Exploring the pains of Frederick Douglass's life as a slave is definitely tough on the hearts of readers. Tales of brutality, rape, human degradation as well as identity restriction, are definitely terrible in the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave. Douglass makes use of imagery in this story of his quest for freedom, in order to illustrate in our minds and hearts these cruel as well as ungodly wrongs of slavery.
One of the accounts, firstly introduced by Douglass, is the lack of his mom in his life. He knew his mother but, because of the restrictions of slavery, he was taken from her. In general, he saw his mother no more than five times in his life. However, she suddenly came to him at night and she was gone before he even woke. The imagery used by him to depict the occurrence of his mom’s death, illustrates the isolation that he faced.
For all his life he was deeply sorry for that painful inability to be present during her disease, at her death, not to mention burial. As we’ve told above her mom passed away long before he knew anything about this. Never having enjoyed, to any significant extent, her tender and watchful care, her soothing presence he received the tidings of her death with much the same feelings he should have felt at the death of a stranger.
Of course, this sounds weird how folks people could be kept away from their mom so that they feel nothing upon her death. Obviously, the fact that Douglass illustrates it so emotionally and vividly starts drawing the audience into knowing the anguish of slavery.
Douglass makes the most of imagery again when talking about the final days of another family member. In this case, it’s his beloved grandmother. His grandmother was used to living in a hut in the woods, doing all the domestic chores by herself. Here, loneliness and death generate the tone projected by his thought that the hearth is absolutely desolate.
He adds that the kids who once danced and sang in her presence, are gone. Her grandmother shifted to the darkness of age, just for a drink of water. Instead of the voices of her kids, his grandmother heard by day the moans of the dove, and then by night the screams of the hideous owl. All of this can generate nothing except everlasting gloom. We can see the grave at the door. The granny stands, sits, staggers, falls, groans and finally passes away. There’re none of her kids or grandchildren present, to wipe from her wrinkled brow the scary sweat of death
Exploring the pains of Frederick Douglass's life as a slave is definitely tough on the hearts of readers. Tales of brutality, rape, human degradation as well as identity restriction, are definitely terrible in the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave.