Gilead
Some books take a long time to read because they are very long.
Some books take a long time to read because they are very bad.
A few books take a long time to read because they are compelling while being read, but forgettable when sitting on the table waiting to be read again. Ok, so in my experience this is pretty much only Bleak House.
A few books take a long time to read because they are very uncomfortable, but good. OK, in my experience this is pretty much only How to Be Good.
And a few books take a long time to read because they have so much much to say that you can't take it all in at once, so you find yourself intentionally limiting yourself to 40 or 50 pages even when you have time to read more. The most recent of those books in my experience is Gilead by Marilynne Robinson.
Gilead won the Pulitzer Prize in 2005. Not all award winners are enjoyable, or even good, but in this case the prize committee made a great choice. The narrator is a Congregationalist preacher in the year 1956. He is in his 70s, and very unexpectedly fell in love, married and had a son at a late age. Aware that he is ill, and that his now seven-year-old son will most likely not remember very much about him, the book is a long letter telling that son about his father, his family, and what his father believes about God and religion after a long life of preaching. It is beautiful, profound, theologically interesting and very human. The narrator admits repeatedly that even after a long life, he has few certainties.
I marked a number of pages with post-it notes. This quote, in particular, is as good as it gets about memory.
I do enjoy remembering that morning. I was sixty-seven, to be exact, which did not seem old to me. I wish I could give you the memory I have of your mother that day. 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. Well, but again, this life has its own mortal loveliness. And memory is not strictly mortal in its nature, either. It is a strange thing after all, to be able to return to a moment, when it can hardly be said to have any reality at all, even in its passing. A moment is such a slight thing, I mean that its abiding is a most gracious reprieve.
And this one, about a child (italics in original).
You see how it is godlike to love the being of someone. Your existence is a delight to us. I hope you never have to long for a child as I did, but oh, what a splendid thing it has been that you came finally, and what a blessing to enjoy you now for almost seven years.
M actually owns this book - her friend Sarah gave it to her years ago. I'm glad I read it, and I suspect I'll re-read this one again.
Some books take a long time to read because they are very bad.
A few books take a long time to read because they are compelling while being read, but forgettable when sitting on the table waiting to be read again. Ok, so in my experience this is pretty much only Bleak House.
A few books take a long time to read because they are very uncomfortable, but good. OK, in my experience this is pretty much only How to Be Good.
And a few books take a long time to read because they have so much much to say that you can't take it all in at once, so you find yourself intentionally limiting yourself to 40 or 50 pages even when you have time to read more. The most recent of those books in my experience is Gilead by Marilynne Robinson.
Gilead won the Pulitzer Prize in 2005. Not all award winners are enjoyable, or even good, but in this case the prize committee made a great choice. The narrator is a Congregationalist preacher in the year 1956. He is in his 70s, and very unexpectedly fell in love, married and had a son at a late age. Aware that he is ill, and that his now seven-year-old son will most likely not remember very much about him, the book is a long letter telling that son about his father, his family, and what his father believes about God and religion after a long life of preaching. It is beautiful, profound, theologically interesting and very human. The narrator admits repeatedly that even after a long life, he has few certainties.
I marked a number of pages with post-it notes. This quote, in particular, is as good as it gets about memory.
I do enjoy remembering that morning. I was sixty-seven, to be exact, which did not seem old to me. I wish I could give you the memory I have of your mother that day. 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. Well, but again, this life has its own mortal loveliness. And memory is not strictly mortal in its nature, either. It is a strange thing after all, to be able to return to a moment, when it can hardly be said to have any reality at all, even in its passing. A moment is such a slight thing, I mean that its abiding is a most gracious reprieve.
And this one, about a child (italics in original).
You see how it is godlike to love the being of someone. Your existence is a delight to us. I hope you never have to long for a child as I did, but oh, what a splendid thing it has been that you came finally, and what a blessing to enjoy you now for almost seven years.
M actually owns this book - her friend Sarah gave it to her years ago. I'm glad I read it, and I suspect I'll re-read this one again.