Gilead: A Novel
2 journalers for this copy...
One of the most gorgeous reading experiences I've ever had. Every sentence of this book is beautiful—it made me ache to read it. I came across this sentence—"I truly believe it is waste and ingratitude not to honor such things as visions, whether you yourself happen to have them or not"—and thought: that is the remarkable thing that this book does: it creates beauty outside of itself, it refers to a world just beyond the sentences themselves, which are humble and spare, not about themselves, as most are, and it is the vision of this world just beyond the words, which you cannot quite see for yourself, that is so blindingly beautiful, impossible to look at but there just the same, and it is both the fact of that world and the impossibility of it that aches as you read this book, in which every sentence is a piece of poetry that aspires to nothing grander than piety. I'm not a religious person, but this book made me understand the beauty of religious faith in a way nothing else ever has.
Another favorite passage:
"That biscuit ashy from my father's charred hand. It all means more than I can tell you. So you must not judge what I know by what I find words for. If I could only give you what my father gave me. No, what the Lord has given me and must also give you. But I hope you will put yourself in the way of the gift. I am not speaking of the ministry as such, as I have said" (114).
Sending to a friend who has this on her wish list.
Another favorite passage:
"That biscuit ashy from my father's charred hand. It all means more than I can tell you. So you must not judge what I know by what I find words for. If I could only give you what my father gave me. No, what the Lord has given me and must also give you. But I hope you will put yourself in the way of the gift. I am not speaking of the ministry as such, as I have said" (114).
Sending to a friend who has this on her wish list.
I just got home from lunch, and found a lovely surprise in my mailbox! A wish fulfilled! I added this book to my wish list after this forum thread, and have been thinking of buying it for myself for a while. Thanks for sharing, Z! What a treat. Since so many Women I Respect recommend it so highly, I can't wait to jump into it. I'm sure it will be a treat, as the writing in Housekeeping was such high quality.In addition, I can't wait to listen to the CDs you sent! I love mix tapes :) I feel generously friended today (so I made up a word. Sue me.)! Thanks thanks thanks. I know I have a feast for the eyes and ears and soul ahead of me.
Am I a little old lady, or do other people think of the old song "There is a Balm in Gilead" when they see this title? oh well. I'm a Builder in a Buster time. . .
Adding this link where I briefly describe all the mail I got that day :)
So, as I noted in my blog long ago, I got about halfway through this book and then feared it ending, so my solution was to stop reading it! Chicken-hearted, I know, but that's how I roll.
However, as I looked at it catching dust on my nightstand at the beginning of the year, I realized that my hoarding of it was silly. Not only had I not finished it, but other people weren't enjoying it either. So it finally became book #7 of the year for me, and I'm so glad I finally read it.
I remember thinking the writing in Housekeeping was good, but I really didn't like that book. This one? Liked it. Oh, so much. This book is the story of an aged pastor, told in the form of a letter to his late-in-life son. One of the things that sticks in my mind is a point where he says that he doesn't use the word "godforsaken" lightly. I really appreciate that, and am glad Robinson understands that most pastors would say this. One of the things I really liked was that this book contained plenty of humor in conjunction with lots that made me cry. Kinda like life.
I marked so many things I wanted to quote or remember, but if I put them all in here, it would take another 5 hours. So let's see what I'll record for posterity.
There's a part about his mother, who bought a home health care book that was "large and expensive, ... and more particular than Leviticus". Based on the advice of the book, she tried to keep us from making any use of our brains for an hour after supper, or from reading at all when our feet were cold. My grandfather told her once that if you couldn't read with cold feet there wouldn't be a literate soul in the state of Maine.
I like this description of the first time his wife came to his church, "I came here from whatever unspeakable distance and from whatever unimaginable otherness just to oblige your prayers. Now say something with a little meaning in it."
I thought this was fascinating, and I totally understood what he meant: In those days there were barrels on the street corners so we could contribute peach pits to the war effort. The army made them into charcoal, they said, for the filters in gas masks. It took hundreds of pits to make just one of the them. So we all ate peaches on grounds of patriotism, which actually made them taste a little different. When I read things like this, I can't help but wonder where the author got that! And I appreciate it.
Perhaps because I have 4 crazy little nephews (I have more than that, but they're all in the same house and all under age 9), but this just tickled me, in talking about picking up his son, "I just always loved the feeling of how strongly you held on, as if you were a monkey up in a tree. Boy skinniness and boy strength." Isn't that fabulous?
In my church, we take dinners to families with new babies, people recovering from surgery, etc. But it's usually one meal per day. However, I have personal experience with the amazingly huge quantities of food that can actually show up after a death in the family. But in many churches, it's not just deaths that require foods: Since supper was three kinds of casserole with two kinds of fruit salad, with cake and pie for dessert, I gathered that my flock, who lambaste life's problems with food items of just this kind, had heard an alarm. There was even a bean salad, which to me looked distinctly Presbyterian, so anxiety had overspilled its denominational vessel. And another time food shows up, regarding an article in Ladies' Home Journal:
There is so much that's beautiful in this book. The writing is so poetic! Love this: "I wish I could leave you certain of the images in my mind, because they are so beautiful that I hate to think they will be extinguished when I am."
And there's much profound in this book. I'll end with this: I knew perfectly well at that time, as I had for years and years, that the Lord absolutely transcends any understanding I have of Him, which makes loyalty to Him a different thing from loyalty to whatever customs and doctrines and memories I happen to associate with Him.
Love this book. Thanks for sharing, zugenia. It's headed off to my sister.
However, as I looked at it catching dust on my nightstand at the beginning of the year, I realized that my hoarding of it was silly. Not only had I not finished it, but other people weren't enjoying it either. So it finally became book #7 of the year for me, and I'm so glad I finally read it.
I remember thinking the writing in Housekeeping was good, but I really didn't like that book. This one? Liked it. Oh, so much. This book is the story of an aged pastor, told in the form of a letter to his late-in-life son. One of the things that sticks in my mind is a point where he says that he doesn't use the word "godforsaken" lightly. I really appreciate that, and am glad Robinson understands that most pastors would say this. One of the things I really liked was that this book contained plenty of humor in conjunction with lots that made me cry. Kinda like life.
I marked so many things I wanted to quote or remember, but if I put them all in here, it would take another 5 hours. So let's see what I'll record for posterity.
There's a part about his mother, who bought a home health care book that was "large and expensive, ... and more particular than Leviticus". Based on the advice of the book, she tried to keep us from making any use of our brains for an hour after supper, or from reading at all when our feet were cold. My grandfather told her once that if you couldn't read with cold feet there wouldn't be a literate soul in the state of Maine.
I like this description of the first time his wife came to his church, "I came here from whatever unspeakable distance and from whatever unimaginable otherness just to oblige your prayers. Now say something with a little meaning in it."
I thought this was fascinating, and I totally understood what he meant: In those days there were barrels on the street corners so we could contribute peach pits to the war effort. The army made them into charcoal, they said, for the filters in gas masks. It took hundreds of pits to make just one of the them. So we all ate peaches on grounds of patriotism, which actually made them taste a little different. When I read things like this, I can't help but wonder where the author got that! And I appreciate it.
Perhaps because I have 4 crazy little nephews (I have more than that, but they're all in the same house and all under age 9), but this just tickled me, in talking about picking up his son, "I just always loved the feeling of how strongly you held on, as if you were a monkey up in a tree. Boy skinniness and boy strength." Isn't that fabulous?
In my church, we take dinners to families with new babies, people recovering from surgery, etc. But it's usually one meal per day. However, I have personal experience with the amazingly huge quantities of food that can actually show up after a death in the family. But in many churches, it's not just deaths that require foods: Since supper was three kinds of casserole with two kinds of fruit salad, with cake and pie for dessert, I gathered that my flock, who lambaste life's problems with food items of just this kind, had heard an alarm. There was even a bean salad, which to me looked distinctly Presbyterian, so anxiety had overspilled its denominational vessel. And another time food shows up, regarding an article in Ladies' Home Journal:
We agreed it must have been fairly widely read in both our congregations, because on one page there's a recipe for that molded salad of orange gelatin with stuffed green olives and shredded cabbage and anchovies that has dogged my ministerial life these last years, and which appears at his house whenever he so much as catches cold. There should be a law to prevent recipes for molded salad from appearing within twenty pages of any article having to do with religion.
There is so much that's beautiful in this book. The writing is so poetic! Love this: "I wish I could leave you certain of the images in my mind, because they are so beautiful that I hate to think they will be extinguished when I am."
And there's much profound in this book. I'll end with this: I knew perfectly well at that time, as I had for years and years, that the Lord absolutely transcends any understanding I have of Him, which makes loyalty to Him a different thing from loyalty to whatever customs and doctrines and memories I happen to associate with Him.
Love this book. Thanks for sharing, zugenia. It's headed off to my sister.
