The Maytrees

Some books are meant to be read only at certain points in your life. Several years back I attempted to read the Golden Notebook and was rebuffed (by what, the writing? I can't even recall). I told my mom who said I simply wasn't old enough to appreciate it yet. And then there are books that fall to you at exactly the right time in your life. I read Annie Dillard's epic, The Living, the summer I moved to Seattle. About pioneers who settle the Pacific Northwest, it was perfectly timed for my own settling of the Pacific Northwest. In The Living, the families become intertwined with, and are essential to, the landscape.

A note in Marie Claire reminded me that Ms. Dillard had recently published a new book, The Maytrees. I don't normally get my reading recommendations from such monthlies, but I've read most of Ms. Dillard's repertoire, so figured this would be a safe bet. In fact, it turned out to be the most perfect book for me to read this summer. A quiet book about small things made big, it, like The Living, weaves characters and place together such that it is impossible to imagine Provincetown without Toby and Lou Maytree, or Reevadere, or Deary. Likewise, it's impossible to imagine Jane Cairo or Petie growing up anywhere but the Cape dunes.

The plot is simple: man falls in love with woman, they have a child, man falls out of love with woman and in love with someone else. But in a short 215 pages, Ms. Dillard allows us to feel everything this family felt during those 40+ years, every philosophical question they had while watching the eternal stars shine over the eternal waves beyond the dunes.

I found myself drawing this book out over the course of the week. It's short and I could have finished it in about two days, but I wanted to savor it.

The women at Marie Claire didn't like this book. For Lauren and Yael, the words and language were "dense" and "off-putting" and Marty felt she had to "be older in order to be quiet enough to want to accept the challenge of the book". If you think you can't handle some big words and bigger ideas, then don't bother picking this book up. There's a genre written just for you, it features a pink cover with an single girl on it and is filed under Chick Lit.

For me, this was right up there with Housekeeping, an easy 5 stars. And yet, I'm still not going to recommend it, because when you are ready for The Maytrees, this book will find you.

Gilead

I grew up attending church. We went to a Presbyterian Church in Wichita, or, when in Oklahoma City, went to the church my grandparents and parents went to. As a kid, I almost always went to Sunday School-- an hour of songs, crafts, snacks and a Bible story. On occassions I'd have to go to the "adult" service and it would seriously try my patience. In my mind, the sermon was always 45 minutes, with the remaining 15 minutes song singing, prayer and offering collection. This was all followed by donuts in the fellowship hall. It was a time to try to avoid fidgeting and maybe a time to try to understand the sermon, which didn't seem to have anything to do the Bible stories and miracles we learned about in Sunday School. By the time I got to high school, I didn't really have to go to church any longer, so I didn't.

Twenty some odd years later I've decided to give church another try. I wanted a spirit of community, a calmness and a reason to wake up on Sunday mornings. Most suprising is that the sermons are maybe just 15 minutes and are also totally understandable now!

This is all a long way of saying that reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson was a little like attending a church service as a kid-- kind of tedious and sleep inducing, but poetic-- and a little like attending a church service as an adult-- thought provoking, relaxing and at times even entertaining.

Robinson composes the novel as a letter from Pastor Ames, a man in his 70s, to his young son. It's a loving and detailed journal and at times, it was all I could do to remember that Robinson is in fact a novelist and Ames is a fictional character. The letter/journal is part observation-- detailing what his son is wearing (a favorite red shirt), part philosophical and religious musing and part family history-- from finding and visiting a grandfather's grave in Kansas, to admitting his jealousy and confusion over his best friend's family, with special focus on young Boughton.

I started this book months ago and had a lot of trouble getting into it. I'd read some, then start another book...so I was continually reading it but while I had other books going. It wasn't until about half way through the book that a plot/storyline took hold. There's no doubt that Robinson is an amazing writer. Housekeeping remains one of my all time favorite books. But I can't in good faith recommend this book fully. It was worth the effort in the end, and I'm glad I read it, but it was a tough journey. Thus I'm giving it 3/5 netflix stars.