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This is my last review of Marilynne Robinson’s novel, Gilead. Here are the first, second, third and fourth reviews. Be sure to check out Amanda’s and Laura’s reviews as well.

*****

Wow, what a book. I think a lot of it made me ponder that alter ego of mine I wrote out in my entry for the Intellectuelle blog (which didn’t make the cut, but nevertheless was a good writing exercise for me). You can read it here if you’re interested.

But back to the novel.

I don’t want to ruin the plot, so I’ll just give you a little peek. John Ames learns about the loneliness of his namesake, Jack Ames Boughton, and forgives him in a moment where he blesses him, ‘to the limit of [his] powers, whatever they are, repeating the benediction from Numbers of course — “The Lord make His face to sine upon thee and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace.”‘ He surmises ‘Nothing could be more beautiful than that, or more expressive of my feelings, certainly or more sufficient, for that matter’ (275). This is beautiful, not just because we have a scriptural benediction in a prize-winning novel, but also because scripture IS sufficient for all situations, for our whole selves and our whole lives.

I’m just going to leave you with a few beautiful passages to think on. Nothing I could say could properly sum up the novel but I hope this will give you a feel for melancholic beauty of the writing, the narrator and the place he lived, Gilead, Iowa.

When reminiscing about meeting his wife: ‘At this point I began to suspect, as I have from time to time, that grace has a grand laughter in it. She confided to this unworthy old swain with perfume in his hair tha tshe came to me seeking baptism’ (236).

When telling Boughton goodbye from his soon, Jack: ‘There he was yesterday evening, sleeping on his right side as he always did, in the embrace of the Lord, I have no doubt, though I knew if I woke him up he’d be back in Gethsemene. So I said to him in his sleep, I blessed that boy of yours for you. I still feel the weight of his brow on my hand. I said, I love him as much as you meant me to. So certain of your prayers are finally answered, old fellow. And mine too, mine too. We had to wait a long time, didn’t we?’ (279).

‘It has seemed to me sometimes as though the Lord breathes on this poor gray ember of Creation and it turns to radiance — for a moment or a year or the span of a life. And then it sinks back into itself again, and to look at it no one would know it had anything to do with fire, or light. That is what I said in the Pentecost sermon. I have reflected on that sermon, and there is some truth in it. But the Lord is mroe constant and far more extravagent than it seems to imply. Wherever you turn your eyes the world can shine like transfiguration’ (279-80).

‘What have I to leave you but ruin of old courage, and the lore of old gallantry and hope? Well,l as I have said, it is all an ember now, and the good Lord will surely someday breathe it into flame agian’ (281).

And my favourite — the ending of the nove:
‘To me it seems rather Christlike to be as unadorned as this place is, as little regarded. I can’t help imagining that you will leave sooner or later, and it’s fine if you have done that, or you mean to do it. This whole town does look like whatever hope becomes after it begins to weary a llittle, then weary a little more. But hope deferred is still hope. I love this town. I think sometimes of going into the ground here as a last wild gesture of love — I to will smolder away the time until the great and general incandescence.

I’ll pray that you grow up a brave man in a brave country. I will pray you find a way to be useful.

I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep’ (281-2).

This entry was posted by Ashley on Monday, August 1st, 2005 at 10:35 am. This entry was tagged with Book Review, Literature. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.