The Book Of Negroes

by Lawrence Hill

say that I was once uncommonly beautiful, but I wouldn’t wish beauty on any woman who has not her own freedom, and who chooses not the hands that claim her.

I remember wondering, within a year or two of taking my first steps, why only men sat to drink tea and converse, and why women were always busy. I reasoned that men were weak and needed rest.

To gaze into another person’s face is to do two things: to recognize their humanity, and to assert your own.

The abolitionists may well call me their equal, but their lips do not yet say my name and their ears do not yet hear my story.