Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave Written By Himself

In 1845, just seven years after his escape from slavery, the young Frederick Douglass published this powerful account of his life in bondage and his triumph over oppression. The book, which marked the beginning of Douglass’s career as an impassioned writer, journalist, and orator for the abolitionist cause, reveals the terrors he faced as a slave, the brutalities of his owners and overseers, and his harrowing escape to the North. It has become a classic of American autobiography. This edition of...

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silkwaxwing25 июля 2014 г.
Книга оказалась короче чем я ожидал, особенно если сравнить с многими другими автобиографиями. Они обычно так и делятся на две категории; очень короткие или очень длинные. Творчество Дугласа принадлежит к первой категории. В моём издании меньше ста страниц, но написана она прекрасно, очень понятным и хорошо читающимся языком. Всё изложено по порядку, и охватывает не всю его жизнь, а только первую её часть. Он рассказывает как жил в рабстве на юге США, как у него менялись владельцы и как он наконец сумел сбежать на север и начать новую жизнь. Коротко, без лишних деталей.
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BookishPotato21 марта 2017 г.
If any one thing in my experience, more than another, served to deepen my conviction of the infernal character of slavery, and to fill me with unutterable loathing of slaveholders, it was their base ingratitude to my poor old grandmother. She had served my old master faithfully from youth to old age. She had been the source of all his wealth; she had peopled his plantation with slaves; she had become a great grandmother in his service. She had rocked him in infancy, attended him in childhood, served him through life, and at his death wiped from his icy brow the cold death- sweat, and closed his eyes forever. She was nevertheless left a slave—a slave for life—a slave in the hands of strangers; and in their hands she saw her children, her grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren, divided, like so many sheep, without being gratified with the small privilege of a single word, as to their or her own destiny. And, to cap the climax of their base ingratitude and fiendish barbarity, my grandmother, who was now very old, having outlived my old master and all his children, having seen the beginning and end of all of them, and her present owners finding she was of but little value, her frame already racked with the pains of old age, and complete helplessness fast stealing over her once active limbs, they took her to the woods, built her a little hut, put up a little mud-chimney, and then made her welcome to the privilege of supporting herself there in perfect loneliness; thus virtually turning her out to die!
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