Marilynne Robinson

Lila is for me the last book in the Gilead series which is certainly one of the canons of American literature. I tend to enjoy novelist who revisit their characters or settings. Some of my favorites include Harry Angstrom of the Rabbit novels, Elizabeth Strout's Olive and Lucy Barton, Sully from Russo's Bath novels and maybe include Jennifer Egan's revisit of the Good Squad. It's like returning home from a long trip. With Robinson even she doesn't worry about chronologically charting her show more characters so I don't think reading Lila after Jack is not a problem; each novel reveals little insights into the history of the Ames and Broughton families from Iowa. Perhaps there is still room for Broughton's son who is becoming a doctor.
In this wonderful novel we learn about how Lila, neglected as a baby, is stolen by Doll who acts as her mother while they wander about looking for work and trying to survive. Doll teaches Lila the difference between them and the real poor: "the ones who never touched a comb to their hair and who always had shadows of grimne on their necks and wore unmended clothes till they were falling off them’. " They travel for a time with another family until the Crash of '29 when work ended. Robinson takes the entire narrative to gradually reveal some parts of Lila's history, especially an unhappy stay inn St. Louis, but her chance encounter of stopping in the Reverend Ames's church will change both their lives forever. "He looked as if he’d had his share of loneliness, and that was all right. It was one thing she understood about him."
"It felt very good to have him walking beside her. Good like rest and quiet, like something you could live without but you needed anyway. That you had to learn how to miss, and then you'd never stop missing it.”
The relationship between the two is immensely satisfying as it is revealed in snippets of conversations and gestures. The writing is thoughtful, forcing the reader to slow down and savor the use of language. Highly recommend all of her novels.

Lines:
I was working in a whorehouse because the woman who stole me when I was a child got blood all over my clothes when she came to my room after she killed my father in a knife fight. I've got her knife here in my garter. I was meaning to steal a child for myself, but I missed the chance and I couldn't stand the disappointment, so I got a job cleaning in a hotel.

That sound of settling into the sheets and the covers has to be one of the best things in the world. Sleep is a mercy. You can feel it coming on, like being swept up in something.

She knew better than to waste that time. There isn't always someone who wants you singing to him or nibbling his ear or brushing his cheek with a dandelion blossom. Somebody who knows when you're being silly, and laughs and laughs. So long as he was little enough to carry, she could hardly bring herself to put him down.

She thought, If I’m crazy, I may as well do what I feel like doing. No point being crazy if you have to worry all the time about what people are thinking anyway.

She thought, if we stay here, soon enough it will be you sitting at the table and me, I don't know, cooking something, and the snow flying, and the old man so glad we're here he'll be off in his study praying about it. And geraniums in the window. Red ones. show less

I read Gilead, the first novel in the Gilead series, many years ago and Jack, the last book in the quartet, in 2020. This, the second book, revisits Gilead but from a different perspective.

Glory Boughton, 38, has returned to Gilead, Iowa, after a broken engagement and an abandoned career. She is now caring for her aging and increasingly frail father, Reverend Robert Boughton. Then the black sheep son Jack returns as well, after an absence of twenty years. Robert is thrilled at the return of show more his prodigal son but reconnection is initially hesitant and awkward. What is heartwarming is the gradual understanding and acceptance that grows between Glory and her brother.

It is the character of Jack that most interested me, though perhaps my understanding of him is coloured by my having read Jack. He describes himself as a scoundrel and admits to being a thief, liar, and confirmed drunk. He does have positive traits; his kindness and intelligence are certainly obvious. What is also clear is that he is a lonely, lost soul. Glory’s description of her brother as “A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and as one from whom men hide their face” is perfect.

It is impossible not to have sympathy for Jack. He has felt like a misfit his entire life, never at ease with his siblings, a “child who didn’t feel at home in the house where he was born.” He has an overpowering sense of worthlessness, believing that he does harm and causes misery: “’I create a kind of displacement around myself as I pass through the world, which can fairly be called trouble.’”

I was also interested in the character of the minister, an old man living his last days. The extent of his forbearance is almost unbelievable. He sees his son’s delinquency as his failing as a father, “taking the bitterness of it all on himself and sparing his miscreant son.” His love for his son is obvious: “’I thanked God for him, every day of his life, no matter how much grief, how much sorrow - . ’” Seeing his son suffer is “’like watching a child die in your arms.’” Of course, there are touches of humour in his portrayal: he is “a little less sensitive than he ought to have been to the risk of repeating himself.”

Yet my opinion of Jack’s father is tainted by his views of Blacks. His comments suggest a blindness, emphasized by his oft-closed eyes: “’I have nothing against the colored people. I do think they’re going to need to improve themselves, though, if they want to be accepted. I believe that is the only solution.’” He accuses the Blacks of provoking violence even if their protests are non-violent. When Jack mentions having met some very fine Black Christians, Rev. Boughton says, “’Then we can’t have done so badly by them, can we?’” His statement that “’I think we had all better just keep to ourselves’” is very telling. Ironically, it is the Jack, the unbelieving sinner, who speaks with the voice of justice, not his supposedly wise and pious father.

The conversations about the treatment of Blacks suggest that Jack has several reasons for returning home. Doubtless he is looking for refuge, searching for home, to belong somewhere. He may want to make peace with his father, but it also seems that he is wondering if his relationship with Della would be accepted in Gilead. The ending does suggest some hope: Glory imagines a house where she can someday openly welcome Robert.

As the title suggests, the book examines what is home and whether it is possible to come home. For Glory, coming home has been an admittance of defeat: “Home. What kinder place could there be on earth, and why did it seem to them all like exile.” Coming home may not provide the comfort one seeks: “But the soul finds its own home if it ever has a home at all.”

Because the novel gets bogged down in dry discussions of scripture and sermons, it is slow in places, just like Robinson’s other books in the series. Nonetheless, I think that Home should be read after Gilead which clarifies the Jack and John Ames relationship. And Jack provides the most intimate view of the prodigal son. Together the three novels emphasize how easy it is to misunderstand and misjudge people.

Note: Please check out my reader's blog (https://schatjesshelves.blogspot.com/) and follow me on Twitter (@DCYakabuski). show less

This book is painfully beautiful. Like all of Robinson's books, Lila is slow and rich and filled with gorgeous prose and open spaces. Those who have read other books in this series (I refuse to say "trilogy" since that forecloses the possibility of another book) know a bit about Lila. She is featured in the first book, Gilead. This book is told completely from Lila's perspective, and she is not an easy woman to spend 260 pages with. Lila is difficult, she is defensive and mean, uncultured show more and sometimes uncivil. But there are reasons for all of those qualities, and she is also smart and engaged, honest and loyal. Most of all she is interesting. She asks questions, good ones, that no one I know ever asks. She does nothing simply because that is the way things are done, she is never reflexive but rather always reflective. Her sense of honor may differ from ours, but it is so immutable it is hard not to admire her. It is also hard not to celebrate when she finds comfort, finds perhaps the only person in the universe who understands her and never tries to take things she is unable or unwilling to give. Prepare to spend hours of internal dialogue on the nature of grace, both personal and divine. I read The Goldfinch just before this book (which I loved, this is not an insult to that wonderful book) but this 260 page book took me longer to read than that 760 page book. That is not because I was bored or unengaged, but because there is so much to think about, I found I would read a couple pages and then spend half an hour thinking about something I found within that text. This novel is like a bit of Christian Talmud, a commentary that illuminates the source material for faith. I have never spent so much time examining my faith and my relationship to others in the world, and I am the better for it. show less

The main word that comes to mind with this book is "Quiet." It is peaceful and calm, but somehow as I was rounding the corner into the final third of the novel, I realized how deeply invested I was in the characters. They are sincere and feel so real and the writing is so beautiful that it creeps in and settles around you, making you forget that you don't live in the small Iowa town of Gilead.

“It is an amazing thing to watch people laugh, the way it sort of takes them over. Sometimes they show more really do struggle with it . . . so I wonder what it is and where it comes from, and I wonder what it expends out of your system, so that you have to do it till you're done, like crying in a way, I suppose, except that laughter is much more easily spent.”

The book is written as a long letter from an elderly minister to his young son. He knows that his death will come before the boy has a chance to grow up and he wants to leave something for him. He wants to explain his life and decisions to him so that he can understand who his father was, even if he doesn't remember him well.

He lived his whole life in the tiny Midwestern town. He remained while others left and yet he is happy in his life. He has a strong faith, but that doesn't mean he never has questions or things he struggles with in his life. There's one man in the town who has always left him feeling disconcerted. He's felt antagonized by him for years, but truly the man is just trying to find his own peace.

“Christianity is a life, not a doctrine . . . I'm not saying never doubt or question. The Lord gave you a mind so that you would make honest use of it. I'm saying you must be sure that the doubts and questions are your own."

BOTTOM LINE: I have a feeling this is one of those books that will keep popping up in my mind over the years. Already I find myself thinking about it and mulling over different parts. I would highly recommend reading it when you are in the mood for a lovely quiet novel. There's no major action, it's about people that feel very real and deal with the same issues we all deal with: acceptance, regret, etc.

“These people who can see right through you never quite do you justice, because they never give you credit for the effort you're making to be better than you actually are, which is difficult and well meant and deserving of some little notice.”

“There are two occasions when the sacred beauty of Creation becomes dazzlingly apparent, and they occur together. One is when we feel our mortal insufficiency to the world, and the other is when we feel the world's mortal insufficiency to us.” show less