Marilynne Robinson

 

It's been many years since I read Gilead, Marilynne Robinson's celebrated novel of history, faith, and mortality. I never loved that novel -- at least not in the way the critics suggested I might. But now, after all those years, I've returned to Robinson: this time via her first novel, Housekeeping. 

Here, again, the critics would have you believe you've encountered a masterpiece. And in some sense, I suppose, you have: the first half of Housekeeping, which establishes a sense of time and place, is highly effective. There's a clear evocation of the American west -- along with its history, people, and struggle. Indeed, struggle is at the heart of this novel: both against the land, but also against the strictures of society.

The tragedy which unfolds at the end of the novel is meant -- in my reading -- to bring the book full circle, to establish a link between it and a separate human struggle which starts the book. These episodes are different in their severity and context, but they share something which Robinson reinforces throughout the novel: water. This is a theme, a trope, a framing which guides Housekeeping. 

If I was disappointed by the second half of Housekeeping it's because Robinson introduces -- as she does in Gilead, too -- a secondary narrative drawing heavily from religious ideas and texts. I understand why she does this -- in Gilead, especially -- but here, in Housekeeping, it did not seem necessary: and the result was a powerful story which seems to have lost at least some of its momentum. (Faith is not a central theme in Housekeeping, and the inclusion of Robinson's secondary narrative seemed extraneous.) 

I don't want to be overly negative, though: by any measure, Housekeeping is a succesful, powerful novel. For a glimpse of the American temperament, the American frontier, and the development of the American economy -- for these concepts alone, the novel is worth the time. It is a book very much of individual characters in juxtaposition to forces larger than themselves.