Lovely book. I can’t think of another book that doesn’t have a plot but is such a pleasure to read.

This did for me at 27 what The Alchemist did for me at 15. It doesn't necessarily seem productive to pit these two books against each other, and I don't mean to; I just feel that Gilead brings me something sacral today that I perhaps wouldn't have been ready for more than a decade ago. It's ruminative, overflowing, and gently spiritual, grounded in a seemingly unremarkable existence in a small town (rather than in an allegorical, mystical, world-crossing quest). From the beginning, I knew the book would confront the question: How do we face death? An elderly Reverend John Ames writes to his young son, imparting the observations and wisdom he wants his son to have later in his life (as John know the time to pass is soon). Throughout, Robinson captures some of the most important and unbearable tensions of existence: belief without knowing, love without reciprocity, joy coexisting with disappointment. And as we learn about (and from) John, it becomes clear that there's a secondary, but equally important, question: How do we face life? As it turns out, answers to both of these questions seem to be the same. In short: - With gratitude (and without expectation) - With knowledge that love and creation can't really be understood - With joy from noticing bits of love and creation anyway Regarding that last one, I have to bring up Simone Weil. As she said: Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. It presupposes faith and love. Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer. And, in the words of Robinson (via John): This is an interesting planet. It deserves all the attention you can give it.

dear Lord I miss my childhood in Iowa. The prairie IS Christlike in its unassuming beauty and resilience. the book is dense, but it is immensely powerful when you actually take the time to understand it. Reverend Ames is a stunning example of how men of God should act and be: empathetic, patient, and outwardly loving.

There were many beautiful sentences in this book Id like to go back to sometime in my life. The book itself (consisting of beautifully written sentences pretty much one after another) is still so difficult to read. Its been an ordeal. I cant really suss out why, and as far as I can tell from the comments its been a conundrum to others as well. Even after page 100ish there isnt much of a plot or even coherent story to speak of, just a random assortment of what I guess Id call memories and musings? Neither is there much to relate to, in almost any way (perhaps for a religious person theres more). Literally felt like I had to just plow through pages a lot of the time just to get through reading it, because I didnt wanna quit. Whew.

Beautiful story of a man writing his life story to his young son. It’s appropriately slow paced allowing you to take in the richness of this seemingly ordinary Iowan preacher. Made me want to continue to read Home, Lila and Jack by same author.

A wise, contemplative, theological story about fathers and sons, forgiveness and small town America. Enjoyable.

admittedly, when i started reading this book after it was lent to me by a friend (and recommended to me, constantly, by multiple friends), i thought, "alright, i guess." by the halfway mark, i thought, "it's nice and all, but not for me." i kept reading. the book crept on me slowly and patiently, a warmth blooming through one's chest. when i reached the last sentence, i was crying. oh, what words are there to describe what even believers, if we dare to call ourselves so, can at best approximate as a prevenient God? how futile, impossible, and embarrassing it seems, to do this thing called hope when time only confronts you more and more with how little is the sliver of knowledge we will ever encounter? yet faith is faith because it is faith, not proof. and that is love. that is how you come to see the best in the destitute. and rest in the unfathomable grace given unto your inadequate self. how do i even say things anymore. what i will do, every day: i'll pray, and then i'll sleep.

OH MAN. so beautiful and so rich. i’m a little surprised by how much i liked this, but the slowness of the novel only amplified the struggle and serenity and transcendental pathos underlying the narrator’s memories. i’m in awe of robinson’s ability to strike a balance between wrestling with faith and its mysteries, and returning to the tenets that make the Christian walk so meaningful, including grace and forgiveness. i think this emerged most prominently in the last third of the book: freedom as seen through an honest searching of the heart and holding onto the hope of eternity. finally, HER PROSE IS JUST UNPARALLELED (susurrus is my new favorite word). this is for my own reference, really, but page 119 made me teary: “The moon looks wonderful in this warm evening light, just as a candle flame looks beautiful in the light of morning. Light within light. It seems like a metaphor for the human soul, the singular light within the great general light of existence. Or it seems like poetry within language. Perhaps wisdom within experience. Or marriage within friendship and love. I’ll try to remember to use this. I believe I see a place for it in my thoughts on Hagar and Ishmael. Their time in the wilderness seems like a specific moment of divine Providence within the whole providential regime of Creation.”

This book is written as a letter from an old man to the young son he won't live to see grow up. He goes over events in his life, and his family's lives, and his friends' lives. It's a quiet little story of reminiscence. Sometimes it's a bit rambling and you wonder why you keep going. Then you'll hit a sentence or sentiment that's so luminous with grace and goodness that it brings tears to your eyes. I listened to the audiobook, and the narrator was excellent. I picked up this book because some of the book podcasters I listen to really, REALLY love the author. I liked it well enough, but maybe I need to read more to see if I really fall in love with her.

Não percebia como é que um livro que tinha ganho o Pulitzer em 2005 nunca tinha sido editado em Portugal, mas depois de o ler talvez perceba um pouco melhor (descobri mais tarde que tinha sido editado pela Difel em 2006). O tema tratado ainda que desejando-se universal está intimamente ligado à defesa de uma visão do chamado cristianismo norte-americano. O modo para o fazer é o melhor do livro, já o conteúdo falta-lhe estrutura, ou uma abordagem que aproxime quem está por fora do contexto das problemáticas que vão surgindo, aparentemente centrais para compreensão em profundidade do texto. “Gilead” é uma história contada em tom diarista e confessional, por parte de um padre protestante com 75 anos que escreve ao seu pequeno filho que tem no momento apenas 7 anos. Todo o tom do texto é servido numa expetável melancolia, já que quem escreve o faz na esperança de ser lido depois de ter partido. É uma carta escrita para uma futura pessoa, e só por si é suficiente para nos colocar num estado introspectivo e meditativo, algo que a autora aproveita bem para lançar as suas grandes questões sobre a identidade religiosa. O mais interessante acaba por provir da dúvida que acompanha o reverendo ao longo de todo o seu discurso, do modo como enfrenta a dúvida sem esperar por respostas de qualquer orgão religioso externo, confrontando-se apenas com algumas obras, em particular com Feuerbach. O foco narrativo centra-se na história de vida do reverendo que essencialmente dá conta das vidas do seu avô e pai que também foram reverendos. A discussão atrai porque as igrejas metodistas e congregacionalista, baseadas no Calvinismo diferem da Católica, entre outras coisas, por se formarem e susterem de modo autónomo. Não existe um centro de onde são emanadas leis e concordatas, para onde olhar e procurar respostas, o que faz com que as igrejas sejam mais assentes na comunidade, na construção do comum e menos no da mera evangelização. Apesar do potencial interesse que o livro poderia representar, e da excelente escrita de Robinson, falta-lhe não apenas contexto, mas essencialmente estrutura. O livro surge como um carta que alguém vai escrevendo ao sabor do tempo e disponibilidade, faltando trama, razões e motivações que nos prendam à leitura. Se as primeiras páginas se sorvem de um trago o resto do livro parece repetir-se, dando conta de pequenos casos, pequenas situações, com um ou outro evento mais relevante, mas sem uma verdadeira consequência no todo, ou pelo menos assim o li, talvez por falta de conhecimento do contexto. Publicado no VI: https://virtual-illusion.blogspot.pt/...

My fuse is getting shorter. 20 pages in and I just didn't care.

I anticipated reading this book for a while, but the handful of flecks of wisdom did not make up for how uninteresting the rest of the story was.

finishing this exactly a year later. I'm actually glad it took me so long.. this book was a companion :)

A wonderful meditation on the nature of faith and the subtle ways in which shifts as a person gets older and has life events occur that alter things seemingly set in stone. Through the lens of a pastor who knows he will be leaving the world, and the transgression of the reader consuming these letters to his child, there is a really strange relationship that is created. We know that it’s all fiction, but the idea that we aren’t supposed to be reading these personal letters and we have access to the insight of a person’s innermost thoughts—as well as simply the most important things they wish to divulge about themselves to their loved ones—not to mention someone of unshakable faith, really lends this an air of authenticity. It feels like narrative nonfiction most of the time. Another thing to like is the situations discussed. You might think the things that are brought up might be really big questions and grandiose, necessarily, to convey the deepest parts of himself and be understood. But really it’s more about the mundanity of life and the beauty there, bookended with the absolute love he has and has had with his wife. The proposal story is so good and so moving, and quintessential to who he is as a person. All the stories have that same quality. What’s more is it’s also not proselytizing to the audience. Faith as an everyday challenge met, and the questions in its contrivances and contradictions is the absolute point. It is not a simple faith at all that is unwavering. It is the person who challenges his beliefs constantly that ends up with a cornerstone. I thought that was a beautiful notion to pass along to the reader, and not at all heavy handed; deduced by consuming his thoughts, instead of a Midnight Library banging you over the head with its conclusions. A fantastic read, all round.

Read this book.

A peaceful, pensive meditation, beautifully written. A quiet, thoughtful dive into the mind of a quiet, thoughtful character. First book in a while that I’ve wanted to read with a pencil on hand so I could underline favorite passages.

The first one hundred pages were surprisingly extraordinary but it sadly teetered off towards the end. It is biblical, resonant and as personal as a prayer but for me it needed to be longer to be able to have the effect on me it was trying to have.

INCREDIBLE. The language - incredible. The characters - incredible. The feels - incredible. It starts a little slow, but stick with it. It’s worth it.

An old man writing his thoughts out to his son in not only a sluggish, rambling manner, but he was also was preachy about it. The writing was beautiful and I did like Ames. She writes in a way that makes the characters and Ames real and wonderfully human, but I never was hooked. But because of the fact that she was able to make me care about the characters, specifically Boughton(his best friend) and his wife, I will be picking up the next two books in the hopes of getting more about them and the relationship between those and Ames.

Stunning. A prayer in prose.

Really hard to read; not fully sure I understood all of it.