"You have no idea how much you can get used to". ―Benjamin Stout, The Slave Dancer, P. 24 One just gets a feeling about certain books. Even before reading them, it's as if one can already sense the magnitude of the story, can tell that the reading experience about to be had is so big and important that simply by encountering it firsthand, one has charted new personal territory, has plugged into a culture of great literature that extends back through human history further than we know. The Slave Dancer is such a book as this, an undisguised, unglorified, unfettered beast of a novel that lingers to prowl in the memories of generations past, present and future, a story of ordinary souls that bear the guilt of such monstrosities that it would seem the human spirit could not help but be suffocated beneath the sheer weight of it. Even the souls of those who only bear witness to the unfiltered horrors taking place before them surely could not wriggle free from the crushing weight of the ambient sin any more than the perpetrators, having seen too much to be borne by an innocent spirit. The Slave Dancer isn't fiction, really, not where it counts; all of the crimes herein committed against the collective conscience of humanity really did occur, at one time or another, just as described in these pages. For those serving as part of the crew on slave ships traveling between Africa or some European city dealing in the slave trade and their final destination of the U.S., there was no closing the pages of a book when the vile desecrations of humanity became too extreme to stomach, no leaving off and taking a breath of fresh air away from the ungodly stench of a ship's hold packed tightly with uncleaned bodies and their accumulated waste from weeks or months of confinement, no saying that they'd had enough when the drama became just a little too real and the violence heightened to levels too intolerably grotesque to process. Whether they'd boarded the slaver by choice or not, once aboard there was no respite but the one promised at the end of the long, torturous sea voyage, if they survived to that point. Those who did survive might wish, by then, that they had not. Jessie Bollier, only thirteen years old, is one who didn't take the transcontinental sea voyage of his own volition. Working to help support his small, fatherless family, playing his fife in the town square and hoping to eventually apprentice himself to a chandler so that he might make good money, Jessie accidentally plays his music for the wrong listener one day. Shanghaied on the return route to his family's house that night, Jessie is roughly dragged aboard a sea vessel named The Moonlight, bound for parts unknown, his only immediate assurance being that the ragtag sailors who grabbed him would kill him before they'd allow him to escape back home. There will be a return to his family eventually, Jessie is promised, but not until after his skills as a fife player have been used to meet the needs of the financiers behind this particular voyage. With little idea what he's in for or why a musician might be needed so desperately on a ship, Jessie has no choice but to go along with his captors, hoping for a way of escape but resigning himself to the fact that he's almost certainly on board for the long haul. How could Jessie ever have believed, even if he'd been expressly told, that a long journey across the Atlantic with only the slimmest food and water rations necessary to keep the crew alive would somehow be the fun part of the voyage, that feeling the twisting stomach pains of starvation and wandering in the stupefying mental fog of perpetually unsatiated thirst would be a welcome relief compared to what awaits The Moonlight once they pick up its cargo waiting in Africa? For the creaky vessel on which they have labored to cross the ocean is nothing but a slave ship, designated to cross into illegal waters and transport new batches of abducted Africans contrary to international laws that forbid the practice. This, then, is why Jessie's services with the fife were needed so badly by his kidnappers. To preserve the black flesh as usable and sellable, fit for buyers willing to drop quite a price on a strong back and sound set of limbs, keeping the future slaves in working physical order was imperative. To do so, routine vigorous physical activity would be necessary, and the best way to accomplish that in the close quarters of a ship would be through forced dancing. So Jessie, repulsed by the supplementary service to the slave trade that he is being forced to provide, plays his fife to dance the stolen Africans, wanting nothing more to do with the perverse ritual than the unwilling dancers. As Jessie tries to get some version of a handle on his situation, figuring out who among the crew, if anyone, can be trusted, and desperately stretching each day to somehow become the next as he attempts to survive long enough to be reunited with his family, one night of walking death still awaits, greater in the intensity of its abominations than anything that he has so far witnessed. When men who have already heaped their sins up to the limit can feel the pain of no more guilt, pushing the horrors that they have inflicted to even worse atrocities becomes chillingly easy. As the pinpoint of Jessie's focus narrows to just making it through one more night alive, life and death blur into a senseless, violent mix, and there's no telling who might be left still breathing on the other side of it. When Jessie is first kidnapped by the crew of The Moonlight, he's not exactly naive about the existence of the slave trade in the U.S. It's 1840, and though slavers are no longer supposed to be capturing Africans and shipping them to other countries for use as slaves, twenty years before the Civil War this crime is still, as incredible as it seems, being committed. Jessie knows about the buying and selling of slaves, and though he's not at all in favor of it, he doesn't begin to understand the horrors of the experience for the forcibly transported blacks until he sees it happen in person. Just as the truth about the ship he has been compelled to work aboard is slowly revealed to Jessie, so does he find out similarly what the rounding up of new sellable bodies is really all about. "The truth came slowly like a story told by people interrupting each other", Jessie observes. Aboard The Moonlight, there's a lot of truth to be revealed before one really fathoms the full horror of what it means to deal in the currency of flesh, blood, bone and sinew. That's a truth that no one ever wants to experience for themselves. It's Jessie, in his private thoughts, who most heartbreakingly describes the innocence that has been stolen from him, the cover for the true ugliness of a brutal world stripped away by his interminable ordeal for his fledgling eyes to behold. "(T)he world I had once imagined to be so grand, so full of chance and delight, seemed no larger and no sweeter than this ship. Before my tightly closed eyelids floated the face of the child who had, after that one glance at us all, seemed to comprehend her whole fate." The entire voyage onboard The Moonlight is just such a train of progressive revelation, one that howls more maddeningly every inch of the way it barrels down the track; not just for Jessie, but for us as well, who may have known just as little as he about the tangible inhumanities of the slave trade in America before reading this book. It's a warning to all who think ourselves safe from a horror just because we box it out and refuse to think about it, chalking it up as something that, while surely horrendous, will never affect us where we live as long as we hold it at arm's length. As Jessie learns, though, when grievous human atrocities are allowed to exist anywhere without being confronted, they will eventually find us where we live, knocking on our door or waylaying us on our way home when we're least prepared for it. If we settle for injustice in any form, anywhere, then eventually we will have to pay the price, and it may be a whole lot steeper than we ever considered it could be. I'm tempted to say that Paula Fox is a great writer of historical fiction, and while that's obviously true, I think it's too narrow of praise for an author who has shown such ability to write adeptly in any style and for every genre. It might be better to say that Paula Fox is as great an author of historical fiction as she is of every other type of literature she has created, from family drama to mysteries to multicultural novels and beyond. The powerful final notes of The Slave Dancer will send chills down the spine of any reader, providing a haunting close to what is one of the more sobering, eye-opening Newbery Medal winners that I have read. The Slave Dancer is a book that we need to read, reread and talk about for as long as prejudice of any kind exists in the world, for as long there are still those out there with enough disregard for the basic humanity of others to steal them from their homes, pack them onto a ship and sell them as slaves if the opportunity to do so still existed. As unbelievable as it seems, there are still those who wouldn't think it wrong to do exactly that if they could, and that is why we all need this book to remind us what's at stake when we forget what that is, as we tend to do. I would give The Slave Dancer three and a half stars, and I hope that I always keep it close in my thoughts.
Literature Requirement: **1974 Newberry Award Winner**(SPOILERS OFF THE PORT BOW!! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!)I’m sad to say that I’m only giving this book 3 stars. I was hoping that I would like this book enough to give it 4 or 5 stars, but I’m kind of disappointed with it. While I was reading, I kept feeling very confused, as if some details were missing in the logical procession of the plot. There were times where something would happen, and I would either scoff at how unrealistic I found it or be confused as to why or how it happened. There were also some parts that led me to having a lot of questions, and there were other parts that were glossed over. It seemed rushed to get to the ending, which was almost too cliche and eye-roll worthy. I would never in a million years expect two children on this boat to be the only survivors, and then to have Ras, the to-be slave child, end up going through the Underground Railroad to safety. I don’t even know if he makes it! He could have been caught, because Jessie and Ras wind up in Mississippi, of all places. That’s a long way to travel, under the cover of complete strangers, to safety. What also frustrated me was the fact that this book seemed to focus on how awful it was for Jessie more than how awful it was for the slaves on the boat. I understand that Jessie was kidnapped, forced to sail to Africa on this boat, and he ended up being whipped at one point, but in the larger sense, he’s white. When the whole trip is over, he gets to live. He is not being forced into a life of slavery. When I was reading the final paragraph, which starts with, “I was unable to listen to music...,” I wanted to scream at him YOU GET TO LIVE. PERIOD. He’s not a slave, his life was not lost at sea, he wasn’t dumped into the ocean, and he didn’t get sick, go blind, or start frothing at the mouth because of a “fever” (which is literally what any sickness seems to get called at sea, especially if it’s being blamed on the slaves for spreading it). I’m ranting, but only out of disappointment. I really wanted this book to be something more, because it has that potential. The focus is very frustrating, and I think it’s because of the time period I’m living in (as well as what I’ve learned, read, and watched about slave ships). This was written over 41 years ago, and maybe it was jarring enough for that time period. However, as of today, it’s not jarring enough to really capture the horrors known as slave ships.
Do You like book The Slave Dancer (1975)?
I do think it's important for children to learn about the history and through a child's story is probably the best way to do it. I did not like the illustrations in this book, they were hard and coarse to me. I didn't want to look at them and they didn't seem like real life. While the illustrator may have been trying to convey through the pictures that it was a hard life because of the way he drew it, it just didn't jive for me. The story itself it powerful but the illustration for me took away from the story.
—Emily Horn
Of all the Newbery's I've read so far I have to say this was the most disturbing and emotionally difficult to read. Rightly so considering the subject matter. It is a powerful portrayal of the cruelty on the part of a ship captain and the pain and suffering the captives, mainly, but also the crew had to endure. "You'll see some bad things, but if you didn't see them, they'd still be happening so you might as well.""As I sat there on the narrow little bench, breathing in the close clay-like smell of lentils, and drinking tea from Purvis' bowl, I felt almost happy. When I remembered the wretchedness of my situation, I wondered if there was something about a ship that makes men glide from one state of mind to another as effortlessly as the ship cuts through water.""...because of a change of wind, I caught a powerful whiff of that ugly smell mixed with something else. I sniffed, thinking to myself what a comical human habit it was--how often I'd observed someone who, offended by an odor and proclaiming loudly how awful it was, continued to sniff away as though, in fact, he was smelling a rose.""Being on a ship and eating from its stores was like a man burning down his house to keep warm.""We didn't hear the splash she must have made when she hit the water, but then we were making speed before a fair breeze. 'She had the fever,' Stout said to me as he passed, 'and was dying and would have infected the rest of them.' He was not trying to excuse himself. No, it was only his usual trick. He knew I thought he was evil but he liked to suggest that beneath that I held another opinion of him, that, in fact, I admired him. It was a complicated insult.""I felt an extraordinary sad tranquility, that same sad and empty calm the sea had on certain cool mornings when you knew it would look the same if you weren't there to see it.""If we're caught with some of what we've got on this ship, we might just as well be caught with the slaves themselves. I know of masters who've burned their ships once they've unshipped their cargo--just to make sure there was no trace left of what they'd been doing. But Cawthorne's so greedy--he's like a man choking on one chicken bone while he's grabbing for another."
—Jill
"In a hinged wooden box upon the top of which was carved a winged fish, my mother kept the tools of her trade." Another Newbery Medal recipient (1974)and another winner of a book. In "The Slave Dancer," Paula Fox writes a grim, but gripping story detailing a horrific voyage of the slaver "The Moonlight." Young Jessie is press-ganged from his neighborhood in the Vieux Carre of New Orleans and endures several months of appalling treatment as he is put to work on the sorry ship.This story takes place in 1840, not a well-studied period in most classrooms. Fallout from the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812 set the mood of the British - "The British like to provoke us because we don't belong to them anymore." Those students (old and young) who have learned of slavery from the Civil War years might be surprised to learn here that the chieftains of Africa were as blameworthy in the subjugation of their people as were the ones who purchased them. These chieftains would chain entire families of captured Africans near the coastline and trade them for rum, money and tobacco.Fox is a skillful storyteller and Jessie's traumatic experiences make quite an impression. After his ordeal has ended, he notes, "When I passed a black man, I often turned to look at him, trying to see in his walk the man he had once been before he'd been driven through the dangerous heaving surf to a long boat, toppled into it, chained, brought to a waiting ship all narrowed and stripped for speed, carried through storms, and the bitter brightness of sun-filled days to a place, where if he had survived, he would be sold like cloth."
—Katharine Ott
