"She wielded a pen that made tyrants tremble."
Mark Twain (on Harriet Beecher Stowe).
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It was the first book that made me angry, made me cry, and made me question racial injustice. Why, I wondered, would anyone write a book with such an unhappy ending?
Life for the protagonist, Tom, began as endurable. His master, Mr. Shelby, was a kindly man, though burdened by debt. Then the stranger came to town. John Gardner once wrote, “Every novel is based on two plots: someone goes on a journey, and someone comes to town.” In this story, the stranger was Mr. Haley, a cruel slave trader who purchased Tom to settle Shelby’s debts. Young George Shelby, the son, promised Tom that one day he would buy him back.
Tom’s journey was one of relentless suffering. He endured beatings, deprivation, and cruelty, culminating in his arrival at the plantation of Simon Legree, a man whose savagery knew no bounds.
Years later, I revisited Uncle Tom’s Cabin. After Tom is beaten and left for dead, George Shelby finally arrives, as he had promised, to buy Tom back:
“Oh, Master George, it’s too late.”
“You shan’t die; you mustn’t die! I’ve come to take you home,” said George with impassioned vehemence.
“Oh, Master George, you’re too late. The Lord’s bought me. Come to take me home, and I long to go. Heaven’s better than Kentuck.”
And therein lies the justice. Tom, the first genuine Christian I ever encountered—even if only in fiction—was faithful, kind, and loving. Justice wasn’t served by earthly courts or human hands; it was delivered in hope and redemption. With the immortal line “Heaven’s better than Kentuck,” Tom’s suffering ended.
Legree could no longer punish him. “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul,” Jesus said. Justice for Tom wasn’t found in this world but in the next.