this soul-searing effort by Harriet Jacobs in her 1861 classic INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A SLAVE GIRL (Dover Thrift: 2001):
"I thought to myself that I might perhaps never see my daughter again, and I had a great desire that she should look upon me, before she went, that she might take my image with her in her memory. It seemed to me cruel to have her brought to my dungeon. It was sorrow enough for her young heart to know that her mother was a victim of slavery, without seeing the wretched hiding place to which it had driven her. I begged permission to pass the last night in one of the open chambers, with my little girl. They thought I was crazy to think of trusting such a young child with my perilous secret. I told them I had watched her character, and felt sure she would not betray me; and that I was determined to have an interview, and if they would not facilitate it, I would take my own way to obtain it. They remonstrated against the rashness of such a proceeding; but finding they could not change my purpose, they yielded. I slipped through the trap-door into the storeroom, and my uncle kept watch at the gate, while I slipped into the piazza and went upstairs to the room I used to occupy. It was more than five years since I had seen it; and how the memories crowded on me! There I had taken shelter when my mistress drove me from her house; there came my old tyrant to mock, curse and insult me; there my children were first laid in my arms; there I had watched over them each day with a deeper and sadder love; there I had knelt to God, in anguish of heart, to forgive the wrong I had done. How vividly it all came back! After this long, gloomy interval, I stood there such a wreck!
"In the midst of my meditations, I heard footsteps on the stairs. The door opened, and my uncle Phillip came in, leading Ellen by the hand. I put my arms around her, and said, 'Ellen, my dear child, I am your mother.' She drew back a little, and looked at me; then, with sweet confidence, she laid her cheek against mine, and I folded her to the heart that had been so long desolated. She was the first to speak. Raising her head, she asked inquiringly, 'You really are my mother?' I told her I really was; that during all the long time she had not seen me, I had loved her most tenderly; and that now she was going away, I wanted to see her and talk with her that she might remember me. With a sob in her voice, she said, 'I'm glad you've come to see me, but why didn't you ever come before? Benny and I wanted so much to see you!'"
P.115
Saturday, April 12, 2014
INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A SLAVE GIRL...EXCERPT
I have never read James Joyce's "Ulysses," nor any other stream of consciousness-type of writer other than that of Carlos Castenada's "Journey to Ixland," that I can now recall. Even so, it is hard to conceive of anyone out-doing 
this soul-searing effort by Harriet Jacobs in her 1861 classic INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A SLAVE GIRL (Dover Thrift: 2001):
"I thought to myself that I might perhaps never see my daughter again, and I had a great desire that she should look upon me, before she went, that she might take my image with her in her memory. It seemed to me cruel to have her brought to my dungeon. It was sorrow enough for her young heart to know that her mother was a victim of slavery, without seeing the wretched hiding place to which it had driven her. I begged permission to pass the last night in one of the open chambers, with my little girl. They thought I was crazy to think of trusting such a young child with my perilous secret. I told them I had watched her character, and felt sure she would not betray me; and that I was determined to have an interview, and if they would not facilitate it, I would take my own way to obtain it. They remonstrated against the rashness of such a proceeding; but finding they could not change my purpose, they yielded. I slipped through the trap-door into the storeroom, and my uncle kept watch at the gate, while I slipped into the piazza and went upstairs to the room I used to occupy. It was more than five years since I had seen it; and how the memories crowded on me! There I had taken shelter when my mistress drove me from her house; there came my old tyrant to mock, curse and insult me; there my children were first laid in my arms; there I had watched over them each day with a deeper and sadder love; there I had knelt to God, in anguish of heart, to forgive the wrong I had done. How vividly it all came back! After this long, gloomy interval, I stood there such a wreck!
"In the midst of my meditations, I heard footsteps on the stairs. The door opened, and my uncle Phillip came in, leading Ellen by the hand. I put my arms around her, and said, 'Ellen, my dear child, I am your mother.' She drew back a little, and looked at me; then, with sweet confidence, she laid her cheek against mine, and I folded her to the heart that had been so long desolated. She was the first to speak. Raising her head, she asked inquiringly, 'You really are my mother?' I told her I really was; that during all the long time she had not seen me, I had loved her most tenderly; and that now she was going away, I wanted to see her and talk with her that she might remember me. With a sob in her voice, she said, 'I'm glad you've come to see me, but why didn't you ever come before? Benny and I wanted so much to see you!'"
P.115
this soul-searing effort by Harriet Jacobs in her 1861 classic INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A SLAVE GIRL (Dover Thrift: 2001):
"I thought to myself that I might perhaps never see my daughter again, and I had a great desire that she should look upon me, before she went, that she might take my image with her in her memory. It seemed to me cruel to have her brought to my dungeon. It was sorrow enough for her young heart to know that her mother was a victim of slavery, without seeing the wretched hiding place to which it had driven her. I begged permission to pass the last night in one of the open chambers, with my little girl. They thought I was crazy to think of trusting such a young child with my perilous secret. I told them I had watched her character, and felt sure she would not betray me; and that I was determined to have an interview, and if they would not facilitate it, I would take my own way to obtain it. They remonstrated against the rashness of such a proceeding; but finding they could not change my purpose, they yielded. I slipped through the trap-door into the storeroom, and my uncle kept watch at the gate, while I slipped into the piazza and went upstairs to the room I used to occupy. It was more than five years since I had seen it; and how the memories crowded on me! There I had taken shelter when my mistress drove me from her house; there came my old tyrant to mock, curse and insult me; there my children were first laid in my arms; there I had watched over them each day with a deeper and sadder love; there I had knelt to God, in anguish of heart, to forgive the wrong I had done. How vividly it all came back! After this long, gloomy interval, I stood there such a wreck!
"In the midst of my meditations, I heard footsteps on the stairs. The door opened, and my uncle Phillip came in, leading Ellen by the hand. I put my arms around her, and said, 'Ellen, my dear child, I am your mother.' She drew back a little, and looked at me; then, with sweet confidence, she laid her cheek against mine, and I folded her to the heart that had been so long desolated. She was the first to speak. Raising her head, she asked inquiringly, 'You really are my mother?' I told her I really was; that during all the long time she had not seen me, I had loved her most tenderly; and that now she was going away, I wanted to see her and talk with her that she might remember me. With a sob in her voice, she said, 'I'm glad you've come to see me, but why didn't you ever come before? Benny and I wanted so much to see you!'"
P.115