‘Frederick Douglass: A Novel’ paints a picture of the man behind the myth

Frederick Douglass, the 19th century’s preeminent abolitionist orator and scribe, left a legacy of prose – from articles and essays to letters, lectures, and rebuttals. He published three autobiographies. His public speeches and debates drew crowds and generated commentary in the press. A tireless advocate for Black American freedom and equality, he challenged and shaped thought, both in the United States and overseas, for more than 55 years.

These accomplishments would dazzle under any circumstances. The fact that Douglass began life enslaved in Tuckahoe, Maryland, in 1818, and learned to read and write despite laws forbidding such endeavors, adds luster to his reputation.

And yet, who was Frederick Douglass? Author Sidney Morrison sets out to excavate the man from the calcified layers of myth. The results are a meticulously researched novel that gives voice to Douglass’ kith and kin – and enables his complexity and contradictions to roar from the page.

The story kicks off with Anna Murray, arguably the most important person in Douglass’ life. A free Black woman working as a cook and domestic servant, Murray meets Douglass (then called Frederick Bailey) at a Baltimore social in 1836 while he’s still enslaved. Murray is bold, no-nonsense, and clearly impressed with the handsome young man. She’s also a quick study, noting his fondness for compliments and lack of shyness. “Baltimore is too small a place for a man like you, Mr. Bailey,” she says. “So, when are you leaving?”

Murray is unapologetic about the fact that she can’t read, adding, “I’m not ashamed. ... Too busy cooking and cleaning, and helping with raising white children.” Even as the two grow close, and after they eventually marry, her refusal to learn to read is a sore spot and an embarrassment for Douglass. Later, he is attracted to white women in the abolitionist circle, which leads to marital indiscretions.

Early in the novel, readers also meet William Lloyd Garrison, the famous white abolitionist whose antislavery newspaper, The Liberator, awakens Douglass’ political ambitions. Garrison becomes one of Douglass’ loudest champions, before the two men were driven apart by perceived slights, diverging principles, and tactical disagreements.

A who’s who of the era’s politicians and rabble-rousers march through the book, from Abraham Lincoln and John Brown to Ulysses
S. Grant and Susan B. Anthony. Of the many accomplished (and notorious) people who cross paths with Douglass, the 16th president shines brightest.

“I think very highly of your mind, sir,” Lincoln remarks during their second meeting at the White House. “You are a reflective, eloquent and honest critic, and I need your advice. Please take a seat.” The session lasts for nearly two hours.

“He treated me as a man,” Douglass later relates, barely able to quell his excitement.

Five months after Lincoln’s assassination, in a moving scene, Douglass opens a package from former first lady Mary Todd Lincoln to find the president’s walking stick. It’s one of the few times Morrison depicts his subject as at a loss for words.

Lesser-known characters add resonance and surprise. Over the course of his life, a string of Douglass acolytes, white women all, falls not just for the speeches, but for the man himself. The most influential of these admirers is Julia Griffiths, an Englishwoman who serves as editor and fundraiser for Douglass’ fledgling newspaper, The North Star. Although intellectual sparks fly and romantic feelings develop, Douglass refuses to leave his marriage and family. It’s moral high ground with a sinkhole. Displaying a now-familiar chutzpah (and callousness to Murray), he insists on folding Griffiths into the household and traveling with her openly. His behavior, which flouted marital and racial taboos, opened him up to allegations of infidelity with Griffiths.

“Frederick Douglass: A Novel” is a chunk of a book, dense with history and brimming with the details of a life fully lived. “Frederick was truly American,” an admiring peer writes in the introduction to Douglass’ first autobiography, “the self-made, self-reliant man.”

Utterly American, and yet so much more than a self-made trope, Douglass was a complex individual, consistently praised, often burdened, frequently forgiven, and ultimately embraced by his family, companions, and supporters.

Therein, too, lies his greatness.