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1margad
This is just a quickie, but the thought of comparing books #2 and #3 on our "most commonly shared books" list has been intriguing me for awhile. It's no surprise that so many of us have Gilead in common, because I looked for this when I invited the first group of members. But Embers was a surprise, especially since it's rather an obscure book outside of Hungary.
There is a similarity between these two novels, because both are told from the perspective of elderly men reflecting upon their lives. Furthermore, both books revolve around the protagonists' feelings of dislike for another man. In the case of Embers, he knows the other man has, in the past, been his wife's lover. In the case of Gilead, he worries the other man may become involved with his wife after he dies. Embers is a harsher book, and its protagonist is not likeable - Marai's purpose does not involve creating sympathy for him, but rather penetrating to his core and displaying his essential coldness to the reader. In contrast, the protagonist of Gilead is a loving and deeply honorable man, whose secrets and vulnerabilities are also revealed to the reader. The protagonist of Embers is a man of honor, too, but his is an exterior sort of honor, primarily concerned with reputation and eye-for-an-eye justice.
Both novels build to surprising climaxes - I won't reveal what they are, but it will be no spoiler to remark that the endings of both are consistent with the overall tone: in Embers, of slow, festering vengefulness; in Gilead, of bittersweet reflection, a constant search for the threads of hope and brightness amid life's violence, betrayals and disappointments.
Six other group members have Embers in their libraries: What did you think of it? Two of Marai's other novels have been published in English, but I haven't read them - can anyone offer a further comparison?
There is a similarity between these two novels, because both are told from the perspective of elderly men reflecting upon their lives. Furthermore, both books revolve around the protagonists' feelings of dislike for another man. In the case of Embers, he knows the other man has, in the past, been his wife's lover. In the case of Gilead, he worries the other man may become involved with his wife after he dies. Embers is a harsher book, and its protagonist is not likeable - Marai's purpose does not involve creating sympathy for him, but rather penetrating to his core and displaying his essential coldness to the reader. In contrast, the protagonist of Gilead is a loving and deeply honorable man, whose secrets and vulnerabilities are also revealed to the reader. The protagonist of Embers is a man of honor, too, but his is an exterior sort of honor, primarily concerned with reputation and eye-for-an-eye justice.
Both novels build to surprising climaxes - I won't reveal what they are, but it will be no spoiler to remark that the endings of both are consistent with the overall tone: in Embers, of slow, festering vengefulness; in Gilead, of bittersweet reflection, a constant search for the threads of hope and brightness amid life's violence, betrayals and disappointments.
Six other group members have Embers in their libraries: What did you think of it? Two of Marai's other novels have been published in English, but I haven't read them - can anyone offer a further comparison?
2almigwin
Comparing these books was a terrific idea.
My recollection of them emphasizes social class and the decline of the Austro-hungarian empire in Embers, where Gilead lacks such emphasis.
The feeling of being part of a larger world is strong in Embers.
My recollection of them emphasizes social class and the decline of the Austro-hungarian empire in Embers, where Gilead lacks such emphasis.
The feeling of being part of a larger world is strong in Embers.
3margad
Yes, there is that sense of the collapse of a world that, to many, seemed more orderly and rational - the classes understood their place, and there were rules (like sexual fidelity) that even the upper classes were supposed to follow.
And yet, a world collapsed in Gilead, too - the difference is that John Ames' grandfather had been working with all his heart and soul and might to make that world collapse. In a sense the old worlds in both novels were quite similar. Embers begins with the protagonist (wish I could remember his name) giving orders to an old servant who is not unlike a trusted family slave of the old American South. And so, although the town of Gilead is small and seemingly remote, it is tightly linked through its history to the biggest social question of its time - and the working out of the present-time plot between Ames and the young man he fears may, after his death, steal away his wife and infect his young son with his own immorality, turns out to be linked, again, to the working out of that same question in a new generation.
It's an interesting point, probably more interesting that the one I started with. Thanks for bringing it up!
And yet, a world collapsed in Gilead, too - the difference is that John Ames' grandfather had been working with all his heart and soul and might to make that world collapse. In a sense the old worlds in both novels were quite similar. Embers begins with the protagonist (wish I could remember his name) giving orders to an old servant who is not unlike a trusted family slave of the old American South. And so, although the town of Gilead is small and seemingly remote, it is tightly linked through its history to the biggest social question of its time - and the working out of the present-time plot between Ames and the young man he fears may, after his death, steal away his wife and infect his young son with his own immorality, turns out to be linked, again, to the working out of that same question in a new generation.
It's an interesting point, probably more interesting that the one I started with. Thanks for bringing it up!
4Karlus
I am ever thankful for these deeply probing reviews that appear as part of the comparisons.
I apparently missed something in reading Gilead, because I read the young man as a very sympathetic figure, and his rejection at the end as a wrenching commentary on the failure of the Old Minister's presumed preaching of love and forgiveness to influence his flock. I saw it as the reverse of the Parable of the Prodigal Son, where he is rejected instead of welcomed.
So, I see I have all the more reason to re-read now.
For which, thanks! :)
I apparently missed something in reading Gilead, because I read the young man as a very sympathetic figure, and his rejection at the end as a wrenching commentary on the failure of the Old Minister's presumed preaching of love and forgiveness to influence his flock. I saw it as the reverse of the Parable of the Prodigal Son, where he is rejected instead of welcomed.
So, I see I have all the more reason to re-read now.
For which, thanks! :)
5almigwin
Margad,
In terms of further comparisons, I would like to suggest Joseph Roth's The Radetsky March and Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain.
They are both about naive human beings not noticing the imminent decline of their european empires, whose decline becomes their tragedy.
Since I believe that we (the american empire) are beginning or in the midst of a decline, due to the rise of Chinese and Indian power and population, and our conflicted trade and fiscal policies, I think it would be an interesting exercise.
Or post apartheid South Africa Disgrace by Coetzee
with post Civil War south, Faulkner
or post WWII Britain. The Jewel in the Crown?---
(loss of power, economic decline, loss of prestige, decline of lifestyle for some, improvememt for others).
What do you and the group think? Am I being too historical/political?
In terms of further comparisons, I would like to suggest Joseph Roth's The Radetsky March and Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain.
They are both about naive human beings not noticing the imminent decline of their european empires, whose decline becomes their tragedy.
Since I believe that we (the american empire) are beginning or in the midst of a decline, due to the rise of Chinese and Indian power and population, and our conflicted trade and fiscal policies, I think it would be an interesting exercise.
Or post apartheid South Africa Disgrace by Coetzee
with post Civil War south, Faulkner
or post WWII Britain. The Jewel in the Crown?---
(loss of power, economic decline, loss of prestige, decline of lifestyle for some, improvememt for others).
What do you and the group think? Am I being too historical/political?
6margad
almigwin, these are excellent suggestions. I haven't read any of them, except for an occasional Faulkner short story. As an aside, Thurber wrote a parody of Faulkner and Southern writing of the 1930s in "Bateman Comes Home," collected in The Thurber Carnival. "Elviry made for Ramsay with her skillet, but he wrested it away from her and struck her over the head with it. The impact made a low, dull sound, like 'sponk.'" But enough low humor.
I've been meaning to read The Magic Mountain and will surely get around to it sometime in the next few months. It appears that in starting this group, I have inadvertently committed myself to a project similar to the one Smiley describes in Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Novel. Not a bad thing to inadvertently commit oneself to! This group is turning out to be a fine course in literature, and all of you guys, collectively, to be the best possible professor.
Since I am a complete history and politics junky, you could never be too historical/political for me!
One of the interesting things about both Gilead and Embers is that the worlds in decline were worlds filled with injustice. I agree with you that the U.S. may well be at the beginning of a decline in terms of our material wealth and the amount of power we wield in the world - a decline that future generations or maybe even the present one might ultimately be grateful for. How many of us are truly happy, despite the extraordinary wealth of our society?
SPOILER ALERT: Do reread Gilead, Karlus! This novel is becoming deeper and more meaningful to me all the time. I had not expected to feel that way about it, but it is quite wonderful the way Robinson weaves the various threads of the story together. John Ames, the old minister, has been rejecting Jack Boughton throughout the story, even while Jack was a child, before he took advantage of the poor girl and refused to have anything to do with her after she became pregnant. The reader finds Jack sympathetic because we learn about Ames' inability to forgive him before we learn what Jack did. Then, when Jack returns to town, his behavior is so impeccable and gracious it reinforces the reader's sympathy. It's clear he is no longer the irresponsible, unkind youth he had been. But we feel sympathy for Ames, too, because we can appreciate how painful it must be to know he won't be able to provide a father's guidance to his son when he most needs it - it's never specifically stated that he fears his own son may make the same mistake Jack did, but it's subtly implied because it's the teenage years, specifically, when Ames believes his son will need guidance (the age Jack was when he made the girl pregnant), and because Jack has always thought of Ames as a father figure. At the very end, when Jack tells Ames about his black wife, the stories of Ames's grandfather the abolitionist and of Jack the irresponsible youth come together thematically. In remaining loyal, faithful and loving to his wife despite being rejected by both the white community and his wife's family, Jack has atoned for his past, and when Ames learns this, he is finally able not only to forgive Jack but to love him. It is obvious too, of course, that Jack has never had any intention of paying court to Ames's wife. On page 275, as Jack is leaving town, Ames blesses him: Jack "took his hat off and set it on his knee and closed his eyes and lowered his head, almost rested it against my hand, and I did bless him to the limit of my powers, whatever they are, repeating the benediction from Numbers, of course - 'The Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.' Nothing could be more beautiful than that, or more expressive of my feelings, certainly, or more sufficient, for that matter." And a bit further on, "Well, anyway, I told him it was an honor to bless him. And that was also absolutely true. In fact I'd have gone through seminary and ordination and all the years intervening for that one moment."
Really a beautiful book, with a truly happy ending which nevertheless does not make light of the fact that we are all fallible and less-than-fully-benevolent human beings trapped in a world that often makes it hard for us to do the right thing or even to clearly see right from wrong.
I've been meaning to read The Magic Mountain and will surely get around to it sometime in the next few months. It appears that in starting this group, I have inadvertently committed myself to a project similar to the one Smiley describes in Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Novel. Not a bad thing to inadvertently commit oneself to! This group is turning out to be a fine course in literature, and all of you guys, collectively, to be the best possible professor.
Since I am a complete history and politics junky, you could never be too historical/political for me!
One of the interesting things about both Gilead and Embers is that the worlds in decline were worlds filled with injustice. I agree with you that the U.S. may well be at the beginning of a decline in terms of our material wealth and the amount of power we wield in the world - a decline that future generations or maybe even the present one might ultimately be grateful for. How many of us are truly happy, despite the extraordinary wealth of our society?
SPOILER ALERT: Do reread Gilead, Karlus! This novel is becoming deeper and more meaningful to me all the time. I had not expected to feel that way about it, but it is quite wonderful the way Robinson weaves the various threads of the story together. John Ames, the old minister, has been rejecting Jack Boughton throughout the story, even while Jack was a child, before he took advantage of the poor girl and refused to have anything to do with her after she became pregnant. The reader finds Jack sympathetic because we learn about Ames' inability to forgive him before we learn what Jack did. Then, when Jack returns to town, his behavior is so impeccable and gracious it reinforces the reader's sympathy. It's clear he is no longer the irresponsible, unkind youth he had been. But we feel sympathy for Ames, too, because we can appreciate how painful it must be to know he won't be able to provide a father's guidance to his son when he most needs it - it's never specifically stated that he fears his own son may make the same mistake Jack did, but it's subtly implied because it's the teenage years, specifically, when Ames believes his son will need guidance (the age Jack was when he made the girl pregnant), and because Jack has always thought of Ames as a father figure. At the very end, when Jack tells Ames about his black wife, the stories of Ames's grandfather the abolitionist and of Jack the irresponsible youth come together thematically. In remaining loyal, faithful and loving to his wife despite being rejected by both the white community and his wife's family, Jack has atoned for his past, and when Ames learns this, he is finally able not only to forgive Jack but to love him. It is obvious too, of course, that Jack has never had any intention of paying court to Ames's wife. On page 275, as Jack is leaving town, Ames blesses him: Jack "took his hat off and set it on his knee and closed his eyes and lowered his head, almost rested it against my hand, and I did bless him to the limit of my powers, whatever they are, repeating the benediction from Numbers, of course - 'The Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.' Nothing could be more beautiful than that, or more expressive of my feelings, certainly, or more sufficient, for that matter." And a bit further on, "Well, anyway, I told him it was an honor to bless him. And that was also absolutely true. In fact I'd have gone through seminary and ordination and all the years intervening for that one moment."
Really a beautiful book, with a truly happy ending which nevertheless does not make light of the fact that we are all fallible and less-than-fully-benevolent human beings trapped in a world that often makes it hard for us to do the right thing or even to clearly see right from wrong.
7John
I might have to go back and re-read Gilead as I don't recall liking it all that much. Embers, however, I liked very much. It is a jewel of tight, spare prose that explores, in relatively short length, the deep, intersecting emotions of love, friendship, fidelity, passion, betrayal, courage, lust, revenge, hate. Sandor Marai also wrote Casanova in Bolzano which is good, and an excellent memoir on Hungary in the immediate post-war period. In fact, he wrote about 40 novels and non-fiction works, but these are the only three available in English. Fans can take heart because a third novel is just coming out now in English. Embers was also done as a stage play in London with Jeremy Irons, and Patrick Stewart (of Star Trek fame) did a monologue for the BBC.
And speaking of Paul Scott, I would highly recommend his Staying On for an exploration of the post-colonial world in India.
And speaking of Paul Scott, I would highly recommend his Staying On for an exploration of the post-colonial world in India.
9dperrings
here are some comments i put together a few years ago on the Gilead.
Saint Timothy’s Book Group
July 6, 2005
Book: Gilead
Author: Marilynne Robinson
“TRYING TO REMEMBER WHAT BIRDS DID
BEFORE THERE WERE TELEPHONE WIRES”
It took me until the blank page on 216 before I got into the book.
My criteria for liking a book is based primarily on how well it gets
the wheel and gears turning in my head, by the end they were spinning.
My favorite part of the book is on page 237 and 238:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Those kind Boughton brothers and sisters would be ashamed
of the wealth of their lives beside the seeming poverty of Jack's life,
and he would utterly and bitterly prefer what he had lost to everything they had.
That is not a tolerable state of mid to be in, as I am well aware.
And old Boughton, if he could stand up out of his chair,
out of his decrepitude and crankiness
and sorrow and limitation,
would abandon all those handsome children of his,
mild and confident as they are,
and follow after that one son
whom he has never known,
whom he has favored
as one does a wound,
and he would protect as a father cannot,
defend him with a strength he does not have,
sustain him with a bounty beyond any resource
he could ever dream of having.
If Boughton could be himself,
he would utterly pardon every transgression,
past, present, and to come, whether or not
it was a transgression in fact or his to pardon.
He would be that extravagant.
That is a thing I would love to see."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I think the whole book is stated hear in this passage.
The account of Jack reminds me of Norman Maclean's "A River runs through it"
As Kathy said in her sermon, just remember Jesus eat with sinners and tax collectors.
The spiritual journey involves coming to terms with our shadow, accepting it and integrating it into our life.
In one of Robert Bly's books there is a statement that goes something like this
“Go to the source of your pain, there you will find your genius.”
This was the primary message that I had gotten from the Joseph Campbell video tapes "The Power of Myth" which I believe is still in the church library.
I think it would be interesting to examine the book in relation to the Gilead in the Bible, at this point I am a little weak in that area.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Below are excerpts from the book and comments from the reviewers found on www.reviewsofbooks.com. I found after reading the book that all of the wonderful lines and passages from the book stick around in my head. I have simply reprinted them below for discussion purposes
love of baseball and fried-egg sandwiches
"I do not remember grief and loneliness so much as I do peace and comfort -- grief, but never without comfort; loneliness, but never without peace." His is a wondrous and balanced serenity.
“interested in abstractions”
One might label this a religious book, but that would be overreaching. Rather, it's a meditation on the sacredness and inscrutability of belief, forgiveness and faith in human connections.
Gilead
· The original Gilead was an ancient city in Palestine, east of the Jordan River. It's the place where Ahab, King of Israel, died in battle against the Arameans. The Bible also refers to it as a refuge. Whether or not Gilead, Iowa, is the refuge Jack Boughton hopes for
· So ''Gilead's" balm works for Reverend Ames and not the prodigal son, who loves a black woman. ''A stranger might ask why there is a town here at all," John Ames writes. ''It was just a dogged little outpost in the sand hills, within striking distance of Kansas {hellip} a place John Brown and Jim Lane could fall back on when they needed to heal and rest. There must have been a hundred towns like it, set up in the heat of an old urgency that is all forgotten now."
Books
· Flaubert’s “A Simple Heart”
· Penelope Fitzgelrald’s “The Blue Flower”
· the American religious spirit that produced Congregationalism and 19th-century Transcendentalism and those bareback religious riders Emerson, Thoreau and Melville.
· Robinson was perhaps influenced by the similar forms of the two most famous books narrated by clergymen, Francis Kilvert's diary and Georges Bernanos's novel ''The Diary of a Country Priest.''
Additional comments
· “Adulthood is a wonderful thing, and brief. You must be sure to enjoy it while it lasts.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She began to come to the house when some of the other women did, to take the curtains away to wash, to defrost the icebox. And then she started coming by herself to tend the gardens. She made them very fine and prosperous. And one evening when I saw her there, out by the wonderful roses, I said, 'How can I repay you for all this?'
"And she said, 'You ought to marry me.' And I did."
Elsewhere he tells us that he "was so startled when she said that to me that for a minute I couldn't find any words to reply. So she walked away, and I had to follow her along the street. I still didn't have the courage to touch her sleeve, but I said, 'You're right, I will.' And she said, 'Then I'll see you tomorrow,' and kept walking. That was the most thrilling thing that ever happened to me in my life."
"Love is holy because it is like grace -- the worthiness of its object is never really what matters."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"This is an interesting planet," he says at one point, "it deserves all the attention you can give it."
"I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can't believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us. In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don't imagine any reality putting this one in the shade entirely."
"To play catch of an evening, to smell the river, to hear the train pass"
"It is worth living long enough to outlast whatever sense of grievance you may acquire. Another reason why you must be careful of your health."
grandfather, an abolitionist and chaplain. The most colorful character in the book, he is a "wild-haired, one-eyed, scrawny old fellow with a crooked beard" who stands by what he believes with a maddening ferocity that only grows worse as he ages.
Baseball, honeysuckle, books, henhouses, prayer
Robinson, in her new novel, "Gilead," is instead a psalmist. She practices that ancient and difficult art of praise in a jaded world.
Robinson delves into this landscape and unearths those nearly forgotten Christian relics: faith and love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In an essay that appeared in the spring issue of Social Research and was reprinted in Harper's Magazine, Marilynne Robinson came out as a Christian. She did so because today's popular perception of Christianity is informed by the most strident and conservative voices. Increasingly these individuals and groups are fundamentalist and eschatological.
In the '50s and '60s, popular perception of homosexuality was informed by troubled individuals seeking help from the psychiatric profession. Normal, well-adjusted gays and lesbians once had to step forward to change the popular definition of homosexuality. Now, "Christians of complexity" (i.e., those whose views cannot easily be reduced to simple statements) find themselves in similar circumstances.
Books about the fiery and bloody end of the world top the best-seller lists. They envision the world as divided cleanly between sinners and the faithful. The faithful gleefully wait for the day Jesus will annihilate the wicked.
Robinson, however, is a Christian and a writer who is more interested in forgiveness than in revenge, more interested in faith than in sin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Gilead" reminds us that
praise is no less honest than contempt,
faith is no less intelligent than doubt,
and forgiveness is no less powerful than revenge.
''The Death of Adam'' (1998), in which Robinson passionately defended John Calvin and American Puritanism
John Ames has cherished baptizing infants: ''That feeling of a baby's brow against the palm of your hand -- how I have loved this life.'' He loves the landscape too: ''I have lived my life on the prairie and a line of oak trees can still astonish me.''
Gradually, Robinson's novel teaches us how to read it, suggests how we might slow down to walk at its own processional pace, and how we might learn to coddle its many fine details.
''grace as a sort of ecstatic fire that takes things down to essentials.'' There are plenty of such essentialists in American fiction (writers like Kent Haruf and Cormac McCarthy), and Robinson is sometimes compared to them, but their essentials are generally not religious.
In ordinary, secular fiction, a writer who ''takes things down to essentials'' is reducing language to increase the amount of secular meaning (or sometimes, alas, to decrease it). When Robinson reduces her language, it's because secular meaning has exhausted itself and is being renovated by religious meaning. Robinson, who loves Melville and Emerson, cannot rid herself of the religious habit of using metaphor as a form of revelation.
''Augustine says the Lord loves each of us as an only child, and that has to be true. 'He will wipe the tears from all faces.' It takes nothing from the loveliness of the verse to say that is exactly what will be required.''
''I myself was the good son, so to speak, the one who never left his father's house. . . . I am one of those righteous for whom the rejoicing in heaven will be comparatively restrained.''
When skeptics bait him to argue for God's existence, he tries to decline, for "nothing true can be said about God from a posture of defense." Some of his musings on Scripture are charming: "I have always wondered if the Commandments should be read as occurring in order of importance. If that is correct, honoring your mother is more important than not committing murder. That seems remarkable, though I am open to the idea."
Earlier, amid a discussion of the Swiss theologian Karl Barth, Boughton asks Ames, "Do you ever wonder why American Christianity always seems to wait for the real thinking to be done elsewhere?" Ames does not disagree with the assumptions behind this question, and it may strike readers that, with "Gilead," Robinson's project is, at least in part, to add to an undernourished American theological tradition.
In this sense, "Gilead" works as an urgent intervention, an argument for the continued relevance of faith's role in political resistance. Robinson refuses to leave Christian discourse to the right-wing evangelicals.
The letter here attempts what may be literarily impossible, to lay out by way of a modern parable -- written in the form of a meditation or confession or sermon -- on what it is to live in a state of Christian grace. This is how John Ames views his earthly life.
Indeed John Ames sounds like Marilynne Robinson the essayist, who is a practicing Congregationalist and gives sermons in her church. And Ames's life has direct parallels to that of Jean Cauvin, who -- like Ames -- lost a wife and baby in childbirth, then remained unmarried for decades. Why does any of this matter when we are trying to read her novel? Robinson -- a self-avowed contrarian -- has the habit of sending her reader to primary texts, be it scripture or the ''Institutes" of Jean Cauvin.
Grace is to be answered with graditude.
"Gilead" wanders in that casual way that fellow masters of reflection like Henry David Thoreau or Annie Dillard manage without seeming vagrant. Ames's narrative is a mixture of wry commentary on the ministerial life, heartfelt reflections on God, and passing observations on what's happening that day. He makes a good effort to keep the preachy inflection out of his voice, but when it comes through, you can hear what fine guidance he must have given over the course of 2,250 sermons.
Ames discovers the sacraments in ordinary events and memories of daily life: watching the moon rise as the sun sets, taking bread from his dad's ash-covered hands, praying wholeheartedly for a man he's never really liked.
David Perrings
Saint Timothy’s Book Group
July 6, 2005
Book: Gilead
Author: Marilynne Robinson
“TRYING TO REMEMBER WHAT BIRDS DID
BEFORE THERE WERE TELEPHONE WIRES”
It took me until the blank page on 216 before I got into the book.
My criteria for liking a book is based primarily on how well it gets
the wheel and gears turning in my head, by the end they were spinning.
My favorite part of the book is on page 237 and 238:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Those kind Boughton brothers and sisters would be ashamed
of the wealth of their lives beside the seeming poverty of Jack's life,
and he would utterly and bitterly prefer what he had lost to everything they had.
That is not a tolerable state of mid to be in, as I am well aware.
And old Boughton, if he could stand up out of his chair,
out of his decrepitude and crankiness
and sorrow and limitation,
would abandon all those handsome children of his,
mild and confident as they are,
and follow after that one son
whom he has never known,
whom he has favored
as one does a wound,
and he would protect as a father cannot,
defend him with a strength he does not have,
sustain him with a bounty beyond any resource
he could ever dream of having.
If Boughton could be himself,
he would utterly pardon every transgression,
past, present, and to come, whether or not
it was a transgression in fact or his to pardon.
He would be that extravagant.
That is a thing I would love to see."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I think the whole book is stated hear in this passage.
The account of Jack reminds me of Norman Maclean's "A River runs through it"
As Kathy said in her sermon, just remember Jesus eat with sinners and tax collectors.
The spiritual journey involves coming to terms with our shadow, accepting it and integrating it into our life.
In one of Robert Bly's books there is a statement that goes something like this
“Go to the source of your pain, there you will find your genius.”
This was the primary message that I had gotten from the Joseph Campbell video tapes "The Power of Myth" which I believe is still in the church library.
I think it would be interesting to examine the book in relation to the Gilead in the Bible, at this point I am a little weak in that area.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Below are excerpts from the book and comments from the reviewers found on www.reviewsofbooks.com. I found after reading the book that all of the wonderful lines and passages from the book stick around in my head. I have simply reprinted them below for discussion purposes
love of baseball and fried-egg sandwiches
"I do not remember grief and loneliness so much as I do peace and comfort -- grief, but never without comfort; loneliness, but never without peace." His is a wondrous and balanced serenity.
“interested in abstractions”
One might label this a religious book, but that would be overreaching. Rather, it's a meditation on the sacredness and inscrutability of belief, forgiveness and faith in human connections.
Gilead
· The original Gilead was an ancient city in Palestine, east of the Jordan River. It's the place where Ahab, King of Israel, died in battle against the Arameans. The Bible also refers to it as a refuge. Whether or not Gilead, Iowa, is the refuge Jack Boughton hopes for
· So ''Gilead's" balm works for Reverend Ames and not the prodigal son, who loves a black woman. ''A stranger might ask why there is a town here at all," John Ames writes. ''It was just a dogged little outpost in the sand hills, within striking distance of Kansas {hellip} a place John Brown and Jim Lane could fall back on when they needed to heal and rest. There must have been a hundred towns like it, set up in the heat of an old urgency that is all forgotten now."
Books
· Flaubert’s “A Simple Heart”
· Penelope Fitzgelrald’s “The Blue Flower”
· the American religious spirit that produced Congregationalism and 19th-century Transcendentalism and those bareback religious riders Emerson, Thoreau and Melville.
· Robinson was perhaps influenced by the similar forms of the two most famous books narrated by clergymen, Francis Kilvert's diary and Georges Bernanos's novel ''The Diary of a Country Priest.''
Additional comments
· “Adulthood is a wonderful thing, and brief. You must be sure to enjoy it while it lasts.”
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"She began to come to the house when some of the other women did, to take the curtains away to wash, to defrost the icebox. And then she started coming by herself to tend the gardens. She made them very fine and prosperous. And one evening when I saw her there, out by the wonderful roses, I said, 'How can I repay you for all this?'
"And she said, 'You ought to marry me.' And I did."
Elsewhere he tells us that he "was so startled when she said that to me that for a minute I couldn't find any words to reply. So she walked away, and I had to follow her along the street. I still didn't have the courage to touch her sleeve, but I said, 'You're right, I will.' And she said, 'Then I'll see you tomorrow,' and kept walking. That was the most thrilling thing that ever happened to me in my life."
"Love is holy because it is like grace -- the worthiness of its object is never really what matters."
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"This is an interesting planet," he says at one point, "it deserves all the attention you can give it."
"I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can't believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us. In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don't imagine any reality putting this one in the shade entirely."
"To play catch of an evening, to smell the river, to hear the train pass"
"It is worth living long enough to outlast whatever sense of grievance you may acquire. Another reason why you must be careful of your health."
grandfather, an abolitionist and chaplain. The most colorful character in the book, he is a "wild-haired, one-eyed, scrawny old fellow with a crooked beard" who stands by what he believes with a maddening ferocity that only grows worse as he ages.
Baseball, honeysuckle, books, henhouses, prayer
Robinson, in her new novel, "Gilead," is instead a psalmist. She practices that ancient and difficult art of praise in a jaded world.
Robinson delves into this landscape and unearths those nearly forgotten Christian relics: faith and love.
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In an essay that appeared in the spring issue of Social Research and was reprinted in Harper's Magazine, Marilynne Robinson came out as a Christian. She did so because today's popular perception of Christianity is informed by the most strident and conservative voices. Increasingly these individuals and groups are fundamentalist and eschatological.
In the '50s and '60s, popular perception of homosexuality was informed by troubled individuals seeking help from the psychiatric profession. Normal, well-adjusted gays and lesbians once had to step forward to change the popular definition of homosexuality. Now, "Christians of complexity" (i.e., those whose views cannot easily be reduced to simple statements) find themselves in similar circumstances.
Books about the fiery and bloody end of the world top the best-seller lists. They envision the world as divided cleanly between sinners and the faithful. The faithful gleefully wait for the day Jesus will annihilate the wicked.
Robinson, however, is a Christian and a writer who is more interested in forgiveness than in revenge, more interested in faith than in sin.
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"Gilead" reminds us that
praise is no less honest than contempt,
faith is no less intelligent than doubt,
and forgiveness is no less powerful than revenge.
''The Death of Adam'' (1998), in which Robinson passionately defended John Calvin and American Puritanism
John Ames has cherished baptizing infants: ''That feeling of a baby's brow against the palm of your hand -- how I have loved this life.'' He loves the landscape too: ''I have lived my life on the prairie and a line of oak trees can still astonish me.''
Gradually, Robinson's novel teaches us how to read it, suggests how we might slow down to walk at its own processional pace, and how we might learn to coddle its many fine details.
''grace as a sort of ecstatic fire that takes things down to essentials.'' There are plenty of such essentialists in American fiction (writers like Kent Haruf and Cormac McCarthy), and Robinson is sometimes compared to them, but their essentials are generally not religious.
In ordinary, secular fiction, a writer who ''takes things down to essentials'' is reducing language to increase the amount of secular meaning (or sometimes, alas, to decrease it). When Robinson reduces her language, it's because secular meaning has exhausted itself and is being renovated by religious meaning. Robinson, who loves Melville and Emerson, cannot rid herself of the religious habit of using metaphor as a form of revelation.
''Augustine says the Lord loves each of us as an only child, and that has to be true. 'He will wipe the tears from all faces.' It takes nothing from the loveliness of the verse to say that is exactly what will be required.''
''I myself was the good son, so to speak, the one who never left his father's house. . . . I am one of those righteous for whom the rejoicing in heaven will be comparatively restrained.''
When skeptics bait him to argue for God's existence, he tries to decline, for "nothing true can be said about God from a posture of defense." Some of his musings on Scripture are charming: "I have always wondered if the Commandments should be read as occurring in order of importance. If that is correct, honoring your mother is more important than not committing murder. That seems remarkable, though I am open to the idea."
Earlier, amid a discussion of the Swiss theologian Karl Barth, Boughton asks Ames, "Do you ever wonder why American Christianity always seems to wait for the real thinking to be done elsewhere?" Ames does not disagree with the assumptions behind this question, and it may strike readers that, with "Gilead," Robinson's project is, at least in part, to add to an undernourished American theological tradition.
In this sense, "Gilead" works as an urgent intervention, an argument for the continued relevance of faith's role in political resistance. Robinson refuses to leave Christian discourse to the right-wing evangelicals.
The letter here attempts what may be literarily impossible, to lay out by way of a modern parable -- written in the form of a meditation or confession or sermon -- on what it is to live in a state of Christian grace. This is how John Ames views his earthly life.
Indeed John Ames sounds like Marilynne Robinson the essayist, who is a practicing Congregationalist and gives sermons in her church. And Ames's life has direct parallels to that of Jean Cauvin, who -- like Ames -- lost a wife and baby in childbirth, then remained unmarried for decades. Why does any of this matter when we are trying to read her novel? Robinson -- a self-avowed contrarian -- has the habit of sending her reader to primary texts, be it scripture or the ''Institutes" of Jean Cauvin.
Grace is to be answered with graditude.
"Gilead" wanders in that casual way that fellow masters of reflection like Henry David Thoreau or Annie Dillard manage without seeming vagrant. Ames's narrative is a mixture of wry commentary on the ministerial life, heartfelt reflections on God, and passing observations on what's happening that day. He makes a good effort to keep the preachy inflection out of his voice, but when it comes through, you can hear what fine guidance he must have given over the course of 2,250 sermons.
Ames discovers the sacraments in ordinary events and memories of daily life: watching the moon rise as the sun sets, taking bread from his dad's ash-covered hands, praying wholeheartedly for a man he's never really liked.
David Perrings
10margad
Thank you, David, for such a wonderful collection of musings, insights, and suggestions for further reading. Just the other day, I was trying to remember the author and title of The Blue Flower, which I read a couple of years ago. I wanted to reread it, because I realized parts had lingered in my memory more strongly than I had expected them to (that opening scene, with the extraordinarily vivid and luminous details of the family's spring cleaning), while others had faded. It was a lovely novel, and I wanted to recapture the faded parts. And also to read some of Fitzgerald's other novels.
12Cateline
Only a year later, and I have finally read Embers. I understand the basis for your comparison margad, but the differences seem to out weigh the similarities to me. Mostly because of the attitude of the main characters. Henrik and Konrad are basically alone in the struggle unlike John Ames...it's been too long since I read Gilead, so the details now escape me, but the flavor is very different to my ears.
I am so glad you did this comparison, Marai is a wonderful author, I am now reading Casanova in Bolanzo, and his style is lighter here, so far at least.
I am so glad you did this comparison, Marai is a wonderful author, I am now reading Casanova in Bolanzo, and his style is lighter here, so far at least.
13margad
I think what intrigued me, Cateline, was that these two books do seem so very different in tone, and yet (at the time I posted, at least) were among those that Books Compared people had most in common in their libraries. In particular, Embers is a very gloomy novel, while Gilead has a deeply hopeful feel to it, despite the violence and injustices at the heart of the plot.
