Modern and historical black literature reveals universal themes
Roger K. Miller Special to the Deseret News"Go Tell It on the Mountain," originally published in 1953 when the author was just shy of 29, was James Baldwin's first novel. It is also probably his best novel and, though the one has absolutely nothing to do with the other, it has the least direct concern with race of all his major writings.
Though it risks banality to put it this way, in "Mountain," Baldwin is more concerned with the human condition than with the condition of the African-American. And since that in turn risks ignorance, I'll quickly add that, of course the unhappy condition of African-Americans forms the background to every page.
The themes of this novel transcend race and racism and go to the heart of the human struggle. One theme is a struggle in itself: that between father and son. Another is religion. For this is that rarity in modern American literature, a deeply spiritual novel, and religion forms a dominant theme second only to, and intertwined with, yet another: That theme is love.
Early on, the central character, young John Grimes, comprehends "totally, without belief or understanding, that he had in himself a power that other people lacked; that he could use this to save himself, to raise himself; and that, perhaps, with this power he might one day win that love which he so longed for."
It is just possible that, at the end, John does win it. None of the others do, though all long for it desperately.
The novel, heavily autobiographical, takes place in Harlem over the course of one day, John's 14th birthday, in 1935. Through flashbacks, it goes into the histories of the main characters: Gabriel Grimes, John's stepfather; Elizabeth Grimes, his mother and Gabriel's second wife; Florence, Gabriel's older sister; and Elisha, an older adolescent who is a rising star in John's church, the Temple of the Fire Baptized.
In addition, in the historical background are Esther, the woman Gabriel loved but abandoned down South after she bore their illegitimate child; the child, Royal, whom Gabriel ignores, and who dies a violent death as a young man; Deborah, Gabriel's saintly first wife, whom he married out of a sense that it would help him rise as a preacher in the church, and who dies; Frank, Florence's husband, who deserts her; and Richard, Elizabeth's first lover and Gabriel's father, who kills himself after he is humiliated by the police for a crime he did not commit.
Richard's suicide is one of the few depictions in "Mountain" of the overt, destructive effects of racism. Another is Deborah's brutal rape by a gang of white men. There are dozens of other indications of racism, but these come closest to the kind of shocking actions found in, say, a protest novel, which Baldwin did not -- and did not want to -- write here.
It is, then, a veritable caucus race of frustrated (or destroyed) love: Deborah for Gabriel, Gabriel for Esther, Florence for Frank, Elizabeth for Richard, and, very possibly, John for Elisha.
The unrequitedness of their love is not entirely or even mainly their own fault. A racist society has warped their lives so badly in so many ways, particularly their self-respect, that it is almost impossible for strong relationships to grow. Fear and guilt, Baldwin shows, form part of the base of racism.
Hatreds parallel loves: John for Gabriel, Florence for Gabriel, Gabriel for Deborah. John, of whom "it was said that he had a Great Future," rebels in the only way possible for him, by competing with Gabriel in the church.
Gabriel, who once held great revival meetings but is now "only a caretaker in the house of God," would rather see his son Roy, John's half-brother, have that future than his stepson. When Roy comes home bleeding from a stab wound, "John knew, in the moment his father's eyes swept over him, that he hated John because John was not lying on the sofa where Roy lay."
Self-hatreds also fester. Florence hates her blackness. Gabriel, too, is filled with self-hatred, though he subverts or masks it by his religious actions.
The novel is divided into three parts. The first, "The Seventh Day" (an allusion to the biblical creation story), leads up to a big church service. The third, "The Threshing-Floor," depicts John's joyous conversion to the Lord.
In between is "Part Two: The Prayers of the Saints," though there are neither prayers nor saints, but visits to their unhappy pasts by Florence, Gabriel and Elizabeth. We incidentally learn here that the grown family members are part of the great northward migration of blacks.
All of this adds up to a most accomplished, professional, complete book by a writer who knows what he is doing. Oddly enough, for a debut, it is the author's most unified and coherent novel and has about it a gravitas and profundity that is as rich as anything in Faulkner.
The third-person narrator recounts events as they happen, not through the prism of time, so that the impression is one of immediate directness. Even in "Part Two," the narrator enters the minds of those "praying," taking on their perceptions and thoughts, yet remaining distinct.
The action moves toward John's conversion, the novel's resolution. The question is: How are we to understand this resolution?
That is, is the book's attitude toward the conversion skeptical and ironic, or is it sympathetic? Everything points to the latter, including the book's title, the section titles, the epigraph and the abundant biblical references.
The conversion is real, a momentous religious experience; it is triumphant, not tragic. All along, Baldwin has taken a serious attitude toward faith, not a mocking one, though his deft use of irony tends to mock its adherents, especially Gabriel.
Whatever Baldwin's attitude toward Christianity may have become later, here, at least, it is not dismissive. Nevertheless, John's particular conversion aside, he leaves wide open the question whether religion is enough to answer the singular situation of the black person in American society.
Roger K. Miller, a newspaperman for many years, is a freelance writer and editor for several publications and a frequent contributor to the Deseret News.
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