Reading: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

I did a strange thing this morning. They were playing a waltz on the radio, and I decided I wanted to dance to it. I don’t mean that in the usual sense. I have a general notion of waltzing but no instruction in the steps, and so on. It was mostly a matter of waving my arms a little and spinning around a little, pretty carefully. Remembering my youth makes me aware that I never really had enough of it, it was over before I was done with it. Whenever I think of Edward, I think of playing catch in a hot street and that wonderful weariness of the arms. I think of leaping after a high throw and that wonderful collaboration of the whole body with itself and that wonderful certainty and amazement when you know the glove is just where it should be. Oh, I will miss the world!
— Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

If you had the time, and the patience, to read this book straight through without stopping, it would be like sitting on a front porch on a warm summer evening with darkness falling around you, the day dropping away slowly, and then slower still, listening to crickets and the sound of children playing somewhere far off, and perhaps a low train whistle calling from a distance. There would be an old lazy dog at your feet and a cold drink melting at your side, and this: a companion with a voice so strong and sure and rich, so simple in its grace, that you would have no choice but to lean close and listen, and be grateful.

Gilead: A Novel
$6.93
By Marilynne Robinson