Read the excerpt from Black Boy . A quarter of a century was to elapse between the time when I saw my father sitting with the strange woman and the time when I was to see him again. . . . I stood before him, poised, my mind aching as it embraced the simple nakedness of his life, feeling how completely his soul was imprisoned by the slow flow of the seasons, by wind and rain and sun, how fastened were his memories to a crude and raw past, how chained were his actions and emotions to the direct, animalistic impulses of his withering body. Wright’s purpose telling this anecdote is to illustrate his father’s