Gilead (Oprah's Book Club): A Novel

In Gilead, a small town in Iowa, in 1956, Reverend John Ames is told by his doctor that his heart is failing. He starts to write a letter to his young son – not a sermon, but a searchingly honest account of his thoughts and feelings during his last days. A worry grows in him: will the prodigal son of his old friend and neighbour be a threat to his wife and son after he’s gone, and what should he do or say about it? Heart and grace with large dollops of Zen – you don’t have to be a believer to be moved by this book, which explores human (not divine) goodness. Brilliant.

‘Gilead’ by Marilynne Robinson is a read like no other. A slow, contemplative journey through the memories of one man’s life, as he waits to die. In 1956, the Reverend John Ames writes a letter to his young son. It tugs the heartstrings. Robinson writes with a clear unadorned style drawing heavily on biblical texts but it is not a religious tract, it is the story of a man’s life, his memories, his regrets and loves. The first few lines grabbed me and didn’t let me go. Do not start reading this book if you are feeling impatient. Some passages are easy and quick to read, others deserve more thought. It unwinds slowly like a length of thread, telling us the story of John Ames, his father and grandfather, the legacy of the Ames family which has been inherited by the Reverend’s seven-year old son. I am not religious and some of the references will have passed me by. In the first half of the novel, I would think ‘oh no not another section about religion’, but as I read deeper into the book I became drawn into the stories of John Ames and his forebears and how their beliefs shaped their lives. I wanted to know what happened to John Ames Boughton, the troublesome son of his best friend and fellow reverend. I wanted to know how the Reverend Ames met his second wife. Some of the questions posed are not answered until the very end. It is a peaceful novel, set against the backdrop of Fifties Iowa, which draws on local history including the Underground Railroad. Robinson draws a picture of the Gilead community, the people, their kindnesses, their grievances. She paints a clear picture. ‘We were very pious children from pious households in a fairly pious town.’ At times, the writing was so sublime I re-read. For example, ‘Sometimes I have loved the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday. It is like standing in a newly planted garden after a warm rain. You can feel the silent and invisible life.’ ‘Gilead’, the second novel by Marilynne Robinson, won two prizes in 2005: the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, the National Book Critics Circle Award. I came to it with trepidation, having respected the writing style of her first novel, ‘Housekeeping’, but struggled with the pace of the narrative.

This book moved me to tears. The quality of writing is superb. This is a book for those who like literature that deals with big issues in a serious way – religious belief and spirituality, inter-generational relations, mortality and ageing, forgiveness – or lack of it. It is not for those who want a fast-moving book and plenty of plot. The central character is an old preacher in a small-town rural America sometime in the 60s(?) who is supposedly writing for the benefit of his young son. This might not seem likely to draw the sympathy of an a-religious person like me, particularly when the book does a good impersonation of being written episodically, with one section’s thoughts, or events happening between one writing session and the next, prompting further writing. But here we have someone trying to come to terms with their life and actions – and those of the people around them. If the book starts with trying to explain origins, focussing on the reverend’s father and grandfather, who were also preachers in the same small town, it becomes not so much reflections on the past as a working-out of a current difficulty (I won’t reveal the plot). But throughout the book there are some profound musings on the nature of belief, faith and existence. I found this old person’s point of view, his struggles to make sense of his life and his present challenges, very moving. But also thought-provoking. If the central character has some well-worked out ideas, he is also aware of the difficulties of language and of faith; but the book stands as one of those that opens up possibilities and challenges, rather than persuading you of one way of thinking.

Gilead is the story of John Ames, a preacher in the church, who has inherited his father’s and grandfather’s mantle. Having been married and lost his wife and child, he has married again in his old age, and has a young son. It is to him, that Ames addresses this first person story. However, to me, it is not a story - it is simply a very long ramble, with someone’s philosophical thoughts thrown in. The book describes a bit of his relationship with his wife and son, and with his parents and grandfather, and his good friend Boughton. It throws in one or two anecdotes, but particularly in the latter part of the book, it focuses on John Ames Boughton - the black sheep son of his friend - who has returned to Gilead. As John Senior approaches death, he is particularly worried about Jack, his namesake, who, he believes, has designs on his wife and child. Jack is aware of his disapproval and they have several discussions, where Jack seems to be asking for forgiveness for past sins, and John seems unable to put aside his suspicions about him. Finally Jack reveals his secret concerns, and suddenly, John thinks of him in a different way, and wants to bless him and help him. Once again, I am looking at the reviews on the back page of my current reading circle read, and wondering if I am incredibly shallow, because I cannot work out why the reviewers think so highly of this work. ‘Dazzling originality’/ ‘perfect pitch’/’a great work of literature’ are some of the comments. Yet again, a set of reviews, full of praise which I can’t echo. In fact, this book sent me off to sleep so many times, it could be recommended as a useful sleeping draught. One third of the way through the book, all I could say was that there were some pages which made me smile, some curious, but on the whole, I came back to these ramblings of an old man, not remembering what I had read before. Perhaps this says more about me than about the book. Towards the end of the book, I thought we were moving towards some sort of a denouement, but it just didn’t happen. There were occasional references to matters mentioned earlier on in the book, but it felt as if I had been reading the book for so long, that I couldn’t any longer remember the beginning. Aside from not finding much of a plot, or much interest in his story, I could not empathise with John, and for a preacher, I did not find him full of the milk of human kindness. I would have been interested to know more about the back story of John’s wife. What made her marry an old man? And why was a certain emphasis put on her uneducated status, actually in a rather patronising way by John, without it being followed through. I thought more could have been made of their meeting and their decision to marry. Was the child really his, or did she marry John to give the child a father. For...

Gilead is a slow-burning novel told in retrospect by an old Midwestern minister facing death. It is scattered and covers a wide range of experiences, as the minister's letter--meant for his child, who is too young to understand it yet--jumps between his childhood, his father's childhood, his time in seminary, the family drama of his neighbors, and his own love story with his much-younger wife. But the heart of the story is beautifully human and contemplative. This is not a story for the inattentive, or even for those who simply prefer a straightforward plot. Gilead's storyteller weaves back and forth between at least five different sub-plots, sometimes jumping ahead in one before telling us the meaning of the other. One almost needs to read it twice, simply to see again what he meant he made the reference to his grandfather in the first part of the story, before we had ever met his grandfather or known about his relationship with him. There is a central narrative of events that take place in the story's present, as the minister is writing, but this narrative is often sidelined by the stories of the past or general philosophical asides on Calvinist doctrine. This may make the book sound dull or didactic, but in fact it is neither. The Calvinist doctrine comes across more as a character trait than as the author preaching at the reader, and reflect more on the self and the needs of the soul than on the nature of sin and the cosmos. And while the book is definitely slow and contemplative--even the stories of the past rarely ascend beyond a shouting match, the human drama at the heart of it makes the entire story compelling in a way that should resonate with many readers. The minister has fears, doubts, and regrets like any man, but he is also, unquestionably, a good man, looking back at his life and struggling with jealousies and resentments he knows are unjustified. He is a good man without being an idealized one; a refreshing thing in modern fiction. Gilead is not a fiery book. It is not a fast book. It does not explode with passion or shout for your attention in the normal ways. It is wandering and thoughtful and at times conflicted. It is, in fact, most like sitting in the living room with a very old friend, talking of days that have gone by and days that are to come. It is a book for people of all ages, races, and creeds, and a book I thoroughly recommend.