He has lived seventy six years in the small Kansas town of Gilead, most of those pastoring the small country church his father & his grandfather pastored before him.
He watches his seven year old son, the son he never thought he would have, playing at his feet, and realizes he will never see him grow up.
And so he writes, trying to distill his soul into words, to tell his son everything his heart yearns to but knows it will not live to do.
I rarely read fiction. I have no desire to be entertained by a book. Instead, I want, no, I need a book to grab me by the throat, wrestle me to the ground, and hold me there until I am so overwhelmed by the goodness of God that I am weeping. And so I read men like Piper & Eldredge & Chan & Crabb, because they can do that to me.
It is rare that a book of fiction has that capacity. Gilead does.
It is a work of stunning beauty & grace & wisdom. I had underlined many passages and shed many tears by the time I turned the last page. It is no surprise to me at all why Marilynne Robinson won the Pulitzer for this novel. Read it. It will bless your socks off.