lot of things. While reading this, I found myself thinking about human nature, religion, society, etc. I'm not going to attempt to write down all my rambling thoughts here, but I will jot down a few jumping off points that could easily be long discussions.
But, one can also read in William Lloyd Garrison's preface a tired attitude from someone who has been arguing for too long against people who refuse to acknowledge the basic facts:
So profoundly ignorant of the nature of slavery are many persons, that they are stubbornly incredulous whenever they read or listen to any recital of the cruelties which are daily inflicted on its victims. They do not deny that the slaves are held as property; but that terrible fact seems to convey to their minds no idea of injustice, exposure to outrage, or savage barbarity. Tell them of cruel scourgings, of mutilations and brandings, of scenes of pollution and blood, of the banishment of all light and knowledge, and they affect to be greatly indignant at such enormous exaggerations, such wholesale misstatements, such abominable libels on the character of the southern planters! ... Skeptics of this character abound in society. In some few instances, their incredulity arises from a want of reflection; but, generally, it indicates a hatred of the light, a desire to shield slavery from the assaults of its foes, a contempt of the colored race, whether bond or free. (Preface p.7-8)
You can tell them every fact you want, but they just keep choosing to ignore the facts!
Reminds you of the extreme polarization of today, doesn't it?
Yet another reminder that human beings don't base their political beliefs on rational discussions or facts. It was as true in 1845 as it is today.
* There's also a lot to be said in this book about Christianity. A point Frederick Douglass makes throughout the book is that Christianity did not make the slaveholders any more kind to their slaves. In fact, the more Christian a slaveholder was, the more cruel he was.
This is a point which actually comes up repeatedly. For example in chapter 9:
In August, 1832, my master attended a Methodist camp-meeting held in the Bay-side, Talbot county, and there experienced religion. I indulged a faint hope that his conversion would lead him to emancipate his slaves, and that, if he did not do this, it would, at any rate, make him more kind and humane. I was disappointed in both these respects. It neither made him to be humane to his slaves, nor to emancipate them. If it had any effect on his character, it made him more cruel and hateful in all his ways; for I believe him to have been a much worse man after his conversion than before. Prior to his conversion, he relied upon his own depravity to shield and sustain him in his savage barbarity; but after his conversion, he found religious sanction and support for his slaveholding cruelty. He made the greatest pretensions to piety. His house was the house of prayer. He prayed morning, noon, and night. He very soon distinguished himself among his brethren, and was soon made a class-leader and exhorter. His activity in revivals was great, and he proved himself an instrument in the hands of the church in converting many souls. His house was the preachers’ home. They used to take great pleasure in coming there to put up; for while he starved us, he stuffed them. ...
...I have said my master found religious sanction for his cruelty. As an example, I will state one of many facts going to prove the charge. I have seen him tie up a lame young woman, and whip her with a heavy cowskin upon her naked shoulders, causing the warm red blood to drip; and, in justification of the bloody deed, he would quote this passage of Scripture—“He that knoweth his master’s will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes.”
Master would keep this lacerated young woman tied up in this horrid situation four or five hours at a time. I have known him to tie her up early in the morning, and whip her before breakfast; leave her, go to his store, return at dinner, and whip her again, cutting her in the places already made raw with his cruel lash. The secret of master’s cruelty toward “Henny” is found in the fact of her being almost helpless. When quite a child, she fell into the fire, and burned herself horribly. Her hands were so burnt that she never got the use of them. She could do very little but bear heavy burdens. She was to master a bill of expense; and as he was a mean man, she was a constant offence to him. He seemed desirous of getting the poor girl out of existence. He gave her away once to his sister; but, being a poor gift, she was not disposed to keep her. Finally, my benevolent master, to use his own words, “set her adrift to take care of herself.” Here was a recently-converted man, holding on upon the mother, and at the same time turning out her helpless child, to starve and die! Master Thomas was one of the many pious slaveholders who hold slaves for the very charitable purpose of taking care of them.
And again this point comes up in Chapter 10:
I assert most unhesitatingly, that the religion of the south is a mere covering for the most horrid crimes,—a justifier of the most appalling barbarity,—a sanctifier of the most hateful frauds,—and a dark shelter under, which the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders find the strongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the chains of slavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard being the slave of a religious master the greatest calamity that could befall me. For of all slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the worst. I have ever found them the meanest and basest, the most cruel and cowardly, of all others.
In his many debates with religionists, Christopher Hitchens was frequently pressed to admit that there were some circumstances in which Christianity could be a moderating or improving influence on a situation. Hitchens never conceded the point, and argued that Christianity always made people worse.
And here is Frederick Douglass back in 1845 making the same exact point. You think Christianity makes slaveholders more humane? No, it made them more cruel.
But it's important to remember Frederick Douglass was not Christopher Hitchens. In fact, after he escaped from slavery, Frederick Douglass actually became a Christian preacher.
Frederick Douglass is however aware that he has given a very hostile account of Christianity throughout his narrative, so he tries to clarify this in the Appendix:
I find, since reading over the foregoing Narrative, that I have, in several instances, spoken in such a tone and manner, respecting religion, as may possibly lead those unacquainted with my religious views to suppose me an opponent of all religion. To remove the liability of such misapprehension, I deem it proper to append the following brief explanation. What I have said respecting and against religion, I mean strictly to apply to the slaveholding religion of this land, and with no possible reference to Christianity proper; for, between the Christianity of this land, and the Christianity of Christ, I recognize the widest possible difference—so wide, that to receive the one as good, pure, and holy, is of necessity to reject the other as bad, corrupt, and wicked. To be the friend of the one, is of necessity to be the enemy of the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christianity of Christ: I therefore hate the corrupt, slaveholding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land....
He goes on for a few more pages about this, but you get the idea.
There is a whole long discussion to be had about the nature of Christianity in theory and in practice, but I'm not going to get into it in this particular review. (I'm supposed to be keeping these things short, after all.) All I'll say is that this book makes you think a lot about these things.
10 out of 10 Stars. It's hard to find much fault with the book. Perhaps I could take a star off for being depressing. But this kind of book needs to be depressing. Maybe I could take a star off for being too short. But then, this was as long as it needed to be for its purpose. 10 out of 10 it is.
