Short Essay: Approaches of Frederick Douglass and Mark Twain

Frederick Douglass’s autobiographical portrayal in The Narrative of a Slave and Mark Twain’s characterization of Jim in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn are demonstrative of the differences between the Enlightenment period and the Romantic period.  Douglass looks at events and uses reason to reach into our minds and eradicate our ignorance, while Twain allows the humanity of Jim to reach into our hearts and dissolve our indifference.  Both characters clearly teach their reader, primarily white Americans, that slaves are not inhuman chattel to be dominated but human beings capable of reaching great depths both intellectually and emotionally.  The different methods used to define the characters of Douglass and Jim accomplish a similar goal while taking different roads.

Douglass writes of himself in the first person narrative in the voice of an experienced and learned adult who is able to portray the horrors of slavery without depending upon sentimentality.  Reading Douglass’s account of life on the plantation, the rational person can envision the pain and despair without actually knowing the thoughts of the victim.  Douglass is able to step back from his anger and express opinions on the reasons men feel justified in placing the yoke around other men.  Douglass’s voice throughout Narrative could also be seen as a warning to the oppressors that the vile actions, once ignored, will no longer be tolerated.  The character in this book does not merely report, but demonstrates the growing insurgence occurring among slaves because of the brutal treatment of the slaveholder.  Douglass’s fervor to learn to read shows that the harder the slaveholder applied pressure the stronger the desire was to fight back.  I see this as a diplomatic declaration of war.  Douglass not only educates “white America” by telling his tale, but also shows consistently that the slaves will not merely succumb, but will invariably strike back.  By gently taking off the gloves, Douglass puts the reader on alert that this miserable state will no longer be tolerated.

Jim’s description is filtered through the eyes of Huckleberry Finn, via the pen of Mark Twain.  It is important to remember that Huck Finn is a young person who looks at life with the innocence of childhood and the ignorance of the unlearned.  Twain uses this method to allow readers to formulate their own conclusions without the tedium of a Sunday Mass.  Twain dispels the belief that African Americans lack humanity and moral conviction by giving Jim one of the central voices in the novel, and demonstrating Jim’s capacity to feel deep, human emotions. 

Both characters teach that slavery is an abomination, one intellectually and the other emotionally.  These two approaches are complements that used together are tantamount to a full-blown attack on prejudice.  The two lone voices of Douglass and Jim, although singing acappella, can easily fill a cathedral of the soul.

My Big Dog

Okay like I said, I’m following up with the story of my big dog.  My boyfriend, during one of his manic phases, set his mind to a dog – but, inevitably, not any dog but a bullmastiff.  He wanted a “manly” dog.  I searched, but could not find one within my debt limit – so nearly gave up when one day I received an e-mail for bullmastiff puppies.  A bullmastiff, with papers, for 500 was irrisistable and would offer me relief from the constant “where is my dog” bullshit.  I saw the pictures that the family had taken of an unexpected litter, and looked only to recoup their expenses, so we made the trip to meet the new member of the family.

*See, I didn’t get the dog to eat the cat after all.

When we got there the “puppy” was up to my thigh, and the mommy and daddy dogs looked like the one in the Harry Potter movies, just different colored.  I was really taken aback but, the animal lover in me quickly got over it.  We watched the puppies cavort and I chose one and the boyfriend chose another.  His choice was more beige where mine was more red, and his choice was sporting marks from being the less dominant at play.  However, I was not so attached as he was to his so his was ours just like that.  *By the way, I mention the differences in our choices for those who seek to analyze things – analyze away. 

Looking at the dogs face, and his drooping jowls, I recalled my ex father in law and his face being much the same.  (Although the old dear was all bark and no bite).  So I asked that we name him Ralfh (the spelling is really that way – you know – dare to be different).  When we said that the parents’ owner tells us that is the puppies father’s name so – Ralfh it is.  I watched our puppy, well mentally a puppy, then his father who was the size of a medium horse.  The father, sensing I was watching him decided to walk over and jump up on me.  Now should this dog have done this in the usual clumsy beast way – I would have went flying but he did it with the grace of a ballerina.  Talk about your odd sights.

So the first few months with Ralfh were a challenge.  We learned many things – Ralfh hates walking outside and many a time I had to drag him with his limbs extended over the snow (but he learned); Ralfh loves the taste of leather so much that he ate half my sofa; however, he does not limit himself to sofas but will pepper his diet with such things as DVDs, IDs and entire wallets, anything in or near the garbage can, wood, fabric, hell – just about anything (be he learned better); Ralfh is insecure and hates competition, so much so, that he would devour it if given the chance (he hasn’t learned but we keep him away from temptation; that he costs a MINT to feed and if, God forbid, you don’t buy the “right” foods he will vomit and defecate anywhere he goes (but we learned).

But Ralfh, and we, have learned and thus he will be celebrating his second birthday this month (ironically the day before mine).  He is a gentle, needy, affectionate dog that somehow thinks he’s a cat.  But it’s okay, love him anyway.  And, that’s the story of Ralfh who appears below.

Ralfh Russ

 

Striking a Pose

At Long Last

At long last my little one has come home for leave.  She got in late last night so this might start rambling thanks to my two whole hours of sleep. 

By way of some small miracle she managed to get through both basic training and her AIT training.  She is officially a combat medic.  I admire and respect her determination and strength getting through the past 7 month’s hurdles.  And her 5′1, 105 pound frame really showed itself capable of handling more than its weight in activity.

So now both of my children are in the military.  The little one in the Army and my son in the Air Force.  People remark that my children are so patriotic (me, I think “Those DUMMIES” – we’re at war) but that’s just a mother who would like to see her children safe.  But my mind wanders to the fact that right now, somewhere in Brooklyn, there’s a tiny little soldier who is trying (kind of) to recruit. 

For now, she’s safe and I can breathe a little.  She managed to get through a near miss article fifteen, a two mile run that she thought she’d never crack, a seargant who was more than a little rough on her and the same things all of the enlistees must go through to be “all that they can be.”  And because of all that is really her, she made it.  For now, I breathe, until she is moved to her next base and gets her orders.  I was forewarned of an impending deployment – so for the next twenty days I want to see her live it up as much as she can – safely.  I hope to spend as much time as her small entourage of friends will allow, and get the chance to show her that all that she can be was all she has always been – and neither myself, her family, friend nor the army did that – they only benefited from it.

Why I Gave My Neighbor My Cat (old ranting I found on my computer)

Figured before I lost the memory of the old dear I would post this.  I will probably post the follow up – My Bullmastiff and me – tomorrow. 

I have a cat. Not a breed cat, a regular ordinary off the street cat. Interestingly, I’m allergic to cats but somehow this one just kinda fell into my lap and wouldn’t get off. There is a part of me (probably about 85%) that hates this cat. It’s a friggin needy, demanding, picky, lil shyt that has tripped me by wrapping itself around my ankles while I walk, has made me stop breathing by laying on my face in my sleep and has destroyed my hallway having scratched the paper off the walls.

I feed this furry bag of shyt every day (against my better judgment) – I give it a can of food which it will discriminately nibble at, eating, at most, 1/16th of the can – but can I just give it a little and put the rest in the fridge – NOT. Once it’s in the fridge it’s considered inedible and the friggin cat would rather starve than let it touch its palate. I also give it dry food which it demands is always available – at all times – no matter what. So why the cans? If I don’t give it some at least twice a day from a can, that fucker screams and cries until either I do or I punt it’s dumbasss – all depends on the kinda day I’m having.

The cat loves water, but will not drink it off the floor – it must come fresh from the tap at all times thus I leave the water running at least in one place in the house at all times. The cat does not like to sleep alone, it likes to lay up against me, its head on my arm, and woe is me if I move – swipe with the claws. Since life is so damn exciting I usually fall asleep on the couch so I try to position that fucker so I can shove it between the cushions when I want to get up – the shock usually gives me that few second head start I need so as not to get my assed kicked.

I went to Jersey last weekend and that really screwed up with the cat’s schedule. I got home and in acts of open defiance this idiot destroyed my house. Down came curtains, blinds lay broken in my kitchen window, glass shattered on the floor, ashtrays knocked over (one inside a crowded chest/table that will now require emptying and cleaning), beverages came-a tumbling down, and my favorite towel full of piss. Yet, idiot that I AM – the cat lives.

It’s quieted now – my daughter got back from vacation and put the fear of God in it – but the memory lingers. I look into those dead green eyes knowing what it’s capable and I stand at alert – I will not be taken by surprise again.

Right now I’m shopping for a dog – A VERY BIG DOG – that will guard me and my home against Eightball the cat from hell – then, and only then, will peace be restored.