Wednesday, 25 February 2026

Scaling the Racial Mountain with Wings of Words: Role of Self-Education in the Making of Frederick Douglass and Malcolm X : Indian Journal of English Studies

 

Scaling the Racial Mountain with Wings of Words: Role of Self-Education in the Making of Frederick Douglass and Malcolm X


 Nibir K. Ghosh

We build our temples for tomorrow, strong as we know how, and we stand on top of the mountain, free within ourselves. - Langston Hughes (57)

On July 5, 1852, at Corinthian Hall in Rochester, New York, Frederick Douglass, a former slave, rocked the American nation with his fiery speech entitled “What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July?” We are all aware of the significance of the said date in American history. 4th of July 1776 was the date on which the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the Continental Congress setting free the thirteen American Colonies of all allegiance to the British rule under King George III. Enshrined in the famous Declaration of Independence were the ideals set forth by the founding fathers: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” (Declaration of Independence 35) Douglass began his speech by showing his respect for the creators of the Declaration of Independence but soon turned his focus to a scathing indictment of the institution of slavery that was a gross violation of the principles contained in the Declaration. He stated with a blend of courage and commitment:

The sunlight that brought light and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn… What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer: a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciations of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade, and solemnity, are, to him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy—a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. (Douglass, “What to the Slave…”)

The above passage, from what is considered the most significant of the hundreds of speeches that Douglass gave after he gained his freedom, amply illustrates his ability to earmark the aspects that separated American ideals of democracy from the gross reality of the slavery to which the blacks were subjected. Like Douglass, Malcolm X, though born a little over a century later, became an undisputed spokesman of racial discrimination and Black Power Movement in America. My purpose in the present essay is to examine and highlight how these two African American revolutionaries scaled the racial mountain through self-education and passionate activism.

Frederick Douglass (1818-1895)

Way back in September 2003, when I picked up the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave, Written by Himself at the University Book Store in Seattle, USA, I was instantly drawn to the appendage “Written by Himself” in the title itself. As I had not till then come across any title of a book where an author felt the compulsion to authenticate his authorship, I couldn’t help feeling a little surprised. Then it dawned on me that, since it was an autobiography of a slave, Douglass must have been concerned by the prejudice that questioned the ability of someone ‘less than human’ to read and write. It is quite possible that Douglass may have been aware then about the trials, tribulations and the humiliation that Phillis Wheatley – a black slave girl – had to undergo way back in October, 1772 to prove to the gathering of eighteen heightened white statesmen and politicians from Massachusetts Colony that she was the rightful author of her collection of twenty poems. “The panel,” writes Henry Louis Gates, Jr., “had been assembled to verify the authorship of her poems and to answer a much larger question: was a Negro capable of producing literature?” (Gates, Jr. 5)

Perhaps, in order to emphasize that a slave actually has written the book, Douglass thought it prudent to include the fact in the title as a kind of a declaration. The book was published in 1845. In a letter dated April 22, 1845, Wendell Phillips, abolitionist and president of the American Anti‑Slavery Society, wrote to Frederick Douglass to convey his deep appreciation of the latter’s brilliant Narrative:

I was glad to learn, in your story, how early the most neglected of God's children waken to a sense of their rights, and of the injustice done them. Experience is a keen teacher; and long before you had mastered your A B C, ... you began, I see, to gauge the wretchedness of the slave, not by his hunger and want, not by his lashes and toil, but by the cruel and blighting death which gathers over his soul. (Phillips in Narrative 44)

What is significant in the Narrative is how an extremely sensitive soul grapples with the dehumanizing first-hand experience of slavery in all its wretchedness and how, refusing to accept his fate as a bondsman, he feels the ceaseless stirrings of freedom from slavery. This desperate urge for freedom is kept alive by his instinctual need for learning to read and write to attain his goal. 

At the very beginning of the Narrative, Douglass writes about his parentage. His mother was Harriet Bailey, daughter of Isaac and Betsy Bailey, both colored. His father, he presumes, was a white man. He had no means of verifying the whispers that told that his master was his father. Douglass succinctly points out that it was a common custom to separate children from their mothers at a very early age. He says, “For what this separation is done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the development of the child’s affection towards his mother, and to blunt and destroy the natural affection of the mother for the child.” (Narrative 48) Douglass describes his master as “a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slaveholding.” (Narrative 51) Nothing seems to have given his master greater pleasure than the opportunity to whip a slave.

Douglass recounts how, even as a seven-year-old, he would be deeply affected by the songs sung by the slaves in chorus that described their miserable existence fraught with ceaseless oppression. Though the songs displayed scant regard for melody or rhythm, they told “a tale of woe … (and) breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains.” (Narrative 57-58) According to Douglass, the songs convey the misery and pain of the debasing nature of human bondage far more effectively than ‘volumes of philosophy’. He lyrically describes the lasting imprints the slave songs had on his impressionable mind and heart and in spurring his creativity.

Chapter X of the Narrative dwells at length with the craving for freedom from bondage that Douglass experienced even at the tender age of seven/eight. Fired by the zeal to escape the predicament of remaining permanently enmeshed in chains of bondage, he often vacillated between bitter despair and endless glimmer of hope. He confesses how, like Prince Hamlet in Shakespeare’s play, he too seems to be caught in the dilemma of ‘To be or not to be’. Echoing Shakespeare’s lines, Douglass writes: “I say, this picture some-times appalled us, and made us ‘rather bear those ills we had,/ Than fly to others, that we knew not of.’” (Narrative 124) Caught between the reality of his existence and the prospect of gaining freedom, he became restless.

Even a cursory reading of the Narrative is bound to convince anyone of the author’s extraordinary power to use words with ease and felicity. But, at the same time, one may wonder how a slave boy, especially in the pre-civil war era, could acquire such learning and flair for writing to become a legend among the abolitionists. This should be a matter of paramount concern for those who believe in the transformative potential of words. It is true that with desire, determination, commitment and steadfastness one can aspire for any goal in life.

Yet, it appears almost incredible that a slave-boy, without access to any formal education of any kind, could write in the manner that Douglass does in the Narrative or deliver speeches indicative of the highest quality of intellectual oratory. His deep conviction that slavery would not always be able to hold him “within its foul embrace” would not have turned to fruition but for what providence had in store for him.

At the age of seven Douglass was sold to a couple named Hugh and Sophia Auld to take care of their little son Thomas. When he reaches the Auld household he is pleasantly surprised to find them affectionately disposed towards him. With utmost sincerity Douglass acknowledges the human kindness he receives from the Aulds as an act of divine dispensation: “From my earliest recollection, … and in the darkest hours of my career in slavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope departed not from me, but remained like ministering angels to cheer me through the gloom. This good spirit was from God, and to him I offer thanksgiving and praise.” (Narrative 75)

Sophia Auld takes a lot of interest in little Douglass and teaches him the alphabets. Gradually, she tells him how he can combine a few letters and create three or four-letter words. His heart is full of praise and gratitude for Sophia Auld whom he refers to as “a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings … Her face was made of heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.” (Narrative 77)

However, fate soon intervenes to give his ecstasy a jolt. One day while Sophia is in the process of teaching him to read, she encounters her husband. Her husband gives her a scolding and forbids her from teaching him to read and write saying that such acts were unlawful and unsafe. He instructs her: “A nigger should know nothing but to obey his master—to do as he is told to do. Learning would spoil the best nigger in the world … if you teach that nigger (speaking of myself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever unfit him to be a slave.” (Narrative 78)

Douglass is quick to comprehend from the content of Hugh Auld’s admonishment of his wife that education can create “the pathway from slavery to freedom.” What needs to be specifically pointed out from this episode is that any society that wants to keep the oppressed in their place, its first attempt is to stop them from getting access to anything related to reading, writing, knowledge, culture etc. because the moment they are able to rationalize, they are sure to question the status quo. The kind of determination this boy at the age of seven has is evident from his statement: “What he most dreaded, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully shunned, was to me a great good, to be diligently sought.” (Narrative 79)

Hugh Auld’s views on the hazards of teaching a “nigger” to read and write comes as an awakening for Douglass. On the contrary, it is interesting to see the effect it has on Sophia. With a tinge of humor, Douglass recalls:

Slavery soon proved its ability to divest her of these heavenly qualities. Under its influence, the tender heart became stone, and the lamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-like fierceness. The first step in her downward course was in her ceasing to instruct me. She now commenced to practise her husband’s precepts. … She was not satisfied with simply doing as well as he had commanded; she seemed anxious to do better. (Narrative 82)

Subsequently, if Sophia Auld saw Douglass even with a newspaper she would rush at him and snatch it away from his hands. Douglass ruminates: “She was an apt woman; and a little experience soon demonstrated, to her satisfaction, that education and slavery were incompatible with each other.” (Narrative 82)

Though Douglass is deeply interested in reading, writing and expressing himself, he realizes how difficult it is to learn anything without a teacher. Yet, he is not the one to give up his determination to use education as the “pathway to freedom.” He soon explores other avenues for acquiring learning. The Aulds had plenty to eat and Douglass would take loaves of white bread in his pocket and go to the streets to meet white little boys who were poorer than him where eating and other things were concerned. He thought of a plan wherein he could exchange the bread and make them his teachers to augment his learning:

As many of these as I could, I converted into teachers. With their kindly aid, obtained at different times and in different places, I finally succeeded in learning to read. This bread I used to bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return, would give me that more valuable bread of knowledge. (Narrative 83)

With the anxiety of “being a slave for life” weighing heavily upon him as he grew older, Douglass became all the more eager to immerse himself in reading books that could take him forward on his mission to freedom. Around the age of twelve, he heard about a book entitled The Columbian Orator that the white kids often mentioned in their conversations. Collecting 50 cents by shining shoes for a month, Douglass bought the book. What immediately attracted his attention, among the many speeches and texts from celebrated writers, intellectuals and statesmen from diverse ages, nations and cultures that the book contained, was a conversation between a slave owner and a slave. The slave runs away thrice and is caught thrice and brought back. In the said conversation, whatever can be said in support of slavery is narrated by the slave owner and whatever can be said against slavery is spoken by the slave. In the story, the slave owner is so convinced with the arguments that he finally frees the slave. Douglass accepts that the moral he gained from the dialogue “was the power of truth over the conscience of even a slaveholder.” (Narrative 84)

The various other speeches that he found in The Colombian Orator had a magical effect on his mind and soul:

These were choice documents to me. I read them over and over again with unabated interest. They gave tongue to interesting thoughts of my own soul, which had frequently flashed through my mind, and died away for want of utterance … The more I read, the more I was led to abhor and detest my enslavers. (Narrative 84)

The Colombian Orator made Douglass not only aware of man’s inhumanity to man in terms of race and color but also stirred within him the passion to denounce slavery and other agencies of oppression and exploitation. The book became Douglass’s most prized possession and he would carry that book with him all the time. Because he was not supposed to write or read at the Auld home, he would go into the streets with a piece of chalk and practice his writing on the pavements, walls, and trees to acquire the skills he so desperately needed. Interestingly, one common word which would always perplex him was “abolitionist”:

I was eager to hear any one speak of slavery. I was a ready listener. Every little while, I could hear something about the abolitionists. It was some time before I found what the word meant. It was always used in such connections as to make it an interesting word to me. If a slave ran away and succeeded in getting clear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to a barn, or did any thing very wrong in the mind of a slaveholder, it was spoken of as the fruit of abolition. (Narrative 86)

It is pertinent to mention here that, while embarked on his mission, Douglass was never tempted by thoughts of material gains for himself. His avowed goal was not restricted to ways and means to attain his individual liberty. He generously shared the fruits of his knowledge and wisdom with fellow-slaves to awaken their urge to freedom.

Douglass’s passionate dream of attaining freedom ultimately succeeds when, on the third day of September 1838, he leaves his chains forever and arrives in New York. From that moment started the remarkable journey unparalleled in human history. Freed from the chains of slavery, he wrote his iconic Narrative and engaged himself, heart and soul, in addressing huge gatherings on the denunciation of slavery and advocacy of equal rights for the slaves as human beings. His intuitive ability to be inspired by the power of words that began with The Columbian Orator did not become dormant after he procured his freedom. Towards the end of the Narrative he mentions how Liberator, the weekly abolitionist newspaper published from Boston, “became my meat and my drink. My soul was set all on fire. Its sympathy for my brethren in bonds—its scathing denunciations of slaveholders—its faithful exposures of slavery—and its powerful attacks upon the upholders of the institution—sent a thrill of joy through my soul, such as I had never felt before!” (Narrative 151) It is, perhaps, significant that David Blight’s recent Pulitzer Prize winning biography of Douglass is titled Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom.

Malcolm X (1925-1965)

Malcolm X was born Malcolm Little on May 19, 1925 in Omaha, Nebraska. His mother, Louise Little, was the National recording secretary for the Marcus Garvey Movement which commanded millions of followers in the 1920s and 30s. His father, Earl Little, was a Baptist minister. Earl Little’s Civil Rights activism prompted death threats from the white supremacist organization Black Legion, forcing the family to relocate twice before Malcolm’s fourth birthday. In 1929 their Lansing, Michigan home was burned to the ground. Two years later, Earl’s body was found lying across the town’s trolley tracks. Malcolm’s mother was diagnosed as mentally ill and sent to the Kalamazoo State Mental Hospital, where she stayed for 26 years. Placed in foster homes. Malcolm had a disturbed childhood. In 1939 Malcolm was sent to a juvenile home in the nearly all-white community of Mason, Michigan. Bright and intelligent, he did well at school and figured among the toppers in his class. English and History were the subjects he liked most. In his VIII grade he was quite impressed by his English teacher, Mr. Ostrowski, who was “always giving advice about how to become something in life.” (Autobiog. 29) One day he asked Malcolm what he wanted to be in life? Malcolm answered, “I’ve been thinking I’d like to be a lawyer.” Surprised by Malcolm’s aspiration, Ostrowski responded by saying:

Malcolm, one of life’s first needs is for us to be realistic. Don’t misunderstand me, now. We all here like you, you know that. But you’ve got to be realistic about being a nigger. A lawyer—that’s no realistic goal for a nigger. You need to think about something you can be. You’re good with your hands—making things. Everybody admires your carpentry shop work. Why don’t you plan on carpentry? People like you as a person— you’d get all kinds of work. (Autobiog. 36)

Shocked by the attitude of his teacher he had hitherto adored, Malcolm lost interest in his studies and left for Boston to be with Ella Collins, his half-sister. He wistfully notes in his Autobiography:

Whatever I have done since then, I have driven myself to become a success at it. I’ve often thought that if Mr. Ostrowski had encouraged me to become a lawyer, I would today probably be among some city’s professional black bourgeoisie, sipping cocktails and palming myself off as a community spokesman for and leader of the suffering black masses, while my primary concern would be to grab a few more crumbs from the groaning board of the two-faced whites with whom they’re begging to “integrate.” (38)

Boston wrought the astonishing transformation of the studious Malcolm into one engaged in doing odd jobs on railroads, in restaurants and bars, at shoeshine stands, and in a jewelry store. Malcolm learns to dress like a hipster, dyes his hair, and starts hustling in Boston, New York and Detroit where he goes around by the nickname "Detroit Red." He returns to Boston where he engages himself in hustling, stealing, dope peddling, pimping, wielding firearms and other such nefarious activities. These activities ultimately lead to his arrest and conviction with an eight-to-10-year imprisonment sentence. He is sent to jail in Charlestown, Massachusetts followed by Concord Reformatory and finally to Norfolk Prison Colony in Massachusetts.

It is at Norfolk Prison Colony that his life undergoes a change for ever from the criminal Malcolm X to the militant spokesman for the Blacks in America. In an interview with Re-Markings, Lama Rangdrol lucidly captures the transformation of Malcolm X when he says: “One might recall “Detroit Red,” an ordinary incarcerated Black man. While “doing his time” he studied world culture and African history in the prison library. The fact that street thug Detroit Red emerged as Malcolm X is the kind of miraculous turn of events Buddhists believe in. Malcolm was not Buddhist. Nonetheless his metamorphosis was miraculous and inspiring. (Rangdrol 18)

Chapter XI of The Autobiography of Malcolm X offers a graphic account of what turned a mind from that of a criminal to one whose passion for reading and writing helped him create and expand his intellectual horizon to address issues of oppression of the Blacks in the world’s most powerful democracy. Though he had been studious at school, the criminal phase of life that he underwent after quitting school changed him into someone who would grope for words to convey even his basic feelings on paper. Malcolm observed in desperation: “I became increasingly frustrated at not being able to express what I wanted to convey in letters that I wrote… In the street, I had been the most articulate hustler out there—I had commanded attention when I said something. But now, trying to write simple English, I not only wasn’t articulate, I wasn’t even functional.”  (Autobiog. 171)

Malcolm’s despair led him to think of using a dictionary to learn new words with all seriousness. At the same time he felt the acute need to improve his writing skill and penmanship. He requested the prison authorities to provide him with a dictionary along with tablets and pencils. Once he lay hold of the dictionary, he says, “I’d never realized so many words existed! I didn’t know which words I needed to learn. Finally, just to start some kind of action, I began copying. In my slow, painstaking, ragged handwriting, I copied into my tablet everything printed on that first page, down to the punctuation marks. I believe it took me a day.” (Autobiog. 172) Going a step further, he began reading aloud the words he had copied. The sound of the words resonated in his mind and with every succeeding page, he says, “I was so fascinated that I went on—I copied the dictionary’s next page. And the same experience came when I studied that. With every succeeding page, I also learned of people and places and events from history. Actually the dictionary is like a miniature encyclopedia.” (Autobiog. 172)

Stating that he had had read over a million words, he recounts that with the broadening of his word-base, he began to pick up books to read and understand the contents. He became an avid reader and until he left the prison every free moment he had he spent in reading in the library or in the isolation of his cell. Enjoying reading in the “total isolation” of his cell, he would read till 10 P.M. every night and when the lights were switched off he would remain awake and read by the glow of the corridor light till early morning. For the first time Malcolm felt he had never been so “truly free” in his life. He acknowledges that attending lectures in the classes given by instructors who came from Harvard and Boston universities enhanced the area of his reading and opened, in the process, a completely new world for him.

The first set of books that impressed him comprised Wonders of the World, Will Durant’s Story of Civilization, H. G. Wells’ Outline of History, Souls of Black Folk by W. E. B. Du Bois, Carter G. Woodson’s Negro History, J. A. Rogers’ three volumes of Sex and Race, Aesop’s Fables, Genetics by Gregor Mendel and books by Frederick Olmstead among others. As a voracious reader he devoured books that reminded him of the message he had once received from Elijah Mohammad, the leader of the Nation of Islam Movement: “black prisoner symbolized white society’s crime of keeping black men oppressed and deprived and ignorant, and unable to get decent jobs, turning them into criminals.” (Autobiog. 169) The bound pamphlets related to the Abolitionist Anti-Slavery Society of New England that he found among the Parkhurst’s collection in the prison library made him aware of  “atrocities, … illustrations of black slave women tied up and flogged with whips; of black mothers watching their babies being dragged off, never to be seen by their mothers again; of dogs after slaves, and of the fugitive slave catchers, evil white men with whips and clubs and chains and guns.” (Autobiog. 176)

The only novel, he recalls to have read was Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Reality appeared more important than fiction. He reminisces with anger and sadness how in his school at Mason “the history of the Negro had been covered in one paragraph.” (Autobiog. 29) Such factors motivated him to remain immersed in books that brought to light the “glorious history of the black man” in all its manifestations. Reading the histories of various nations, he tells, opened his eyes to “how the whole world’s white men had indeed acted like devils, pillaging and raping and bleeding and draining the whole world’s non-white people.” (Autobiog. 176)

His reading arena didn’t close with Black history. He read Philosophy too at length beginning with Herodotus and Socrates, and moved on to “touch all the landmarks of philosophical development.” (Autobiog. 179) His reading included both Occidental and Oriental philosophers like Schopenhauer, Kant, Nietzsche, Spinoza and many others. He also read Shakespeare, Bacon and Milton. He succinctly pointed out that “the collective white man had been actually nothing but a piratical opportunist who used Faustian machinations to make his own Christianity his initial wedge in criminal conquests.” (Autobiog. 177) He emphasises that his “homemade education” gave him with every book he read “a little bit more sensitivity to the deafness, dumbness, and blindness that was afflicting the black race in America.” (Autobiog. 177) He mentions how, later, when asked by an English writer on phone from London, “What’s your alma mater?” he responded by saying that his alma mater was “books, a good library” and added, “If I weren’t out here every day battling the white man, I could spend the rest of my life reading, just satisfying my curiosity—because you can hardly mention anything I’m not curious about. I don’t think anybody ever got more out of going to prison than I did.” (Autobiog. 179-80) Intensive reading for a considerable time every night in the faint lights-out glow of the prison led to astigmatism and to his first pair of eyeglasses.

In his Autobiography Malcolm humbly mentions how extensive passionate and committed reading had changed his life forever: “Many who today hear me somewhere in person, or on television, or those who read something I’ve said, will think I went to school far beyond the eighth grade. This impression is due entirely to my prison studies.” (Autobiog. 171)

It is relevant to indicate here that if extensive reading helped him acquire intellectual awakening of the highest kind, he had realised in his prison tenure itself that he needed to develop his skill at oratory through which he could address the masses of Black people and show them the way to their true independence. Consequently, he enrolled himself in all the debating contests and activity that came his way in the prison. He writes, “in the prison, debating, speaking to a crowd, was as exhilarating to me as the discovery of knowledge through reading had been.”  (Autobiog. 184) Looking back at the situation as a prison inmate Malcolm accepts that his transformation through reading books was nothing short of a miracle: “I’d never have dreamed anything so wild as that one day I would speak in coliseums and arenas, at the greatest American universities, and on radio and television programs, not to mention speaking all over Egypt and Africa and in England.” (Autobiog. 184)

It is amazing that his concern while in prison was not circumscribed to the racial situation in America but it extended to various parts of the globe inclusive of Africa, China as well as India. He notes about Africa that “115 million African blacks—close to the 1930’s population of the United States—were murdered or enslaved during the slave trade.” (Autobiog. 177) He talks about the way China was duped by the white men and controlled by the Opium War. He also refers to India where, according to him, “half a billion deeply religious brown people” were subjugated by the “British white man, by 1759, through promises, trickery and manipulations, controlled much of India through Great Britain’s East India Company.” (Autobiog. 177) As an inspired leader, Malcolm X felt that his concern was not limited to the indictment of the Whites but it was equally necessary to awaken the element of human dignity in the heart and soul of his Black brothers who had been brainwashed into accepting the ‘White is Right’ dictum. In one of his famous speeches, “The Ballot or the Bullet,” delivered in Cleaveland on April 3, 1963, Malcolm appeals to the Black masses:

Whenever you're going after something that belongs to you, anyone who's depriving you of the right to have it is a criminal. Understand that. Whenever you are going after something that is yours, you are within your legal rights to lay claim to it. And anyone who puts forth any effort to deprive you of that which is yours, is breaking the law, is a criminal. (Malcolm X Speaks 33)

In speech after speech Malcolm exhorted his Black brothers and sisters to come out of their shell of helplessness and despair and claim their human rights before talking about Civil Rights. He was extremely critical of even Black professors and intellectuals who had been brainwashed by the evident “whitening” of history by the White man so much so that professors and Ph.D.’s knew “little more than the most ignorant black man about the talents and rich civilizations and cultures of the black man of millenniums ago.” (Autobiog. 181)

Following his release on parole on August 7, 1952, Malcolm joined the Nation of Islam under Elijah Mohammad. Rejecting his surname “Little” as a slave name given to his family by white oppressors, he came to be known as “Malcolm X.” With his charismatic personality and eloquent oratory he quickly created a special place for himself in the leadership of the organization. However, in 1963 differences with Elijah Mohammad began to surface that worsened with time till Malcolm parted ways with the leader he had once so deeply revered. In the summer of 1964 Malcolm formed the Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU) and continued his mission of bringing together his Black brethren not only in the U.S. but also in other nations like Egypt, Lebanon, Liberia, Senegal, Nigeria, Ghana, and Saudi Arabia.

On February 21, 1965, Malcolm X was assassinated while speaking at an OAAU rally in Harlem. Malcolm X passed away at the age of 39 but his legacy of awakening the racially oppressed masses continues to inspire people throughout the world through his bestselling Autobiography and through his electrifying revolutionary speeches that had taken roots during his prison days. Cornel West in Race Matters hails Malcolm X as “the first real black spokesperson who looked ferocious white racism in the eye, didn’t blink, and lived long enough to tell America the truth about this glaring hypocrisy in a bold and defiant manner.” (West 151) How Malcolm X continues to cast a long shadow on issue of race relations in America can be gauged from the way he dominates the discourse of the Black Lives Matter movement. Ta-Nehisi Coates, the winner of the US National Book Award, 2015 for Between the World and Me reaffirms with enormous respect in the said book: “If I could have chosen a flag back then, it would have been embroidered with a portrait of Malcolm X, dressed in a business suit, his tie dangling, one hand parting a window shade, the other holding a rifle.” (Coates 35)

Taken together, the narratives of Frederic Douglass and Malcolm X exemplify how the zeal for self-education can help individuals use the power of words to become torchbearers for humanity’s relentless struggle against slavery of any kind, be it in the domain of religion, class, caste, creed, colour, ethnicity, or race. In conclusion, I deem it appropriate to exhort young teacher members of the Association for English Studies in India to draw inspiration from the above narrative to illumine their own lives and that of others rather than limit themselves to view education as a mere source of livelihood.

WORKS CITED

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Blight, David. Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom. Simon & Schuster, 2020.

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The Declaration of Independence. The Constitution of the United States. U.S. Government Printing Office (Twentieth Reprint), 2000. Appendix. pp.35-39.

West, Cornel. Race Matters. Vintage Books, 1994.

·       Dr. Nibir K. Ghosh is UGC Emeritus Professor & former Head, Department of English, Agra College, Agra. A Senior Fulbright Fellow at the University of Washington, Seattle, USA during 2003-04, he has authored/edited 15 widely acclaimed books. His most recent works include Mirror from the Indus: Essays, Tributes and Memoirs (2020) and Republic of Words: Conversations with Creative Minds from Around the Globe (2021) [with Dr. Sunita Rani Ghosh]. He is Chief Editor of Re-Markings (www.re-markings.com), an international bi-annual journal of English Letters which is in its 25th year of publication. He can be reached at ghoshnk@hotmail.com

Abstract

The present essay focuses attention on two African American icons – Frederick Douglass and Malcolm X – who remain in the forefront of any discourse related to the issues of the racial dilemma of America in coming to terms with the ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness enshrined in The Declaration of Independence. Through the close examination of Narrative of the Life of Frederic Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself and The Autobiography of Malcolm X, an attempt has been made to show how the two personalities, each in his own way, discovered the importance of self-education in transforming their own lives and that of the communities they hailed from. Douglass, a former slave had affirmed, “Once you learn to read, you will be forever free.” Similarly, Malcolm X, a human rights activist and electrifying orator, championed the cause of Black empowerment and equality in the United States and beyond with what he called his “home education.”

Keywords

Racism, Slavery, Frederick Douglas, Malcolm X, Home-Education

Published in Indian Journal of English Studies Vol. 61 2025. pp. 23-40. Published by Association for English Studies in India.

Copyright Nibir k. Ghosh Dec. 2025.




Tuesday, 26 August 2025

Léonora Miano’s Twilight of Torment - Re-Markings September 2025








 

Nibir K. Ghosh


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Through a comprehensive examination of Léonora Miano’s ground-breaking novel Twilight of Torment, this paper highlights the power and intensity of the newly emergent Francophone African Women writings in portraying the resilience, courage and resolution of African women to challenge the status quo. Through four independent, though connected, narratives that showcase the life and experiences of each of the four characters – Madame, Amandla, Ixora and Tiki – in their relationship with Dio, the absent character addressed by the four women in turn, Léonora Miano delves deep into issues of gender, patriarchy, masculinity, ancestry, lineage, color, superstition, violence and colonialism to create a counter-narrative against the assumption that “there is no place for a soft/ black/ woman.” The paper also foregrounds how Miano’s women characters strive not only to survive and evolve their individual identities but also project their dreams and aspirations.

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For a considerable period of time in the twentieth century, Francophone African literature saw the dominance of male writers like Leopold Senghor, Aime Cesaire, Leon-Gontran Damas, Mongo Beti, Ferdinand Leopold Oyono, Mbella Sonne Dipoko, Ahmadou Mapaté Diagne, Bakary Diallo, Joseph Owono, among others. The concern of most of these writers revolved around themes like the Negritude movement, French colonialism, displacement of Africans from their native tradition, similarity and contrast between the French and the African traditions etc. In comparison to such male dominance, women’s writing in Francophone African literature is a relatively new phenomenon.

Though writings by women were sparsely visible during 1960s and ‘70s, it was not until the publication of Francophone African Women Writers: Destroying the Emptiness of Silence by Irène Assiba d'Almeida in 1994 (University Press of Florida) that the domain of African women writings began to attract attention in and beyond the Francophone world of letters. d'Almeida’s pioneering study showcases the novels and autobiographies of nine new and established writers who had been publishing since 1975. Prominent among these were Nafissatou Diallo’s A Dakar Childhood, Ken Bugul’s The Abandoned Baobab, My Country, Africa by Andrée Blouin, Your Name Will Be Tanga by Calixthe Beyala, Cries and Fury of Women by Angèle Rawiri, Scarlet Song by Mariama Bâ, Werewere Liking’s Orphée d'Afrique, Aminata Sow Fall’s L'ex-pere de la Nation and Véronique Tadjo’s As the Crow Flies. d'Almeida highlights in her book the significant role played by such writings in liberating Francophone African women from the fetters of the patriarchal order that had hitherto constrained them from articulating the cause of women and the community. In fact these women writers may be given full credit for their pioneering role in ushering an era where they could have a room of their own, to borrow Virginia Woolf’s phraseology.


Léonora Miano, born in 1973 in Douala on Cameroon’s Atlantic coast, began publishing her work since 2005. She moved to France as a student in 1991 where she adopted the French language as a medium to give expression to her creative endeavours. Though she emerged as a writer of novels, short stories and essays in French, her work is relatively less known in comparison to that of other women writers mentioned above. I discovered this when the University of Chicago press sent me a copy of Miano’s novel, Twilight of Torment, for reviewing the book for the Asymptote journal. Subsequently, when I mentioned the author to some of my celebrity-writer friends in Africa and the U.S., they readily accepted that they were not aware of her name or the work in question.

After a close reading of the novel, I discovered that anyone even remotely familiar with the novels of the Francophone Cameroonian writer Léonora Miano would not be caught unawares by the title of her recent work Twilight of Torment, translated from the French by Gila Walker. Following on the heels of Dark Heart of the Night (2012) and Season of the Shadow (2018), Twilight of Torment visibly enhances the terrain of Miano’s exploration of African diversity. As one flips open the first page of the book, the reader’s eye is immediately struck by an epigraph from the Black celebrity writer Sonia Sanchez’s poem “Present”: “there is no place for a soft/ black/ woman.” (ToT 1)

In an interview with Flashmag TV in October 2013, Leonora Miano highlighted the fact that she was passionate about sub-Saharan and African descent experiences, since adolescence” (Miano, Flashmag Interview) and that in her list of priorities, as a sub-Saharan writer, was her commitment to articulate her own voice and see the world in her own way by challenging existing stereotypes regarding Africa and Africans, especially women.

The opening line of the novel, “It’s suffocating like before a storm,” (TOT 1) seems to suggest the anxiety that precedes a calamitous situation and prepares the reader for becoming acquainted with the “subterranean wounds” from which Black women “never recover.” (ToT 2) The main protagonist, Madame, readily avers, “There’s no room for romance, for soppiness in the lives of women here. In these lands where the sky is neither shelter nor recourse, being a woman means deadening your heart.” (ToT 2)

In providing this backdrop at the very outset of the novel, the author reveals her intent to confront head-on the predicament of women, especially of African women, for whom even day-to-day existence is fraught with the perennial torment of “deadening your heart.” Observing a stony silence rather than giving vent to the bottled-up anger, rage, and discontent stemming from the curse of being Black and a woman seems the norm: “We scream or cry only to create a diversion. Our true sorrows are not exhibited, they are not uttered. Those who open their hearts live to rue the day they did so. There are no exceptions.” (ToT 2). However, not content with being an accomplice in the conspiracy of silence, Miano allows her protagonists to believe that “being a woman in these parts means evaluating, probing, calculating, anticipating, deciding, and shouldering.” (ToT 2) Consequently, Black women are free to realize what Virginia Woolf stated in her essay “Modern Novels” (1919): “Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged. Life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope that surrounds us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.”

It is by delving deep into the consciousness and interiority of events, memories, desires, ancestral history, and tradition that Miano’s four protagonists are able to convey not only their agony and anguish but also their resolve to discover panaceas located beyond torment and torture.

Twilight of Torment is spread across four distinct narratives that showcase the life and experiences of each of the four figures – Madame, Amandla, Ixora and Tiki. The blurb indicates how the four women

speak to the same man, who is not there. He is the son of the first, the great-yet-impossible love of the second, the platonic companion of the third, the older brother of the last. Speaking to him in his absence, it is to themselves that these women turn, examining their own stories to make sense of their journey, from twilight to twilight, through a mysterious stormy night in the middle of the dry season. (blurb)

Dio is the absent character addressed by the four women in turn. Their tales show how each one of them, in their complex relationship with him, have been affected by Dio’s inexplicable approach to life and people.

Léonora Miano skillfully brings together various stories to offer a panoramic view of “femininity, sexuality, self-love, and the intrusion of history into the intimate lives of people of African descent.” (blurb) Through these inter-connected narratives, Miano successfully creates a comprehensive picture of women caught in an intricate web of multiple relationships that governs the action that each may adopt to survive in a seemingly hostile world impacted by considerations of gender, patriarchy, masculinity, ancestry, lineage, color, superstition, and violence.

Madame Mususedi’s narrative occupies weighty space in Twilight of Torment as she articulates her relationships with the other major characters in the novel. In marrying Amos, who carries with him the tag of royalty, she bargained her material resources for the reflected glory that she thought she would find in the union with him. The marriage took place in the “North,” against her parents’ wishes. Ruminating on the initial days of her relationship with Amos, Madame talks of her early dreams about the success of their companionship: “Amos will forget that my fortune is not really his and that it takes a little power away from him. He will enjoy my company. Never will I refuse myself to him. Never will I divulge his secrets or his frailties. We will be happy.” (ToT 54) However, disillusionment soon follows as Madame realises that things are not going to be as she had visualised: “Amos is not bad, he is sick. There is a duality in him that he does not understand and cannot control. As for us as a couple, I finally admitted that love would not come to him out of habit. If he had ever felt it, it had fizzled out after we were married.” (ToT 57)  

Soon the brutality of Amos’s domestic violence becomes a regular feature of her life. Amos’s sisters also play their part in taming her to keep her in her “place.” She exclaims wistfully: “Royalty is forged in women’s wombs, but the power that it confers is held by men.” (ToT 55) She also accepts that “What I lived through in this house is an atrocity.” (ToT 56)

Madame’s son Dio and daughter Tiki, who constantly witness the spectacle of violence at home, deeply resent Amos’s inhuman behavior and often encourage their mother to abandon her husband and live a life of freedom and dignity. She does give the prospect serious thought when she goes on a vacation with her children and meets a lady called Eshe. Through her brief but intense relationship with Eshe (which means life), Madame experiences the feeling of warmth and security that a durable association with her could provide:

A door opened, revealing an expanse within that I did not even know it existed. A territory so vast that I had no idea how to cross it. What I would find at the end of the road was visible from the threshold. All I needed to do was make the journey. Make up my mind to set out on one of the courses, all of which would bring me safely to harbor. I was free. (ToT 58)

Besides their common sub-Saharan heritage, the two women are drawn to each other through an intensely powerful feeling of belonging. Madame uninhibitingly shares with Eshe the story of her past without fear or shame. Madame discloses she was drawn to Eshe because “She did not judge me. I felt understood, loved for who I was. She was my shadows, my flaws, and was not alarmed.” (ToT 61) While she is contemplating going ahead with what her heart and soul earnestly desire, the ghosts of propriety, fear, and shame make their presence felt and dissuade her from giving free rein to her personal desire. She finds herself in a dilemma: “It was hard for me to give Eshe up. Hard for me to stay in this unimagined space … I was not ready to tear down the walls, clear away the rubble, wash and then repaint the walls of my interior.” (ToT 62) As a result, instead of concentrating on her togetherness with Eshe, her mind’s focus shifts to “what people would say, about the shame.” (ToT 62) The other thing that was worrying her was the consequences of a ‘sisterhood’ not sanctioned by society: “To my mind, this kind of love, created to avoid reproduction, one of the most accomplished expression of fertility, should seek renewal within itself.” (ToT 63) Aware of her inability to take up cudgels against the so-called established patriarchal as well as racial order, Madame confesses with resig-nation:

The challenge seemed colossal to me. It required resources I did not have, especially if it meant being exclusive. I realised that I was one of those people who could only achieve emotional stability where a woman could love a woman and carry a man’s children. Love a man and receive pleasure from a woman. (ToT 63)

Madame, finally, returns to her husband with her children. She bemoans that the idea of striking an intimate bond with other women is never transmitted as a part of any heritage. On the contrary, Madame avers: “We forcefully push away the women who embody the possibility of fulfilment. Women don’t like women, people say. But they do not explain why or since when.” (ToT 64)

In due course of the novel’s narrative, Dio leaves for the North where he develops a deep friendship with an immigrant. Following the sudden death of his friend in an accident, Dio reaches out to the deceased’s family and takes on the responsibility of looking after his wife Ixora and her son Kabral. He gets close to them and readily leaves the North and returns home to his mother with Ixora and her son. The return of Dio with the two newcomers greatly offends Madame who takes an instant dislike to Ixora but gradually warms up to her son. It is Ixora’s lack of a family lineage that prompts Madame’s scorn. She finds Ixora’s ordinariness detestable. Madame’s narrative also includes a description of Amandla and her relationship with Dio, which somehow never matures into a union of any kind. In comparison with Dio’s unacknowledged relationship with Ixora, Madame finds his relationship with Amandla more acceptable.

The three narratives that follow in the novel poignantly bring into focus not only the experiences, trials, and tribulations of Amandla, Ixora, and Tiki with respect to their relationships with Dio, Madame, and other characters who appear in their lives, but also reveal the author’s concern with bringing into bold relief elements of African culture that were cast into oblivion and replaced with French culture through stratagems of colonial design. Describing the effect of colo-nialism on the natives, Madame remarks emphatically: “Every nook and cranny of this land, every square inch is the property of postcolonial power or of the multinationals that are an extension of it.” (ToT 29) Yet, she reminds Dio that she has done everything to ensure “a comfortable inheritance” for him and his sister Tiki. Although Madame attaches least importance to material things, she knows well what significance material things have for a society “bled dry in spirit.” (ToT 29) In this regard, the novel may be seen to resonate with Gabriel Okara’s poem “The Piano and the Drums,” where he writes of the colonial strategy of overpowering the sound of the drums with that of “a wailing piano/ solo speaking of complex ways/ in tear-furrowed concerto.”

It may be pointed out that the “North” figures quite a few times in the novel though there is no reference to any specific country. Dio meets Ixora when he is in the North. Amandla mentions the city Per-Isis when she refers to her past wanderings ‘Up North’. Per-Isis, she says, “belongs to us like the rest of the world. Our people spread the seeds of humankind to the four corners of the planet. We wouldn’t have to defend ourselves so doggedly if our humanity had not been questioned.” (ToT 109) The North does signify a territory that had its roots in the ancient Egyptian civilization but the ravages of time and tide had seen a cataclysmic change with the advent of colonialism. Amandla laments that “the North belongs to us but doesn’t want us. We’re better off turning our backs on it with dignity. Preserving our honor since that’s all we possess.” (ToT 109) According to a sociologist, in her story, many native Africans find it difficult to surrender to the process of assimilation and integration with the dominant culture in the North. Amandla resents that assimilation professed by the North is mainly one-sided and not reciprocal: “We’ve never seen the Northerners embrace the customs here. Let their culture dissolve into ours. Forget their language…The Northerners don’t feel concerned by multiethnicity. The notion only interests them insofar as it lets them claim a part of themselves in others. It is never a question of recognizing the presence of the other in themselves.” (ToT 110) Tiki narrates in her tale that “the men of the North” were subtle enough in not using only force and power to subjugate the people of the Continent: “If there had been only brutality, they would have exercised domination without achieving submission…To subdue your fellow man, you have to get him to recognise your greatness. You have to seduce, even dazzle if you have what it takes.” (ToT 251)

These references show that, perhaps, Miano is using the term North to designate a fictional space where African women, irrespective of nationality and culture, have to confront the dichotomies of day-to-day existence against the backdrop of machinations used by colonial forces to subjugate and control the natives in fulfilling what Kipling had called the “White man’s burden.”

The section of the novel that follows Madame’s account is Amandla’s story which begins with the reference to her relationship with Dio, while she was a teacher at Heru School an institution that she had founded with the avowed purpose of teaching the values of African culture and tradition to girls. She acknowledges that she had, by choice, taken responsibility for the preservation and propagation of African customs against the onslaught of what the colonial powers call modernism. She recounts:

I was just a child when my mother taught me to reject the names used to trample on our identity. Words by way of which our humanity was denied. I knew very early on that the land where the human race was born was called Kemet. That we were Kemites. Not Blacks. The Black race was invented purely to cast us outside humankind. To justify the transatlantic dispersion. To make chattel of us to be bought in install-ments. (ToT 69)

Amandla points out that the invaders never bothered to learn the language of the people they colonized. They, according to Amandla, prioritized material happiness over the love for life:

They disdain us for not always asking more of life than what it gives us. For not setting our sights on where they set theirs. Our civilization is at odds with all their conceptions. This is why they still know nothing of us. This is why modelling on their example would be suicide. (ToT 83)

Amandla’s view appears to echo what Ralph Waldo Emerson, the American Transcendentalist philosopher, had warned his fellow Americans about blindly following the British by stating, in his essay “Self-Reliance,” that “Imitation is suicide.” (Emerson 67)

Strongly conscious of her roots going back to the ancient Kemite civilization1, Amandla finds herself committed to protect the ancestral traditions against the forces of colonialisation and modernization. “Aset2, Goddess of reunification, is the rock” (Tot 71) on which she leans. She feels the pressing urge to undertake the responsibility to undo the damage done. She pointedly asks, “Who will pay to heal our souls? Doesn’t someone have to pay? … For all the blood spilt. For all the humiliations. For the unending dispossessions… For all that we suffer without being able to name it because we have been robbed of so much and so ripped apart. Who will pay to repair the Kemite soul?” (ToT 101) Amandla makes it clear that she does not idealize the Kemites but nevertheless they are special to her because they remind her of wrongs done to them. She says: “The injustices that still afflict us. That’s why our rehabilitation means so much to me. How can it be otherwise when I come from a country where our people are continually ostracized.” (ToT 83) Filled with the pain and agony of seeing the world with ‘foreign eyes’, she bemoans: “I wailed that I wouldn’t pronounce the word Black to name my people or myself. I wailed that our names have been stolen. Our spiritual protections. Our particular vibration. I wailed that there’s no place on earth where we are not disdained.” (ToT 101)

Amandla reiterates her rationale to start the Heru school: “I wanted to empower my people and their contribution to the world. It was essential for everyone to recognize the universal wherever it existed, in all its diverse modes of ex-pression.” (ToT 100) Amandla clarifies further that she may have initially started the school of Heru3 as a means of exacting retribution for the damage caused by the “spoliators” but her mission, she affirms, is to endeavour to “restore Humanity’s missing piece. The Kemite presence.” (ToT 103). Her purpose is to “reach the stage of universal love…where there is neither race nor culture. It will come.”  (ToT 104) 

On the personal front, Amandla attributes the failure of her union with Dio to the incompatibility arising out of his lack of concern for her as a person. He was there and yet not there. It is important that Amandla does not allow the failure of her relationship with Dio to plunge her into deep despair. Strengthened by the higher goals she has set for herself in life, she seeks her need for companionship through her ties with her new lover, Misipo, a carpenter by profession and an already married man. This is made apparent when she declares to the memory of Dio:

I don’t love him like I loved you but he gives me what you always denied me. What your body withheld. What I need more than anything. I can admit it now. I am a woman with him. It’s important to me. To be touched. To be taken. … What happens between two people who surrender completely to each other is beyond the flesh. It’s a spiritual act…To discover too that desire is more than a craving. It’s a feeling. (ToT 81)

What seems to characterize Amandla is her faith in a relationship reminiscent of what D. H. Lawrence calls the “religion of blood” that seeks the unity of humankind through love, compassion and forgiveness.

Ixora’s account follows Amandla’s story. Madame’s narrative does shed a good deal of light on why she finds it difficult to accept Ixora in her household but through Ixora’s story one gets to know what she has gone through in her life before she and her son Kabral arrive at Madame’s and Dio’s home. The chapter on Ixora begins with her disclosing how she had been beaten violently by Dio and thrown out of his car amid a torrential downpour for breaking off her engagement with him. Even in such a perilous moment of agony, Ixora expe-riences a feeling of deliverance from her plight:

I don’t care, I feel free, even though I’m lying here in the mud, without the slightest idea how I’ll get out of this situation, I’m not in pain, you bashed me too hard for there to be any pain left, it hit me like a torpedo blast, causing numbness all over, such things happen it seems, when the pain is too strong, you feel nothing anymore.” (ToT 118-119)

What is evident from Ixora’s outburst is her resilience in fighting against injustice without fear and anxiety about what the future has in store. With courage and conviction Ixora unravels various events and circumstances of her life that have transformed her from being a helpless individual at the mercy of the storms of fate to a resolute person who can decide for herself no matter what. In the very first line of her story, she tells the absent Dio, “the moment is hardly appropriate, but I feel like laughing.” (ToT  118) After constantly drifting along with the winds of change and accepting whatever and whoever seemed to give her hope of companionship, she has finally mustered the courage to break off her engage-ment with Dio. Her decision sets her free: I “understood that my life was elsewhere, that I wanted to actually live it after having carried it around like a millstone.” (Tot 119) From the vantage point of the present moment, she looks back at her past and shares her observation of the persons who have figured in her life so far: her debauched father who had deserted his wife (her mother), her husband who was killed in an accident, her son Kabral, Dio’s mother and Dio himself. She reminds Dio that they were an odd pair “that never mates, that never seeks warmth from each other’s bodies, a couple founded on the loss of a friend…” (ToT 122)

Her love for reading and teaching poetry stimulates her to reach her point of affirmation in life. “What we wanted most was to feel at home in the place where we were born, to exist without being challenged, not to have to do anything special to enjoy a semblance of consideration, to be able to tell, we too, the story of our presence in our country.” (ToT 135)

Placed at the beginning of the fourth and final chapter of the novel, the epigraph from Audre Lorde’s poem, “Who Said It Was Simple,” offers a glimpse into the consciousness of Madame’s daughter, Tiki: “There are so many roots/ to the tree of anger/ that sometimes/ the branches shatter/ before they bear.” (ToT 179) Like the trees and people that face the ravages of the storm, Tiki is determined to “rebuild again.” She points out the importance of ancestral langu-age in preserving and sustaining time-honored traditions that unite commu-nities. Tiki calls it the folly of destiny that their mother, Madame, had to contend with “two lineageless women, two descendants of slaves” (ToT 190) in her life. She makes a reference to Eshe, whom they had met on their vacation, and the letters from her to Madame that Tiki discovered in her mother’s closet: “The last missives were the song of a wounded bird. There was no anger in them but they spoke of the pain of having dreamed too brightly, of having to wake up and learn how to breathe again.” (ToT 191) In her empathy with her mother, Tiki accuses her brother Dio of not showing any concern. Tiki says, “You know nothing of the forces that have always oppressed her, you didn’t take enough interest in your parents to find out who they were, the kind of people they were.” (TOT 205) She adds, “That’s the way it is for everyone in our community… we know we are the fruit of a tree that no one will take responsibility for cutting down.” (ToT 206)

Musing over the expectations one has from women, Tiki cites a long observation of her friend Camilla:

Women should look like flowers and nothing should mar their light, dainty appearance… Most women find out about life through having to recover from a humiliation. Learning to get back on your feet is the first lesson to master. To be a woman is to clench your teeth inside and hang a smile on your face outside. It’s having to cope all the time. Taking your husband’s blows. Knowing you belong to him without possessing him….Women have to give pleasure, not to take it. This is why women are taught moderation in gesture and in tone. Don’t raise your voice. Eat little in public. Happiness is not of this world. Not for the people of the Continent.” (ToT 209-210)

Tiki is aware of the demands that are made from women. It may remind one of Nora, the protagonist of Ibsen’s The Dolls House who rebukes her husband after being treated as a doll by all concerned till her awakening to the realities of her selfhood. Tiki recounts that she fell in love at the age of fifteen with a boy who had no inkling of her feelings. She was sixteen when she lost her virginity, “with a boy paid for his services.” (ToT 199) Towards the end of the novel Tiki muses over her relationships with various men and remarks how, in her conversations with her mother, she has cleverly avoided answering “specific questions on the thorny subject of my love life. The fact that she loved a woman will not enable her to understand my way of loving men. It’s my life, my affair.” (ToT 254) It is obvious that Tiki assumes responsibility for her own future and confidently justifies her relationship with her present companion: “Our sexual needs are in harmony, we like alternative medicine and we’re vegetarians. I’m a bit down in the dumps, but no one dies from that. You’re going to call, Big Bro, I’ll be here.” (ToT 255)

Taken together, the four different, though interconnected, narratives provide a comprehensive foray into the issues and challenges that African women have to contend with in freeing themselves from the oppressive fetters imposed by social, political, and cultural mores that torment them ceaselessly. Through the stories of four women – Madame, Amandla, Ixora and Tiki – Leonora Miano offers a comprehensive picture of women in Francophone Africa who have to regularly engage themselves in the trapeze balancing act not only to survive and evolve their individual identities but also to project their dreams and aspirations The hope of redemption lies in this connectedness despite their individual differences, a fact that is outlined by the epigraph from Ayi Kwei Armah’s novel Two Thousand Seasons in the section on Amandla:

Our vocation

goes against all

unconnectedness. It

is a call to create the

way again, and where

even the foundations

have been assaulted

and destroyed, where

restoration has been

made impossible, simply

to create the way. (ToT 68)

It is pertinent to mention that, in the manner of Chinua Achebe, Miano intuitively chose the language of the colonizer to ascertain her African identity. Going against the norms of assimilation that demanded forsaking one's own cultural roots, Miano, unlike many Francophone African writers, opted to ground her concerns in clearing the mist of anonymity that shrouded the “dark” continent. While African-American writers celebrate 'Black is Beautiful', it is heartening to see Francophone African women writers beginning to proclaim to the world the innate beauty of Africa in terms of both natural and human resources. Veronique Tadjo is right when she proclaims from the perspective of today that Francophone African “women's writing has become a literary phenomenon. There are almost as many African women writers as men.” (Tadjo email)

Miano's statement that she ‘thinks and writes’ in French brings into the limelight the credit that must go to Gila Walker for translating Torment of Twilight into English with obvious expertise at her command. The powerful and lucid passages cited from the translated version amply show that not much has been lost in the process of translation. On the contrary, Walker's aesthetically beautiful renderings may win for Miano a hugely enlarged audience in comparison to those who read her in the French original. The context and the content of this novel are bound to draw both lay readers and scholars who believe, like Leonora Miano, in the imperatives of “connectedness” to “create the way” for the articulation of the hitherto suppressed voice of even the “soft/ black/ woman.”

NOTES

1. The Kemite tribe is associated with Kemet, one of the names given to Egypt by its ancient indigenous inhabitants. The ancient Kemet people, also known as the ancient Egyptians, were a civilization that lived along the Nile River in Northeast Africa from around 3100 BCE to 30 BCE. In a modern context the term Kemet has become associated with placing Egypt in its African cultural context.

2. Aset, the goddess of healing and magic, was crucial to ancient Egyptian religious beliefs. She is known today by her Greek name Isis; however, the ancient Egyptians called her Aset.

3. Heru, also known as Horus or Hor in Ancient Egyptian, is one of the most significant ancient Egyptian deities who served many functions, most notably as the god of kingship, healing, protection, the sun, and the sky. 

WORKS CITED

Armah, Ayi Kwei. Two Thousand Seasons. East African Pub. House, 1973.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Self-Reliance.” Selected Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Edited by H. Gilman with a New Introduction by Charles Johnson. Signet Classic, 2003. pp. 266-292.

Irene Assiba d 'Almeida. Francophone African Women Writers: Destroying the Emptiness of Silence. Gainesville. University Press of Florida. 1994.

Miano, Leonora. Dark Heart of the Night.  Translated by Tamsin Black. Bison Books, 2012.

Miano, Leonora. Interview Flashmag. https://www.flashmag.tv/single-post/2013/10/16/interview-with-author-leonora-miano. Accessed August 15, 2022.

Miano, Leonora. Season of the Shadow. Translated by Gila Walker. Seagull Books, 2018.

Miano, Léonora. Twilight of Torment: I. Melancholy. Translated from the French by Gila Walker. Seagull Books, 2022. Abbreviated in parenthesis as ToT against page no.(s).

Okara, Gabriel. “The Piano and the Drums,” https://steemit.com/ poem/@ kebieri123/visiting-the-riverside-anthology-the-piano-and-the-drums-by-gab riel-okara. Accessed 10 April 2024.

Tadjo, Véronique. Email to Nibir K. Ghosh. November 3, 2025. 

Woolf, Virginia.  “Modern Novels.”  Times Literary Supplement, 10 April, 1919.

·        Dr. Nibir K. Ghosh is UGC Emeritus Fellow and former Head, Department of English Studies and Research, Agra College, Agra. A Senior Fulbright Fellow (2003-04), University of Washington, Seattle, USA, he is an internationally acclaimed scholar of British, American and African American studies.


Re-Markings Vol.24 No.2 September 2025. pp. 38-49.

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Comments

Dear Nibir,

I've finally had an opportunity to read your very fine article on Leonora Miano's Twilight of Torment. This is a superb work of scholarship, in my view, and it introduced me to an important writer unknown to me until now. Thank you for enlightening me, through your discussion of her characters, to how Miano delivers so completely the pain and passion, suffering and triumphs of African women. I'll always remember what you've written here, and that haunting yet sad quote from Sonia Sanchez's poem "Present": "there is no place for a soft/black/ woman." That speaks volumes, doesn't it?Emoji 

Dhanyavada,EmojiEmoji Chuck - Dr. Charles Johnson, US National Book Award Winner, Seattle, USA


*****

 

Dear Nibir

Thank you for sending your essay. The subject you write about is one I know very little about, so I learned a great deal by reading it. I think you do a very good job of presenting the big picture and at the same time you focus on the work of Miano. You make effective use of all your strengths as a thinker, a critic, and a writer.  Bravo. - Jonah Raskin, Sonoma State University, California, USA

                                                                                  
                                                                               *****

Dear Professor Ghosh, 

Many thanks for the article on Leonora Miano's book, Twilight of Torment.
I know Leonora as our paths have crossed many times during conferences and literary festivals.
She is a highly regarded author in France and elsewhere.
I read your analysis of the book with interest.
It significantly enhances its literary value and scope.
If I have one small remark to make, it is at the very beginning of your introduction - happy to see my name mentioned. You talk of "the newly emergent Francophone African Women's writings". However, we were the pioneers. 


Today, it might be more appropriate to say that women's writing has become a literary  phenomenon. There are almost as many African women writers as men. A wider access to education and a more diverse publishing industry have created the right conditions.
With my very best wishes, Véronique Tadjo

Véronique Tadjo is a writer, poet, visual artist and academic. She was born in Paris and grew up in Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire. She holds a doctorate in Black American literature and civilisation from the Sorbonne Paris IV, and was a Fulbright scholar at Howard University in Washington, DC. She was Professor and Head of French and Francophone Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, where she lived for several years. Her creative work has been translated into many languages, including German, Italian, Spanish, Arabic and Japanese.