Between the novel’s opening and closing – the beginning of the service, with ‘the Lord high on thewind tonight’, and the closing, the morning, with John writhing for mercy on the threshing floor infront of the altar – we read the stories of his relatives: Florence, his aunt; Gabriel, his father; andhis mother Elizabeth. In three long chapters we come to know the beliefs, the leave-takings, theloves, the honour and dishonour, that had made up the lives of these three people, lives which haveanimated a host of other lives, and which, by and by, have come to animate the life of John Grimestoo. There are secrets in the novel, as they emerge in a beautiful, disturbing pattern, uncoveredwords speaking clearly, soulfully, of this one family’s legacy of pain and silence.
　　In Go Tell It on the Mountain, John has a certain dread of the life that awaits him; he feelsdoomed and he dreams of escape. He has made decisions. ‘He will not be like his father, or hisfather’s father. He would have another life.’ It might be said that this has been a vain dream ofartists – and teenagers – since the beginning of time, but in Baldwin it is neither vain not merely adream, for John Grimes represents, in all the eloquence of his wishes, a new kind of American. Hisfather’s fathers were slaves. John’s father, Gabriel, is free, bur he is expected to swear allegianceto the flag that has not sworn allegiance to him, and he lives in a racist land. On this front,Baldwin’s America was to become a battleground, but John, given the date of events in the novel,can never be a Civil Rights cipher. He feels guilty for failing to share Gabriel’s unambivalenthatred of white people, but John has additional freedoms in mind – freedom from the localoppressions of Gabriel being first among them. Go Tell It on the Mountain is not a protest novel, itis a political novel of the human heart. White men may be evil, but they are not the beginning northe end of evil. Baldwin was interested at this point in corruption at the first level of legislativepower – the family.
　　Baldwin wrote about black people. He did not write novels which understood the lives ofblack people only in terms of white subjugation. At the same time he recognized every terror ofsegregation, and Go Tell It on the Mountain is a shocking, and shockingly quiet, dramatization ofwhat segregation meant in the years when the novel is set. Early on we see John contemplating the forbidden world inside the New York Public Library, a world of corridors and marble steps and noplace for a boy from Harlem. ‘And then everyone,’ Baldwin writes, ‘all the white people inside,would know that he was not used to great buildings, or to many books, and they would look at himwith pity.’ This is a strong thing for a writer to remember, or to imagine, and Baldwin brings it tothe page with a sense of anger, and regret. The novel is marked by the dark presence of ‘downhome’, the Old South, where all of John’s family came from in search of a new life. This wasBaldwin’s primary milieu: the Harlem of migrant black Americans, bringing with them the storiesof their fathers and mothers, one generation away from slavery.
　　This Northerness was important to Baldwin. It was the world he knew from his childhoodand the world he cared most about. He had a feeling for the hopes that were invested in the journeyNorth – ‘North,’ where, as Gabriel’s mother says, ‘wickedness dwelt and Death rode mightythrough the streets’. In one of his essays, ‘A Fly in the Buttermilk’, Baldwin wrote of anotherSoutherner’s contempt for the North, a man he tried to interview for a piece on the progress ofCivil Rights: ‘He forced me to admit, at once, that I had never been to college; that NorthernNegroes lived herded together, like pigs in a pen; that the campus on which we met was a tribute tothe industry and determination of Southern Negroes master of social science. “Negroes in the South form a community.” ’
　　 his talent for moral ambivalence, his taste for the terrifying patternsof life, the elegant force of his disputatious spirit, as much Henry James as Bessie Smith, was notalways to find favour with his black contemporaries. Langston Hughes called Go Tell It to theMountain ‘a low-down story in a velvet bag’. ‘A Joan of Arc of the cocktail party’ was AmiriBaraka’s comment on Baldwin. Some of this could be constructed as standard resentment –reminiscent of the kind expressed by Gabriel towards John for not hating whites enough – andsome was a reaction against Baldwin’s popularity with the white literary establishment. But thatwasn’t all. By the time he was writing novels, and writing these essays – works of magical powerand directness – Baldwin had come to feel that the black ‘protest’ novel was breathlesslyredundant. In a recent essay about Baldwin’s writing, the novelist Darryl Pinckney comments onBaldwin’s rejection of Richard Wright Service apartment, the author of Native Son:
　　In retrospect Baldwin praises Wright’s work for its dry, savage folkloric humour andfor how deeply it conveys what life was like on Chicago’s South Side. The climate that hadonce made Wright’s work read like a racial manifesto had gone. Baldwin found whenreading Wright again that he did not think of the 1930s or even of Negroes, because Wright’scharacters and situations had universal meanings.
　　In ‘Alas, Poor Richard’, an essay in the collection Nobody Knows My Name, Baldwin concludesthat Wright was not the polemical firebrand he took himself to be. Many of Baldwin’s blackcontemporaries hated this view.
　　Baldwin’s first novel, in respect of all this, demonstrates a remarkable unit of form andcontent; the style of the novel makes clear the extent to which he was turning away from hisliterary forefathers. It may be sensible to see the novel as a farewell not only the Harlem of hisfather, but to the literary influence of Richard Wright and Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Baldwin was unremitting on this point, and these several goodbyes, offered from his Paris exile, became thecreed of his early writing. ‘In most of the novels written by Negroes until today,’ he wrote, ‘thereis a great space where sex ought to be; and what usually fills this space is violence.’
　　Go Tell It on the Mountain is a very sensual novel hong kong company formation, a book soaked in the Bible and theblues. Spiritual song is there in the sentences, at the head of chapters, and it animates the voices onevery side during the ‘coming through’ of John Grimes. As he steps up to the altar John issuddenly aware of the sound of his own prayers – ‘trying not to hear the words that he forcedoutwards from his throat’. Baldwin’s language has the verbal simplicity of the Old Testament, aswell as its metaphorical boldness. The rhythms of the blues, a shade of regret, a note of pain risingout of experience, are deeply inscribed in the novel, and they travel freely along the lines ofdialogue. There is a kind of metaphorical, liturgical energy in some novels – in Faulkner’s TheSound and the Fury, in Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, in Elizabeth Smart’s ByGrand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept, in Toni Morrison’s Beloved – which is utterlyessential to the art. It may seem at first overpowering, to waft in the air like perfume, or to have thetexture of Langston Hughes’s velvet bag, but it is, in each of the cases, and especially in the caseof Baldwin’s first novel, a matter of straightforward literary integrity. Every word is necessary.
　　Every image runs clear in the blood of the novel.