ByFaith invited writers to select a novel to review that our readers might consider for their summer reading lists.
As a communications professional at a seminary, I work daily in word play. I spend my days editing professors’ work, drafting social media posts, emails, and programs, and crafting just the right sentences to convey a particular message.
Words have always fascinated me, especially in novels, because they immerse you in the story and the characters. You come to understand the inner workings of a character’s mind and heart. It’s one thing for someone to say something you relate to, but it’s another to step into the shoes of a character, where those words truly come alive.
A Letter I Didn’t Know I Needed
Many years ago, I asked a mentor for his “must-read book list,” and at the top was a book I had never heard of: Marilynne Robinson’s “Gilead.” I went in without any context, freshly out of college and eager to dive into a novel after spending many years studying theology and writing exegetical essays.
I was unprepared for the lasting impact this book would have on me.
When I first read it, I was 23 and did not often consider death, suffering, loneliness, and dread. But when woven into a story like “Gilead,” those themes slowed me down, allowing me to meditate. While the book itself is only 247 pages and feels physically light, its content is far from it. I found myself thinking about the characters and dwelling on the truths they portrayed long after the last page.
It felt like Ames was my grandfather, leaving me the wisdom he had gained on earth while I listened intently.
Years later, after annual re-readings, Ames’ words have sunk deep into me: What is a quiet life? Am I noticing the beauty around me?
I keep coming back to this observation: “I’m grateful for all those dark years … a long, bitter prayer that was answered finally.” I read “Gilead” before I went into a long season of suffering. This dark season changed me into a contemplative person, and I have come to say with Ames: it was indeed a long, bitter prayer, and on the other side, I am grateful for the dark times, because the light is made so much clearer against a night sky.
A Dying Man’s Letter
The story is set in the 1950s in the small town of Gilead, Iowa. John Ames is an elderly pastor writing a letter to his young son. As his time is running out due to a heart condition, he tells his son his life story. He tells stories of his growing up, his battle with anger, resentment, and loneliness, his joy in friendship, the freedom of forgiveness, and his love for his son. He also shares about the loss of his first wife and child and meeting his son’s mother.
The uniqueness of this book lies in its epistolary structure: It is a letter, without chapters.
In this final testament, he lays out his life, reflecting on truths and the gospel to which he has devoted himself. The book is not overtly Christian; the themes are present but conveyed through the quiet, ordinary faithfulness of daily life, less systematic and more practical.
Ames often mentions his friend, Boughton, a Presbyterian minister. The pivotal moment in the narrative occurs when Boughton’s son, Jack, returns to Gilead after years of estrangement from both his father and the community. His homecoming sets the stage for conflict, as Jack, named after Ames, carries the weight of a troubled past.
Throughout his college years, Jack strayed from his namesake and fathered a child out of wedlock. This event marks a turning point not only in Jack’s life but also in Ames’s perception of him; from that moment on, Jack is seen as a source of disappointment and distress.
In this portion of the book, readers glimpse a side of Boughton that contrasts with the somber, saintly persona; here, he is depicted as a stubborn old man grappling with deep-seated emotions. However, as the story unfolds, reconciliation and forgiveness emerge as Ames extends God’s blessing to Jack. He tells his son that though his son may hear no other good things about Jack, there is indeed good in Jack after all.
Radiance in Obscurity
In his letter, Ames asks an important question: If you were facing death, what would you want to tell your son? We all know that we are mortal, but rarely do we give serious consideration to the truth that “we are dust” (Psalm 103:14). Ames explores ideas like love, regret, and the legacies we create.
Robinson exquisitely weaves the ordinary means of grace into Ames’ life. His small acts of daily obedience give voice to those of us who live relatively boring lives. The mundaneness of life can quickly catch up to us: wake up, drink coffee, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed, and do it all again tomorrow. How often do we think, “What is the point of all of this?”
This book speaks to all stages of life. It propels the young into the future, prompting them to contemplate a faithful life. “Gilead” is also a sober reminder that we are all dying. It urges the old to meditate on their own lives and testimonies, dying well in the faith, and glimpsing heaven behind light and momentary afflictions. If you have not yet suffered deeply, you will someday. Gilead offers the quiet witness of a faithful servant, and in that witness, the lonely and afflicted may find surprising consolation.
Those who have suffered will find that “Gilead” gives voice to the deep aches of life on this side of the veil. In a world that screams its injustice and grasps for likes and views, “Gilead” shows that the Christian life is most radiant not in spectacle but in obscurity. Mundane faithfulness, swallowed resentment, costly forgiveness — these become tools of a lifetime of sanctification and the unlikely stage of God’s glory.
Read it Slowly
“Gilead” can feel slow and even melancholic at first. If you come to it expecting a traditional plot, you may feel a little disoriented in the opening pages. “Gilead” unfolds the way memory does — quietly, wanderingly, circling back repeatedly to moments that seemed small at the time but later reveal themselves to be full of meaning. Learning how to read this book is part of the experience.
“Gilead” asks you to sit still long enough to listen to an older saint reflect on his life before God. It asks you to slow down, pay attention, and let ordinary things carry their full weight. If you resist that pace and try to rush through it, you will miss what makes the novel so extraordinary.
In many ways, the book is less a story and more a long pastoral letter. Ames is writing to his young son, knowing he will not live long enough to watch him grow up. What follows is a series of reflections on memory, grace, regret, and the quiet beauty of a faithful life.
The book rewards patience the way good sermons do; its meaning deepens the longer you live with it. As Ames himself writes to his son, “I told you that you might have a very different life from mine, and from the life you’ve had with me, and that would be a wonderful thing; there are many ways to live a good life.”
Haley Isbell is a member of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in McKinney, Texas and works at Reformed Theological Seminary in Dallas.