Jack

My goodness, what can be said about Jack, Marilynne Robinson's newest novel? Like the other three books in her Gilead series, there's a meditative quality to the prose. As our guide to the complicated inner life of our protagonist, Robinson proceeds at her own pace, and we can't help but trust that it's the right pace – even when she has us linger for 72 pages in a cemetery at night.

An agnostic and alcoholic son of a preacher, Jack second-guesses and self-sabotages himself, over and over and over again. He makes bad moves and bad jokes. He takes in a stray cat. He takes a beating or two or three (not from the cat). He believes in divine election and suspects he falls on the wrong side of the equation. And still we root for him. And, most importantly, so does Della.

I haven't quite finished it yet and I almost don't want to. Almost. It's that kind of a story. It's that good.

Over on Twitter, I suggested that someone ought to put this novel in conversation with Lauren Winner's book The Dangers of Christian Practice. For all the differences between these books (and there are too many to name), both books grapple provocatively with the idea of unintended damage or harm. In the novel, Jack is convinced that everything – and more to the point, everyone – he touches will be hurt in the process. So he insists on keeping others at arm's length, motivated by love and fear in equal measure. Meanwhile, Winner argues in her book that because of sin, all the best Christian practices, including baptism, prayer, and the Eucharist, are "damaged gifts." I still hope someone smarter and wiser than me will take up the challenge and write an essay about this. Wouldn't you want to read that? I know I would.