a bittersweet epistolary

The few choice words I'd use to describe this book are melancholy, introspective, wistful, and paranoid. I realize all these words mainly reflect how I view the narrator, Reverend John Ames, who is essentially writing one long letter to his young son. Ames is slowly dying, and already an older man who's lived a long life. The realization you won't be around to watch your seven-year-old son grow old, or witness most of his formative memories, experiences, and develop into his own person, seems like enough to make one think about what kind of legacy they want to leave and how they might take a bit of ownership over how their child may view them. I grew really curious when the very clear epistolary-centered tone at the book's start seemed to evolve into more of a steady stream of consciousness for Ames concerning another character: his best friend's Boughton's son, John Ames' namesake. There's imagery and symbolism left and right suggesting Ames sees John, or Jack Boughton, as a sort of mirror turned back on himself. I took that mirror to be revealing places where Ames fears he wasn't a good enough father or husband in the "caretaking" category. Deeply religious, I think he also sees how Jack has strayed from the church and more traditional behavior glaringly. It's hard to watch your best friend's son make decisions that hurt himself and the people around him; you grow defensive of your best friend. You also generally grow defensive of such an individual being around your wife and impressionable child. With that being said, the careful, almost obsessive attention Ames gives to Jack later in the narrative made me really question if Jack was as untrustworthy as he seemed, or just being painted in a suspicious light by a suspicious narrator. The information revealed about Jack's past and present struggles didn't end up aligning with what I thought might happen, and the surprise really caught my attention in some slower portions of the second half. Truth be told, Jack's story is a sad one, and the way Ames does his best to show empathy and compassion made me a little emotional. The first half is by far my favorite for the many times it attempts to capture quiet joy. Every instance Ames records of observing his son's behavior, from playing with a neighborhood friend to blowing bubbles with his mother in the front yard -- every one of them was heartfelt and pulled on my heartstrings. This careful attention and crafted nostalgia the narrator has for his life while he's still living it feel like the heart of this book. The other heart definitely revolves around the time Ames spends writing about their family history, mainly his relationship and perception of his father and grandfather. A lot of context to the Civil War and the violent South during Ames' grandfather's times, Kansas specifically, influences the storytelling. I consciously tried to make connections between the history Ames referenced and how it related to his hotheaded grandfather and polar opposite pacifist father. Both mens' occupations as preachers (Ames' occupation as well) color the issues they disagreed over even more. The first half's emphasis on the narrator's father and grandfather as people he believes his son should know as told by Ames fascinates me; this theme of preserving and understanding family history became a clear theme from the get go. One thing I had some trouble grasping within the novel was time periods, which is definitely due to there being so many flashbacks and memories cited by Ames as well as current scenes he writes about concerning his son, Boughton, and Jack Boughton. I also liked how Ames described his first wife and the genuine love he had for her before slowly giving readers more information concerning his current wife, Lila, and how their marriage is a quiet one full of love and general stability. I really keep coming back to the words melancholy and wistful, since the narrator's oncoming death hangs over the whole story whether or not the reader is always aware of it. I know I got caught up enough in the story's nuances to forget and then go, "oh yeah, this is a letter with a very pointed, bittersweet purpose." It's an epistolary novel of likes I haven't come across before.


Some of my favorite quotes from Gilead:

"You can love a bad book for its haplessness or pomposity or gall, if you have that starveling appetite for things human, which I devoutly hope you never will have."

"...I hope you are an excellent man, and I will love you absolutely if you are not)."

"You didn't wait till this morning to realize that I am old... How I wish you could have known me in my strength."

"He would say, Peace will come only when that war ends, so the God of peace calls upon us to end it. He said all this with that gun in his belt. And everyone there always shouted amen, even the littlest children."

"I can't believe we will forget our sorrows altogether. That would mean forgetting that we had lived, humanly speaking."

"'Rejoice with those who rejoice.' I have found that difficult too often. I was much better at weeping with those who weep. I don't mean that as a joke, but it is kind of funny, when I think about it."

"You see how it is godlike to love the being of someone. Your existence is a delight to us."

"I knew perfectly well at that time, as I had for years and years, that the Lord absolutely transcends any understanding I have of Him, which makes loyalty to him a different thing from loyalty to whatever customs and doctrines and memories I happen to associate with Him."

"There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient."

---