The prose in James Baldwin’s Go Tell it on the Mountain (1953) is like
crystal. It works with force, clarity, and evocativeness. Baldwin writes with
control and authority. His prose serves the
narrative without calling attention to itself. It’s the story he’s after.
For Baldwin, family, religion,
race, and place make a human being, and that process of making is always in
motion, from childhood to maturity.
Every child rebels against his parents, his abusive father, his
overbearing or overly affectionate mother, the sisters who resent him or urge
him on, the children who disappoint or rebuke him.
The narrative moves back and
forth in time, tracing the development of characters and relationships,
spanning the early years of the 20th century up through what I would
guess are the 1940s. At the novel’s
center are Gabriel, a preacher, and his adopted son John. The relationship between these two is replete
with tension. Gabriel resents his son
for not being of his own blood, for being the product of what he regards as his
wife’s sinful relationship with an unmarried man. His own son Roy died from a
knife wound. John does not understand
his father’s hostility. The struggle between father and son, Baldwin suggests,
is a powerful factor in character development.
The dominance of men, often brutal or violent, is a major factor in the
development of women, who have their own ways of dealing with, navigating through,
the men who oppress them. Although Gabriel and John are the main focus, the
novel devotes significant attention to Elizabeth (John’s mother and Gabriel’s
second wife), Florence (Gabriel’s sister, and John’s aunt), and Deborah (John’s
first wife). A confrontation between
Gabriel and Florence helps bring the novel to its end.
Baldwin portrays religion as a
sustaining and oppressive force. It’s
inescapable. Being born again is the
central moment in both Gabriel and John’s lives. In both cases redemption is more a means to
an end than the end itself. For Gabriel, it becomes a camouflage that hides his
own sins and failures. For John, though
it provides a certain immediate relief, it does not solve his problems with his
father. Of all his family members, his
father is the one person who does not rejoice when Gabriel is redeemed. Religion
provides the underlying definitions and framework of human life, even while it
is something to resist and break free from. In James Wright’s stories and in Native Son (1940) and Black Boy (1945), religion is an
oppressive force to be rebelled against and cast off. In this early Baldwin novel,
it is a powerful social expectation, a sustaining and oppressing medium through
which one must struggle.
I listened to an audio recording
of this novel. Audio recordings work for
many books, but not this one. The
reader’s voice brimmed with fatalism, seriousness, and doom. The tone of voice defined the novel for me as
much as the events and words of the novel itself. The voice of the narrator
became an obstacle.
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