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A review by kingofspain93
12 Years a Slave by Solomon Northup
5.0
like basically all white americans, I have an overly simplistic idea of what slavery-era america was like for the people experiencing it. obviously I can never know in the sense of having lived or inherited experience, but I'll give an example: Northup's shock at being kidnapped into slavery as a thing that shouldn't have been possible shocked me. for him, a Black man born free in the North, there were sociolegal realities about slavery that meant he never expected to end up experiencing it. for me, a white guy from now, the whole of america from 1492 through 1863 (and further, but for the purposes of this review 1863 is fine) is sorted categorically: white, Black, and Indigenous. the complexities of life in Northup's time are lost on me. this book helped with that.
the other dichotomy that Northup helpfully explodes is that of the slave owner mindset. he writes, for example, of one of the first men who purchased him:
[...]it is but simple justice to him when I say, in my opinion, there never was a more kind, noble, candid, Christian man than William Ford. The influences and associations that had always surrounded him, blinded him to the inherent wrong at the bottom of the system of Slavery. He never doubted the moral right of one man holding another in subjection. Looking through the same medium with his fathers before him, he saw things in the same light. Brought up under other circumstances and other influences, his notions would undoubtedly have been different.
Similarly, of a woman who hires him seasonally to play violin at her parties:
I dwell with delight upon the description of this fair and gentle lady, not only because she inspired me with emotions of gratitude and admiration, but because I would have the reader understand that all slave-owners on Bayou Boeuf are not like Epps, or Tibeats, or Jim Burns.
Northup does not include these passages because he has any misgivings about the ethics of slavery; he does not think there is a right way and a wrong way to own slaves. He stresses this to the reader so that they can recognize the evils of slavery even in situations with very nice white people, which is always a point that desperately needs to be made.He sees that people's actions are shaped by their culture and their time, and that if they could for a moment think beyond their time they would be able to arrive through reason at the monstrosity of their actions. Maybe his time in the North, where slavery was perceived very differently, accounts for this. I think he was just a brilliant thinker, and he could see beyond cultural mores. He writes of several Black people he encountered during slavery who are the same as him in their ability to think about what could be, even when it seems impossible to imagine given the current reality. Even Bass, the white man who colludes with him to rescue him, thinks in this way. At least, he points out, he never met someone who was enslaved who thought it was to their benefit:
They are deceived who flatter themselves that the ignorant and debased slave has no conception of the magnitude of his wrongs. They are deceived who imagine that he arises from his knees, with back lacerated and bleeding, cherishing only a spirit of meekness and forgiveness. A day may come – it will come, if his prayer is heard – a terrible day of vengeance when the master in his turn will cry in vain for mercy.
Finally, Northup is a great thinker and a strong writer. The points he attends to in his story are exactly what a reader wants to hear. Possibly because he wrote this for a Northern abolitionist audience, but he describes his experiences for an audience that could have no conception of them and that means that it is still a relevant document centuries later. He is charismatic, driven, creative, and exciting. His story is not just a history lesson, it is a compelling memoir that lends much-needed nuance to one of the most easily flattened periods of american history. I'll end with one last quote from Northup that shows his excoriating wit as an author and deep-seated rage as a man:
Never did the sun move so slowly through the heavens – never did it shower down such fervent and fiery rays, as it did that day. At least, so it appeared to me. What my meditations were – the innumerable thoughts that thronged through my distracted brain – I will not attempt to give expression to. Suffice it to say, during the whole long day I came not to the conclusion, even once, that the southern slave, fed, clothed, whipped and protected by his master, is happier than the free colored citizen of the North. To that conclusion I have never since arrived.
the other dichotomy that Northup helpfully explodes is that of the slave owner mindset. he writes, for example, of one of the first men who purchased him:
[...]it is but simple justice to him when I say, in my opinion, there never was a more kind, noble, candid, Christian man than William Ford. The influences and associations that had always surrounded him, blinded him to the inherent wrong at the bottom of the system of Slavery. He never doubted the moral right of one man holding another in subjection. Looking through the same medium with his fathers before him, he saw things in the same light. Brought up under other circumstances and other influences, his notions would undoubtedly have been different.
Similarly, of a woman who hires him seasonally to play violin at her parties:
I dwell with delight upon the description of this fair and gentle lady, not only because she inspired me with emotions of gratitude and admiration, but because I would have the reader understand that all slave-owners on Bayou Boeuf are not like Epps, or Tibeats, or Jim Burns.
Northup does not include these passages because he has any misgivings about the ethics of slavery; he does not think there is a right way and a wrong way to own slaves. He stresses this to the reader so that they can recognize the evils of slavery even in situations with very nice white people, which is always a point that desperately needs to be made.He sees that people's actions are shaped by their culture and their time, and that if they could for a moment think beyond their time they would be able to arrive through reason at the monstrosity of their actions. Maybe his time in the North, where slavery was perceived very differently, accounts for this. I think he was just a brilliant thinker, and he could see beyond cultural mores. He writes of several Black people he encountered during slavery who are the same as him in their ability to think about what could be, even when it seems impossible to imagine given the current reality. Even Bass, the white man who colludes with him to rescue him, thinks in this way. At least, he points out, he never met someone who was enslaved who thought it was to their benefit:
They are deceived who flatter themselves that the ignorant and debased slave has no conception of the magnitude of his wrongs. They are deceived who imagine that he arises from his knees, with back lacerated and bleeding, cherishing only a spirit of meekness and forgiveness. A day may come – it will come, if his prayer is heard – a terrible day of vengeance when the master in his turn will cry in vain for mercy.
Finally, Northup is a great thinker and a strong writer. The points he attends to in his story are exactly what a reader wants to hear. Possibly because he wrote this for a Northern abolitionist audience, but he describes his experiences for an audience that could have no conception of them and that means that it is still a relevant document centuries later. He is charismatic, driven, creative, and exciting. His story is not just a history lesson, it is a compelling memoir that lends much-needed nuance to one of the most easily flattened periods of american history. I'll end with one last quote from Northup that shows his excoriating wit as an author and deep-seated rage as a man:
Never did the sun move so slowly through the heavens – never did it shower down such fervent and fiery rays, as it did that day. At least, so it appeared to me. What my meditations were – the innumerable thoughts that thronged through my distracted brain – I will not attempt to give expression to. Suffice it to say, during the whole long day I came not to the conclusion, even once, that the southern slave, fed, clothed, whipped and protected by his master, is happier than the free colored citizen of the North. To that conclusion I have never since arrived.