The Color Purple for Mormons

It doesn't matter whether the writing in this book is superb, above average, acceptable, tolerable, or even difficult. This is a book that had to be written.

As the rest of the country tries to make up for the utter lack of information about black influences in American history, it's gratifying to know that a pair of LDS members are working to accomplish the same laudable goal in church history. Accomplish it they do.

The book follows the lives of two black families as they find the Gospel, convert, and join with the Saints in Nauvoo, as well as the different choices they make when Joseph Smith is martyred and the church follows Brigham Young out west. The reader is amazed to discover how intimately associated with Joseph Smith these two families were. The amazement comes because, until now, no one has seemed to ever talk about it.

Why haven't we known that Elijah Able was the undertaker in Nauvoo at Joseph's request and was part of many personal and tender moments as various members of the Smith family died, from Joseph Sr. to all too many of Emma's children? Why didn't we have a clue all those years we received church history lessons in Sunday school, priesthood meeting, seminary, institute, and BYU religion classes that Joseph and Emma had a live-in black woman named Jane Manning, who was proud to be known as the houseservant of the Prophet?

Where are these black faces in the numerous films we've seen of the Nauvoo era, when the people behind those faces associated often with the most important characters in the films? Why did no one tell us about them? I grew up assuming there were no blacks to speak of, because I never heard about them, and, I suppose, because I figured no blacks would want to be around with that policy on the priesthood.

But they were around. They were around and converted and loved the church and the prophet who founded it. They recognized the charity of Christ in the society of Saints at Nauvoo, and felt more welcome there than anywhere else, in spite of the inevitable racist attitudes of some members of that society.

Which attitudes make one cringe when reading of them. Long before Jane and her family, or solitary Elijah, come across the society of Saints, we have grown to love and care about them deeply. We have followed them through their travails, as Elijah's mother flees slavery with her children through the underground railroad; as Jane is raped and impregnated by her white preacher; as Elijah buries his mother in a heartbreaking scene; as houseservant Jane endures the "help" she receives from her Protestant mistress to be a good Christian, help sullied with condescension and bigotry. We rejoice with them as they find the Gospel and convert; as Elijah goes on a mission as a seventy, proud to be a holder of God's priesthood and to be called by a prophet of God to preach the Gospel; as Jane leads her family on a harrowing trek across hundreds of miles to reach Nauvoo.

And when the first hints of the policy on blacks and the priesthood appear, we watch with dismay, knowing the pain and heartache that will be coming in the years ahead. A quarter century after the end of the difficult doctrine, we ache as we witness its early beginnings. We don't want these people to have to endure it.

The issue never comes to a head in this book, and is mentioned directly only once in the notes at the end of a chapter, in a way that promises greater coverage in books to come. But the hints are already there, as prominent leaders of the church -- leaders we are used to seeing in a positive light -- inform Elijah that he is only to preach to other blacks; as both Elijah and Jane come to notice that the exciting new ordinances being performed in the Nauvoo temple are somehow not being offered to them.

All through the book, we receive the mind-jarring experience of seeing early Mormons through black eyes. Sometimes it's a positive view, sometimes it's not. It's an experience no less transforming than Walker's The Color Purple or Morrison's Beloved, albeit in a quieter way. One More River to Cross is a vanguard publication in a trend one hopes catches on and becomes permanent: restoring our black brothers and sisters to their rightful place in our church history.

From now on, whenever a book or film depicts the death of a Smith family member in Nauvoo, Elijah Able had better be there handling the funeral arrangements. Whenever private moments in the Nauvoo Mansion with the Smiths are shown, Jane had better be there as the housekeeper. On the streets of Nauvoo, happy-go-lucky Isaac James, eventual husband of Jane, had better be there, surrounded by admirers as he entertains them with his legendary dancing skills. When stories of sacrifice are told as the Saints gathered to Nauvoo, the story of the Manning family needs to be among them. When we tell pioneer stories to each other, the blacks who were part of the first group to enter Salt Lake valley had better be entering it.

This is one of the most important LDS books to come out in years. It wouldn't matter how good the writing is -- it's still a must-read.

But how good is the writing?

The book is told in a bardic style -- black bardic, if there is such a thing. It's as if one of Alex Haley's ancestors from Roots were telling the tale. It's a valid literary choice, but I wasn't sure what I thought of it at first. The book tended to commit literary sins -- inexcusable sins if a standard storytelling approach had been used. But they were justified in One More River to Cross because of the choice Young and Gray did make. You could almost feel yourself sitting around the one room shanty, fire flickering orange ghosts on everyone's faces, as the white- haired grandfather of a black family spun yarns of his early life experiences. It was as if Celie herself sprang from the pages of The Color Purple and decided to tell you a story of black Mormons.

To me, the most bothersome element of this style was how so many details were lacking in parts of the story where I would have liked to experience the details. A standard storytelling approach would have been obligated to include them: a verbal storyteller not so. But I missed the details.

However, as I read, as I became engrossed by the experiences of these new brothers and sisters I had never known, as I began to care about them, I stopped worrying about whether I liked the style or not. It didn't matter. The stories transcended the storytelling. By the time I reached the melancholy end of the book, I wanted more. I was glad to know that I would be receiving more, and sad that I couldn't receive it now.

-- 
D. Michael Martindale
dmichael@wwno.com