Roughly six months ago I read and posted a brief review of Marilynne Robinson’s Home. In it Ms. Robinson tells a different, but overlapping story with that of Gilead. Arguably, Gilead should be read first, since it was written first, and I now I wonder how my experience of Home might have been different had I read Gilead first. But I didn’t, and so until I decide to read them in the “correct” order I will simply be left to wonder. Quite honestly, I don’t think that my experience of either book was necessarily lessened. In fact, I think that my perception of Jack Boughton’s character in Home was more intense for not having read the insights provided about him by the Reverend Ames in Gilead. I was relieved to read them, as it softened Jack’s character in an unexpected way. However, Robinson’s first foray into the life of a family in the town of Gilead isn’t mainly about Jack Boughton, so much as it is about the aged Ames writing to his young son – a mixture of reminiscence, imparting of wisdom, and encouragement in faith. Still, Jack haunts the Reverend’s thoughts and words, and as Gilead provided me with new revelation about Jack, it did the same for Reverend Ames. Now, perhaps this only proves that I should have read Gilead first, and maybe it does, but it also occurs to me that this reveals the brilliance of what Ms. Robinson accomplishes in these two books. To be able to write about the same events, but from the different perspectives of various characters within the stories she crafted, and convincingly so, is quite remarkable. The pathos which the reader experiences is palpable and powerful.
While I found the story of Home to be more emotionally gripping, I underlined numerous passages in Gilead, which is something I don’t know that I’ve ever done before in a work of fiction. The truths imparted and the insights into the human condition are notable, but Robinson’s portrayal of the inner-life of a pastor was nothing short of revelatory. I suppose Marilynne Robinson’s literary achievement is evidenced by the fact that she won the Pulitzer Prize for Gilead. I suppose…though a prize, no matter how prestigious, can hardly compare to the indelible mark Ms. Robinson’s story leaves upon the reader.