Marilynne Robinson is the one author alive today whose prose is, to my taste, a literary banquet, a choice and varied meal to be savored. When her latest book, Lila: A Novel, came out late last year, I immediately bought it, not knowing when I would actually get to read it. But, I finally did and it was as rewarding as I had anticipated.
Lila is the story of the woman first introduced in Gilead, Robinson’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. It is the story of a middle-aged, nearly illiterate, vagrant woman, Lila Dahl, and an older, small-town minister, John Ames, both of whom share a weariness of being alone and a difficulty in trusting after years of self-reliance. The gulf between their experiences is wide. Lila has spent her life on the rough edge of survival in almost complete ignorance of the truths that John has dedicated his life to. He has lived his adult life in the same home in Iowa. She has never had a permanent home.
Yet, as the need for companionship causes each to take steps into the other’s world, a trusting companionship unfolds between these two unlikely lovers. The story becomes a microcosm of what marriage can be, of what the gospel looks like when lived out in daily patience and acceptance of God’s grace, of how an undeserved love can make life meaningful again or perhaps for the first time.
Each volume I have of Robinson’s, both fiction and non-fiction, I have marred with underlines and asterisks and exclamation points, so I can go back to some phrase or paragraph that speaks in ways I only wish I could. Language that is true to life, true to the yearnings of the human soul.
…she saw the Reverend walking up the road, Boughton beside him, the two of them talking together as they always did, and listening to each other, as if, so far into their lives, some new thing might still be said, something not to be missed.
“You’re right not to talk. It’s a sort of higher honesty, I think. Once you start talking, there’s no telling what you’ll say.”
She thought, What would I pray for, if I thought there was any point in it? Well, I guess the first thing would have to be that there was some kind of point in it.
…one morning, standing at the sink washing the dishes, she said, “I guess there’s something the matter with me, old man. I can’t love you as much as I love you. I can’t feel as happy as I am.”
“I know,” he said. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. I don’t worry about it, really.”
“I got so much life behind me.”
“I know.”
“It was nothing like this life.”
“I know.”
“I miss it sometimes.”
He nodded. “We aren’t so different. There are things I miss.”
Not everyone may appreciate the slow, rich cadence of Robinson’s story-telling. The action is limited, characters are few, settings are simple. I was many pages into Lila when I realized it had no chapter breaks, much like life itself. But if you are willing to let the deep waters move you gently, the journey is worth your time.
