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Go Tell It on the Mountain

James Baldwin

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Beschreibung

In one of the greatest American classics, Baldwin chronicles a fourteen-year-old boy's discovery of the terms of his identity. Baldwin's rendering of his protagonist's spiritual, sexual, and moral struggle of self-invention opened new possibilities in the American language and in the way Americans understand themselves.

With lyrical precision, psychological directness, resonating symbolic power, and a rage that is at once unrelenting and compassionate, Baldwin tells the story of the stepson of the minister of a storefront Pentecostal church in Harlem one Saturday in March of 1935. Originally published in 1953, Baldwin said of his first novel, "Mountain is the book I had to write if I was ever going to write anything else." 

“With vivid imagery, with lavish attention to details ... [a] feverish story.” —
The New York Times

"With vivid imagery, with lavish attention to details, Mr. Baldwin has told his feverish story." -The New York Times

"Brutal, objective and compassionate." -San Francisco Chronicle

"It is written with poetic intensity and great narrative skill." -Harper's

"Strong and powerful." -Commonweal

"A sense of reality and vitality that is truly extraordinary. . . . He knows Harlem, his people, and the language they use." -Chicago Sun-Times

"This is a distinctive book, both realistic and brutal, but a novel of extraordinary sensitivity and poetry." -Chicago Sunday Tribune

James Baldwin was born on August 2, 1924, and educated in New York. His first novel,
Go Tell It on the Mountain, appeared in 1953 to excellent reviews and immediately was recognized as establishing a profound and permanent new voice in American letters. “Mountain is the book I had to write if I was ever going to write anything else,” he remarked. Baldwin's play
The Amen Corner was first performed at Howard University in 1955 (it was staged commercially in the 1960s), and his acclaimed collection of essays Notes of a Native Son, was published the same year. A second collection of essays,
Nobody Knows My Name, was published in 1961 between his novels
Giovanni's Room (1956) and
Another Country (1961).

The appearance of
The Fire Next Time in 1963, just as the civil rights movement was exploding across the American South, galvanized the nation and continues to reverberate as perhaps the most prophetic and defining statement ever written of the continuing costs of Americans’ refusal to face their own history. It became a national bestseller, and Baldwin was featured on the cover of
Time magazine. Critic Irving Howe said that
The Fire Next Time achieved “heights of passionate exhortation unmatched in modern American writing.” In 1964
Blues for Mister Charlie, his play based on the murder of a young black man in Mississippi, was produced by the Actors Studio in New York. That same year, Baldwin was made a member of the National Institute of Arts and Letters and collaborated with the photographer Richard Avedon on
Nothing Personal, a series of portraits of America intended as a eulogy for the slain Medger Evers. A collection of short stories,
Going to Meet the Man, was published in 1965, and in 1968,
Tell Me How Long the Train's Been Gone, his last novel of the 1960s appeared.

In the 1970s he wrote two more collections of essays and cultural criticism:
No Name in the Street (1972) and
The Devil Finds Work (1976). He produced two novels: the bestselling
If Beale Street Could Talk (1974) and
Just Above My Head (1979) and also a children’s book
Little Man, Little Man: A Story of Childhood (1976). He collaborated with Margaret Mead on
A Rap on Race (1971) and with the poet-activist Nikki Giovanni on
A Dialogue (1973). He also adapted Alex Haley’s
The Autobiography of Malcolm X into
One Day When I Was Lost.

In the remaining years of his life, Baldwin produced a volume of poetry,
Jimmy’s Blues (1983), and a final collection of essays,
The Price of the Ticket. Baldwin’s last work,
The Evidence of Things Not Seen (1985), was prompted by a series of child murders in Atlanta. Baldwin was made a Commander of the French Legion of Honor in June 1986. Among the other awards he received are a Eugene F. Saxon Memorial Trust Award, a Rosenwald fellowship, a Guggenheim fellowship, a Partisan Review fellowship, and a Ford Foundation grant.

James Baldwin died at his home in Saint-Paul-de-Vence in France on December 1, 1987.

Produktdetails

Einband Taschenbuch
Seitenzahl 272
Erscheinungsdatum 12.09.2013
Sprache Englisch
ISBN 978-0-345-80654-3
Verlag Random House LCC US
Maße (L/B/H) 17.2/10.3/2.7 cm
Gewicht 131 g
Verkaufsrang 9344

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Baldwin ist ein sagenhafter Autor mit einer wunderbaren Gabe die Englische Sprache auf herausragender Weise zu nutzen. Er hat auch unglaubliche Einblicke in die Psyche seiner Figuren und kann ambivalente Handlungen und Gefühle glaubhaft darstellen, wie ich es selten je erlebt habe. Die Schwäche dieses Buches sind jedoch die Wie... Baldwin ist ein sagenhafter Autor mit einer wunderbaren Gabe die Englische Sprache auf herausragender Weise zu nutzen. Er hat auch unglaubliche Einblicke in die Psyche seiner Figuren und kann ambivalente Handlungen und Gefühle glaubhaft darstellen, wie ich es selten je erlebt habe. Die Schwäche dieses Buches sind jedoch die Wiederholungen. Die religiösen Metaphern und Allegorien überhäufen sich so stark, dass sie undurchdringlich, repetitiv und langweilig werden und dadurch an Kraft verlieren. Manchmal verliert Baldwin sich in beschreiberischen, lyrischen Passagen und sagt dasselbe in fünf verschiedenen religiösen Bildsprachen, wodurch man beim Lesen wirklich die Lust verliert, weiter zu machen. Man merkt, dass Baldwin Mühe hatte sich wiederholende Passagen zu löschen, weil er hie und da fabelhafte Sätze hatte. Das Buch hätte definitiv eine härtere Lektorenhand benötigt, weil die Stärke des Buches liegt and Baldwins sprachlicher Kraft und seiner scharfen Analyse von Rassismus, Homofeindlichkeit, religiösen Fanatismus und White Supremacy. Die Botschaft ist klar und wichtig, aber durch die Repetitionen ertrinkt sie im poetisch-religiösen Sumpf. Ich werde seine späteren Werke lesen und hoffe, dass dort Baldwin seine Fähigkeiten perfektioniert hat.

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  • I looked down the line,
    And I wondered.

    Everyone had always said that john would be a preacher when he grew up, just like his father. It had been said so often that John, without ever thinking about it, had come to believe it himself. Not until the morning of his fourteenth birthday did he really begin to think about it, and by then it was already too late.

    His earliest memories-which were in a way, his only memories-were of the hurry and brightness of Sunday mornings. They all rose together on that day; his father, who did not have to go to work, and led them in prayer before breakfast; his mother, who dressed up on that day, and looked almost young, with her hair straightened, and on her head the close-fitting white cap that was the uniform of holy women; his younger brother, Roy, who was silent that day because his father was home. Sarah, who wore a red ribbon in her hair that day, and was fondled by her father. And the baby, Ruth, who was dressed in pink and white, and rode in her mother's arms to church.

    The church was not very far away, four blocks up Lenox Avenue, on a corner not far from the hospital. It was to this hospital that his mother had gone when Roy, and Sarah, and Ruth were born. John did not remember very clearly the first time she had gone, to have Roy; folks said that he had cried and carried on the whole time his mother was away; he remembered only enough to be afraid every time her belly began to swell, knowing that each time the swelling began it would not end until she was taken from him, to come back with a stranger. Each time this happened she became a little more of a stranger herself. She would soon be going away again, Roy said-he knew much more about such things than John. John had observed his mother closely, seeing no swelling yet, but his father had prayed one morning for the "little voyager soon to be among them," and so John knew that Roy spoke the truth.

    Every Sunday morning, then, since John could remember, they had taken to the streets, the Grimes family on their way to church. Sinners along the avenue watched them-men still wearing their Saturday-night clothes, wrinkled and dusty now, muddy-eyed and muddy-faced; and women with harsh voices and tight, bright dresses, cigarettes between their fingers or held tightly in the corners of their mouths. They talked, and laughed, and fought together, and the women fought like the men. John and Roy, passing these men and women, looked at one another briefly, John embarrassed and Roy amused. Roy would be like them when he grew up, if the Lord did not change his heart. These men and women they passed on Sunday mornings had spent the night in bars, or in cat houses, or on the streets, or on rooftops, or under the stairs. They had been drinking. They had gone from cursing to laughter, to anger, to lust. Once he and Roy had watched a man and woman in the basement of a condemned house. They did it standing up. The woman had wanted fifty cents, and the man had flashed a razor.

    John had never watched again; he had been afraid. But Roy had watched them many times, and he told John he had done it with some girls down the block.

    And his mother and father, who went to church on Sundays, they did it too, and sometimes John heard them in the bedroom behind him, over the sound of rats' feet, and rat screams, and the music and cursing from the harlot's house downstairs.

    Their church was called the Temple of the Fire Baptized. It was not the biggest church in Harlem, nor yet the smallest, but John had been brought up to believe it was the holiest and best. His father was head deacon in this church-there were only two, the other a round, black man named Deacon Braithwaite-and he took up the collection, and sometimes he preached. The pastor, Father James, was a genial, well-fed man with a face like a darker moon. It was he who preached on Pentecost Sundays, and led revivals in the summertime, and anointed and h