Hannah Coulter: A Novel (Port William) (Paperback)

~ (Author) "I picked him up in my arms and I carried him home..." (more)
Key Phrases: Port William, Miss Ora, Big Ellis (more...)

Editorial Reviews

From Publishers Weekly

Starred Review. "This is the story of my life, that while I lived it weighed upon me and pressed against me and filled all my senses to overflowing and now is like a dream dreamed.... This is my story, my giving of thanks." So begin the reflections of Hannah Coulter, the twice-widowed protagonist of this slim, incandescent novel in Berry's Port William series. In 1940, the precocious, innocent Hannah leaves her small Kentucky farming town to work as a secretary in nearby Hargrave, where she meets Virgil Feltner, seven years her senior, who gently courts her. They marry and have a daughter, but Virgil, "called to the army in 1942," dies in the Battle of the Bulge. Love follows mourning, as a kind but driven farmer, Nathan Coulter, returns from combat and woos Hannah. In delicate, shimmering prose, Berry tracks Hannah's loves and losses through the novel's first half; the narrative sharpens as Hannah recounts her children's lives—Margaret becomes a schoolteacher with a troubled son; Mattie ("a little too eager to climb Fool's Hill") flees rural life to become a globe-trotting communication executive; Caleb, Nathan's hope to run the family farm, becomes a professor of agriculture instead. Beneath the story of ordinary lives lies the work of an extraordinarily wise novelist: as Hannah relates her children's fate to her own deeply rooted rural background, she weaves landscape and family and history together ("My mind... is close to being the room of love where the absent are present, the dead are alive, time is eternal and all creatures prosperous"). Her compassion enlivens every page of this small, graceful novel.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From The Washington Post

Wendell Berry has published 40 volumes of fiction, poetry and essays, a prodigious output for any writer, all the more impressive given his concurrent careers as professor and farmer. Since 1960 his fiction has been exploring the good souls of Port William, Ky. In these novels and stories, a reader hears the echoes of Berry's moral essays, which insist on the commitment to land and community, and of his poetry, which insists on forthright, graceful language. Acutely aware of the connection between writer and reader, Berry addresses us in the soft Kentucky cadences of his characters.

In Hannah Coulter, the latest Port William novel, a woman simply tells the story of her long life. The form of this tale resembles not so much what we expect of a traditional novel -- the accumulation of scenes into a dramatic arc -- as it does a testament, a life sketched in broad outline, then reflected upon by the teller. This stripped-down approach, as old-fashioned as the gospels that Hannah lives by, is compelling. Though her voice is neither insistent nor even particularly forceful, it embodies its author's lyrical graciousness, and a reader settles in for long, comfortable stretches.

Hannah's Depression-era girlhood is marked by poverty, the sudden loss of her mother and the arrival of a jealous stepmother, but she does not define herself by her troubles. With the support of her loving and cagey grandmam, she makes her way into the world. Though her adult identity will come through marriage and motherhood, Hannah Coulter remains the shaper of her own destiny. In her grandmam's day, she says, women dressed in long skirts for the most physical work and "must have been like well-wrapped gifts, to be opened by their husbands on their wedding night, a complete surprise." Acutely aware of the male gaze, she nonetheless resists regarding herself as an object craved by men: She is smart, competent and watchful, and she finds solace in the company of other women. "All women is brothers," a male relative says, and she wryly agrees.

She marries, in turn, two characters who have themselves been the subjects of earlier Berry novels: Virgil Feltner, declared missing in the Battle of the Bulge, and Nathan Coulter, who survives the Battle of Okinawa and later marries his own grief to Hannah's. World War II is at the center of all the Port William novels -- for Berry, it is the central event of 20th-century American life -- but Hannah and Nathan do not dwell on it. After a healing time, they raise Hannah's daughter and two sons of their own and cultivate their farm, their lives crowded with work and the companionship of family and neighbors. They call their communal workforce "our membership," an economic necessity that also sustains them spiritually.

Berry's vision of stewardship of the land is at once deeply conservative (in his essays he invokes the best impulses of the old Agrarian movement) and bold in its visionary ideas. The Coulters' life is not idyllic -- Berry is too honest about the labor involved and the poverty endured -- but his evocation of the pleasures of sweat and toil is convincing. The Coulters raise their children to work alongside them and plan to pass the farm on to them, but their offspring drift off, as modern children do, to urban and technological and academic lives. Hannah accepts this as she does the other disappointments of her life, as things beyond her control.

For long stretches, a reader is apt to forget that a male imagination is shaping Hannah's narration, but every now and again a detail seems not so much false as absent: Men's desire for Hannah is insisted upon ("A man's desire is the most flattering mirror a woman ever stands before"), but we get little sense of her own desire. At novel's end, she will graphically envision Nathan's wartime horror, but her own struggles with the muck of childbirth and death are elided. Never mind. It is always something of a miracle when a fiction writer makes the "leap," as Eudora Welty called it, and inhabits the skin of the other sex.

Near the end, Hannah's relentlessly positive spirit in the face of Nathan's painful death is so unflagging that it approaches falsity. But Berry anticipates a reader's doubts and takes the novel down a dark path. Hannah decides to learn what she can about her husband's past by learning what she can about the Battle of Okinawa. The pages describing her discoveries are the most explicitly religious, insistent and powerful of the book, an effect they achieve precisely because this darkness has been heretofore suppressed. Hannah identifies not only with her husband but with the people of Okinawa: "Want of imagination," she says, "makes things real enough to be destroyed." In this recognition, her voice becomes prophetic, and her empathy lifts her story beyond any lament for the dead and into a challenge for the living.

Reviewed by Valerie Sayers
Copyright 2005, The Washington Post Co. All Rights Reserved. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

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Product Details

• Paperback: 208 pages
• Publisher: Counterpoint; Later Printing Edition edition (September 30, 2005)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1593760787
• ISBN-13: 978-1593760786
• Product Dimensions: 8.9 x 5.9 x 0.7 inches
• Shipping Weight: 11.2 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
• Average Customer Review: 4.7 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (22 customer reviews)
• Amazon.com Sales Rank: #45,896 in Books (See Bestsellers in Books)

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Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

42 of 42 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Music to the senses...., January 20, 2005

By	Michael D. Trimble (Connecticut) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

This review is from: Hannah Coulter: A Novel (Hardcover)

Dear Mr. Berry,

I don't know if you will ever see this, but it is the only way I know of letting you know how much your stories mean to me. I read your books with a highlighter, as there are just too many meaningful passages not to be marked and referenced over and over again. You certainly have a gift for words. The melodious nature of your writing is as addicting as is anything else I have ever experienced. The stories you tell and retell about the citizens of Port William, are for me lessons of a sort. For those of us who sometime wonder what love is, what kindness means, and what it means to be part of something greater than self-serving interests, well, you provide an extraordinary example in your wonderful work.

Thank you so much, for the pleasure I get when I read what you have written.

25 of 25 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Best book by Berry, best book in America - 2005, November 15, 2004

By	A congregational leader (from Dayton, Ohio) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Hannah Coulter: A Novel (Hardcover)

This novel is superb. Oh, so Berry may not create hyper plots but then such plots usually numb more than they inspire. He writes from a deep well focusing on place, person, and love. Not love in some sappy, sentimental sense, but love rooted in knowledge.

The prose is luminous. It's like Berry found a way to turn his poetry into a novel.

This is a deep reading experience. You'll overhear the story of a woman who lost her mother, than her first husband, but found a place in which to make a world, a kind of new world, almost a new Jerusalem (it is sacred ground in the best, ordinary sense).

24 of 26 people found the following review helpful:

5.0 out of 5 stars Port William past and future, November 15, 2004

By	Patricia Kramer (Madison, WI USA) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

This review is from: Hannah Coulter: A Novel (Hardcover)

Wendell Berry has continued the story of the people of Port William and their common sense, appreciation of the meaning and fullness of community, and wiseness about their place in the world. The story is told through Hannah Coulter's eyes as she looks back on her life in the arms of that community.

People in Port William don't live in fear. "It was getting on toward dark, but I could see the car well enough, and I didn't recognize it. I hesitated a minute. The country is full of strangers now, and you hear tales. There are , no doubt about it, some people who would knock an old woman in the head more or less on speculation. But I thought "What of it?" and went on out."

Hannah's accounts of the two loves of her life and the deepness and fullness of that love are the best descriptions of mature, lasting love that I have ever read.

Hannah looks to the future of Port William with some sadness as the lines of generations of farmers have been broken. This is reflected in the paths chosen by her own children.

"But did we tell the stories right? It was lovely, the telling and the listening, usually the last thing before bedtime. But did we tell the stories in such a way as to suggest that we had needed a better chance or a better life or a better place than we had?

I don't know, but I have had to ask. Suppose your stories, instead of mourning and rejoicing over the past, say that everything should have been different. Suppose you encourage or even just allow your children to believe that their parents ought to have been different people, with a better chance, born in a better place. Or suppose the stories you tell them allow them to believe, when they hear it from other people, that farming people are inferior and need to improve themselves by leaving the farm. Doesn't that finally unmake everything that has been made? Isn't that the loose thread that unravels the whole garment?

And how are you ever to know where the thread breaks, and when the tug begins?"

Wendell Berry's writing is a gift and I am deeply grateful.