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Abide with Me, Elizabeth Strout
The handsome minister Tyler Caskey, of West Annett, Maine, is beloved by his parishioners because he really does think they're all God's children. But in the bleak autumn of 1959, more than a year after the death of his wife, Tyler is still awash in grief. The man who once held them rapt from the pulpit now appears ridiculous up there—"like a big tractor being driven by a teenage kid, slipping in and out of gear"—and his daughter has started screaming and spitting in kindergarten. How can he lead them if he himself is lost? Just as she did in her first novel, Amy and Isabelle, Strout has created an absorbing world peopled by characters who argue the merits of canned cranberry sauce and using one's turn signal; meanwhile, dark fears about Freud and Khrushchev run beneath the surface of their lives like water under ice. With superlative skill, Strout challenges us to examine what makes a good story—and what makes a good life.
After reading her first novel, I was hungry for anything else by Strout, so imagine my delight when I found her follow-up in our recent fiction. While this story doesn't pack the same fire as Amy and Isabelle, it's still remarkably written and crafted. When I read the jacket, I was sure that reading this story about a grieving minister would prove to be an exercise in boredom--I mean, really, how exciting can a minister in 1959 New England be?
Strout seems to have developed a trademark style in just two novels: as in her first, she succinctly exposes the reader to several characters without seeming trite or concocted. This same technique I found in an Oates' novel and couldn't finish the book because the flitting back and forth proved distracting at best. I think the reason it works for Strout is she doesn't write the entire novel this way, but rather, invests short segments to multi-character parts. It works, also, because it seems to capture small-town life. In both Strout's novels, the gossiping town has played its own role in the story and the short bursts of other, secondary characters lends itself well to this.
I don't feel like Caskey reaches any sort of recovery (as another review mentions), but I do think he finds himself on the way. He spends a lot of time contemplating not God but Bonhoeffer, which I suppose could be considered a contemporary interest. However, for a minister that seeks out The Feeling, not a lot of time is spent actually seeking. Of course, who am I to judge; and it can be argued that Caskey's contemplations on Bonhoeffer as well as his inability to see outside of himself are all part of how he rediscovers The Feeling.
Overall, a wonderful novel. Not nearly as good as her first, but I think that's more because of the subject (the first one had SEX!, this one had God).
The handsome minister Tyler Caskey, of West Annett, Maine, is beloved by his parishioners because he really does think they're all God's children. But in the bleak autumn of 1959, more than a year after the death of his wife, Tyler is still awash in grief. The man who once held them rapt from the pulpit now appears ridiculous up there—"like a big tractor being driven by a teenage kid, slipping in and out of gear"—and his daughter has started screaming and spitting in kindergarten. How can he lead them if he himself is lost? Just as she did in her first novel, Amy and Isabelle, Strout has created an absorbing world peopled by characters who argue the merits of canned cranberry sauce and using one's turn signal; meanwhile, dark fears about Freud and Khrushchev run beneath the surface of their lives like water under ice. With superlative skill, Strout challenges us to examine what makes a good story—and what makes a good life.
After reading her first novel, I was hungry for anything else by Strout, so imagine my delight when I found her follow-up in our recent fiction. While this story doesn't pack the same fire as Amy and Isabelle, it's still remarkably written and crafted. When I read the jacket, I was sure that reading this story about a grieving minister would prove to be an exercise in boredom--I mean, really, how exciting can a minister in 1959 New England be?
Strout seems to have developed a trademark style in just two novels: as in her first, she succinctly exposes the reader to several characters without seeming trite or concocted. This same technique I found in an Oates' novel and couldn't finish the book because the flitting back and forth proved distracting at best. I think the reason it works for Strout is she doesn't write the entire novel this way, but rather, invests short segments to multi-character parts. It works, also, because it seems to capture small-town life. In both Strout's novels, the gossiping town has played its own role in the story and the short bursts of other, secondary characters lends itself well to this.
I don't feel like Caskey reaches any sort of recovery (as another review mentions), but I do think he finds himself on the way. He spends a lot of time contemplating not God but Bonhoeffer, which I suppose could be considered a contemporary interest. However, for a minister that seeks out The Feeling, not a lot of time is spent actually seeking. Of course, who am I to judge; and it can be argued that Caskey's contemplations on Bonhoeffer as well as his inability to see outside of himself are all part of how he rediscovers The Feeling.
Overall, a wonderful novel. Not nearly as good as her first, but I think that's more because of the subject (the first one had SEX!, this one had God).
