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The narrator, John Ames, is 76, a preacher who has lived almost all of his life in Gilead, Iowa. He is writing a letter to his almost seven-year-old son, the blessing of his second marriage. It is a summing-up, an apologia, a consideration of his life. Robinson takes the story away from being simply the reminiscences of one man and moves it into the realm of a meditation on fathers and children, particularly sons, on faith, and on the imperfectability of man.
The reason for the letter is Ames's failing health. He wants to leave an account of himself for this son who will never really know him. His greatest regret is that he hasn't much to leave them, in worldly terms. "Your mother told you I'm writing your begats, and you seemed very pleased with the idea. Well, then. What should I record for you?" In the course of the narrative, John Ames records himself, inside and out, in a meditative style. Robinson's prose asks the reader to slow down to the pace of an old man in Gilead, Iowa, in 1956. Ames writes of his father and grandfather, estranged over his grandfather's departure for Kansas to march for abolition and his father's lifelong pacifism. The tension between them, their love for each other and their inability to bridge the chasm of their beliefs is a constant source of rumination for John Ames. Fathers and sons.
The other constant in the book is Ames's friendship since childhood with "old Boughton," a Presbyterian minister. Boughton, father of many children, favors his son, named John Ames Boughton, above all others. Ames must constantly monitor his tendency to be envious of Boughton's bounteous family; his first wife died in childbirth and the baby died almost immediately after her. Jack Boughton is a ne'er-do-well, Ames knows it and strives to love him as he knows he should. Jack arrives in Gilead after a long absence, full of charm and mischief, causing Ames to wonder what influence he might have on Ames's young wife and son when Ames dies.
These are the things that Ames tells his son about: his ancestors, the nature of love and friendship, the part that faith and prayer play in every life and an awareness of one's own culpability. There is also reconciliation without resignation, self-awareness without deprecation, abundant good humor, philosophical queries--Jack asks, "'Do you ever wonder why American Christianity seems to wait for the real thinking to be done elsewhere?'"--and an ongoing sense of childlike wonder at the beauty and variety of God's world.
In Marilynne Robinson's hands, there is a balm in Gilead, as the old spiritual tells us. --Valerie Ryan --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Gilead is a marvelous read! As a pastor I related well with the human struggle and the faithfulness of the writer. I have already suggested it to book clubs in the area.Published 8 hours ago by Kristie F.
Too much meandering thought and redundancy. I was quite disappointed given the prior reviews. It also wasn't credible as a letter.Published 22 hours ago by Kindle Customer
Worth every line of praise the reviews gave it. A work to read again and again. The human and the spiritual are reconciled and a good story is told as well.Published 10 days ago by malard nency
“Gilead” is basically the story of a man struggling with the question of whether all of God’s (human) creatures are basically good, or not? Read morePublished 10 days ago by Susla
Robinson succeeds in getting into the Reverend's head so perfectly his views come to feel native. His careful thinking, his ability to see all sides, and his instinct to cultivate... Read morePublished 12 days ago by Edward A. Irons
It is a wonderful book, and I enjoyed it very much. Yes, I have told many people about it. My friends like it, alsoPublished 14 days ago by Jo Hirsch