Here in 2023, after reading Robinson's Lila and starting to read her Housekeeping, I see that I logged in this book in 2011. Now, though, I have no certain memory of having read it. ( )

This book has been on my to-read list for a long time, but I resisted reading it. I do that often when a book seems too well-liked. But this one was different, because I knew I loved Marilynne Robinson and the book won the Pulitzer for god's sake. It was EXACTLY the type of book I like. So, I bought it. Waited a few years. And finally started it.

It was not over-hyped and I was not disappointed.

I can't put into words what I want to say about this book, so I will only say it was beautiful.

For a more perfect review of this book, see David Schaafsma's review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/617828154 ( )

I'm late to Robinson's books, but I read Housekeeping earlier this year and was mesmerized by it and felt deeply connected to Ruth, the narrator. When I began Gilead, which is also in first person, I had a harder time finding a connection to the dying preacher, John Ames. However, the language was just as beautiful as in Housekeeping, so I was drawn in. Writing a letter to his young son, he tells stories of how his grandfather's abolitionism and time as a Free Soiler came in conflict with his father's pacifism, and their family history, but this novel's heart, for me, was in his relationship with Jack, his best friend's prodigal son who has returned home. ( )

I had heard only the best things about this book from friend and family, so I think I was expecting it to be a little more overwhelming than I found it. It's a Pulitzer Prize winner, I love the voice, the style, the format, the content, and everything, but I think that maybe part of its goodness comes out of its unassuming nature. ( )

Told by a dying man to his young boy (to be read when the son is a grown up), Gilead is essentially a story of fathers and sons. The narrative begins with the dying man (a congregationalist minister named John Ames) explaining what he thinks his adult son would need to know, trying to describe his long life with the gravity of last words. As the book progresses, however, and we learn more about the minister's life and the generations before him, the story becomes much more inward, more like last thoughts than last words. As John Ames struggles with long-held prejudices, in the case of the young Boughton, wishes fulfilled but too late, with his young son, we're slowly made to question the reliability of the old reverend as narrator, but end up arriving at forgiveness exactly when he does; a well constructed device by Robinson.

Emotionally rich but at times plodding, the heartfelt philosophy of meekness, forgiveness, justice, and love come through mightily, if a bit predictably. Robinson's aim is not to shock or amaze, however, it' more to take one last, long look at a life of hard work in a cruel and beautiful world before forever stepping away from it. ( )