a quiet beauty
I've been reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson this week--slowly, or more so than I would normally read a new book--I usually sit and sit until the book is finished, immersing myself deeply into a fictional world. This book is different, and I think it lends itself to be read slowly, savored in small bites, much in the same way it is written.
After the first two or three pages, I wondered why it had been awarded a Pulitzer--there was little to pull me in, no scintillating plot twist that brought me in, kept me continually reading to wonder "what's going to happen" with every page turn. Yet, I don't wonder why it got the award anymore, and I keep reading with anticipation--anticipating the next page of quiet beauty that moves at its own pace. The book asks that I stop and sit, listen well, look for wisdom, look for wonder in the ordinary. It's not the plot that pulls me in but the narrator--his warmth, vulnerability, and ability to really see have drawn me to feel as if I have just entered into a friendship with him.
It's the kind of book that I read and have to set aside every so often because I feel so full. (If you haven't read it, do!) Here are a couple sections that I particularly like:
"For me writing has always felt like praying, even when I wasn't writing prayers, as I was often enough. You feel that you are with someone" (19).
"Calvin says somewhere that each of us is an actor on a stage and God is the audience. That metaphor has always interested me, because it makes us artists of our own behavior, and the reaction of God to us might be thought of as aesthetic rather than morally judgmental in the ordinary sense. How well do we understand our role? With how much assurance do we perform it? . . . I do like Calvin's image, though, because it suggests how God might actually enjoy us. I believe we think about that far too little. It would be a way into understanding essential things, since presumably the world exists for God's enjoyment, not in any simple sense of course, but as you enjoy the being of a child even when he is in every way a thorn in your heart" (124-125).
I especially like the second one--the idea of God reacting to us aesthetically. I'm trying to remember back to a paper I wrote for Writing Theory (yep, I'm referencing that class in my blog again :) ) about the knowledge of right and wrong--how we gain our knowledge of morality. I think we talked about the idea of morality being aesthetic, and I think that's a fascinating thought--true, but we don't usually think of it in that way (or at least I don't). Maybe it's because the idea of aesthetics has been skewed--or because the idea of morality is also skewed.
After the first two or three pages, I wondered why it had been awarded a Pulitzer--there was little to pull me in, no scintillating plot twist that brought me in, kept me continually reading to wonder "what's going to happen" with every page turn. Yet, I don't wonder why it got the award anymore, and I keep reading with anticipation--anticipating the next page of quiet beauty that moves at its own pace. The book asks that I stop and sit, listen well, look for wisdom, look for wonder in the ordinary. It's not the plot that pulls me in but the narrator--his warmth, vulnerability, and ability to really see have drawn me to feel as if I have just entered into a friendship with him.
It's the kind of book that I read and have to set aside every so often because I feel so full. (If you haven't read it, do!) Here are a couple sections that I particularly like:
"For me writing has always felt like praying, even when I wasn't writing prayers, as I was often enough. You feel that you are with someone" (19).
"Calvin says somewhere that each of us is an actor on a stage and God is the audience. That metaphor has always interested me, because it makes us artists of our own behavior, and the reaction of God to us might be thought of as aesthetic rather than morally judgmental in the ordinary sense. How well do we understand our role? With how much assurance do we perform it? . . . I do like Calvin's image, though, because it suggests how God might actually enjoy us. I believe we think about that far too little. It would be a way into understanding essential things, since presumably the world exists for God's enjoyment, not in any simple sense of course, but as you enjoy the being of a child even when he is in every way a thorn in your heart" (124-125).
I especially like the second one--the idea of God reacting to us aesthetically. I'm trying to remember back to a paper I wrote for Writing Theory (yep, I'm referencing that class in my blog again :) ) about the knowledge of right and wrong--how we gain our knowledge of morality. I think we talked about the idea of morality being aesthetic, and I think that's a fascinating thought--true, but we don't usually think of it in that way (or at least I don't). Maybe it's because the idea of aesthetics has been skewed--or because the idea of morality is also skewed.
posted by Mandy at 12:18 PM
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