Upon starting Gilead, one is (or at least I was) immediately struck with the dilemma of what to make of a novel told almost entirely monologically, with a single voice.  John Ames very rarely even quotes another’s words, so we are left (or given) to see and hear all aspects of the story and its characters through his perception alone.  Given the rhetorical situation of its writing (a letter to his young son) this on one hand seems fine, a fulfillment of his desire to communicate to a child with whom he’ll never have an adult relationship.  But I’m wondering where this leaves the rest of us (we might wonder, too, where it will leave him), who are overhearing this letter, and what this means for the novel.  There is the likeability issue, but more importantly what are the consequences (for good or ill) of having so much filtered through John Ames?  Does the lack of another point of view even give us an opportunity to know him well enough to judge?

This might be another version of your high school English teacher’s question (probably about Nick in The Great Gatsby) about reliable narrators.

hmmmm. I feel divided by this question! So it must be a good one…
On the one hand, can anyone be trusted as a reliable narrator? I ask myself this every time I prepare for Confession!
But then again, if we don’t take someone at their word...how do we trust anyone or confirm the value of their life experience?

Warning-slight diversion from discussion here- With the admission of being someone who didn’t finish her undergrad in English Lit I’ve sometimes wondered about literary criticism/analysis in our present day and how it compares with other ages approach to understanding literature...does that make sense?
For example, when I was 9 I read Jane Eyre and I instinctively “submitted” myself to the authority of Jane’s perspective...and it changed the way I thought about things as a result...Reading was/is a formational experience, kinda like reading scripture, I don’t intend a sacreligous comparison there, just to say that my character is formed by good literature in a way that reminds me of what Scripture does to me on an even deeper level.
And then I went to school where I was taught to stand outside the text and analyse it according to historical/cultural perspectives...and there was no formation, only subjective opinions and the development of critical thinking. I found this diffecult to reconcile...any thoughts anyone?

And back to Gilead and John’s post...here are 2 snippets of an interview with the author that I think could add to this discussion, the whole thing is good!

http://www.powells.com/authors/robinson.html

Robinson:...I’ve never loved epistolary novels; I was surprised to find myself writing one.

Jill: A phrase Ames often repeats, throughout the novel, is “That’s a remarkable thing to consider.” And the structure of the book reflects that, in a way: a memory, or an action, and then Ames’s reflection on that action. Was that conscious, that alternating between a physical thing and then consideration of it?

Robinson: There is that certain line from William Carlos Williams that I love: “No ideas but in things.” I think that when ideas lose their roots in experience, they begin to falsify themselves. From the point of view of Ames, from the point of view of his intellectual and religious background, experience is something that’s given to you to interpret. You have to be respectful of the fact that you are continuously given new experiences. And the authenticity of your thought depends on how scrupulously you are in fact responding to what you have been given to experience.

And also this-

Jill: There are also many parallels between John Ames’s life and Jack’s, but John is very suspicious of Jack, when he first comes back to Gilead. Do you think John is a reliable narrator when it comes to Jack?

Robinson: There are limits to how reliable he can be because he doesn’t know what to think. He is in a special position, because he feels his anxiety is justified. He might not be as anxious — he might not think about Jack in the same way if it were only himself at stake, but here he’s beginning to lose his grip on life at the same time that he sees something that he considers threatening to him and to his family. A lot of the time he really is thinking, “Am I thinking about this reasonably?” or, “What should I do about it?” and he doesn’t know Jack well enough to know. He doesn’t see the situation clearly enough to be reliable, in that sense, even for his own purposes.

Thanks for hosting this discussion!

I like your sense of irony, Sleepy: first you assert your healthy cynicism of the academic trends in lit crit; then you immediately cite a secondary source.  Seriously though, your snips of the interview are interesting.  I haven’t read the entire thing, for two reasons.  First, simple laziness.  But secondly, I’m a little leery of hearing/reading an author’s opinions about her own work before I’ve had a chance to come to any of my own conclusions about the work.  To appeal to your academic side, I’m one of those old New Critics; I believe in the autonomy of the work of art.

To address the question, I’ll admit I was turned off when I first read the book jacket and realized it was an epistolary novel.  I think it was Henry James (?) who called first person the most barbaric of narrative styles. 

Overall, I enjoyed the novel quite a lot, but I don’t know if that’s in spite of its narrative shortcomings, or if the epistolary format does actually work for some authors/narrators/themes/what have ye.  It might just be because I happen to like John Ames.  I like his reveries and reflections.  I like his love of life and of the physical world. I’m not sure those aspects of his personality could have been portrayed except in the first person. In a lot of passages the novel reads like a diary. It reminded me very much of Augustine’s Confessions in that Ames is brutally honest about his weakneses, and also because, like Augustine, the letter is as much an examination as it is a work of praise.

One thing I found irritating was the realization, near the end of the novel, that Ames really knew nothing about Jack Boughton, and therefore I knew nothing about Jack Boughton.  I probably felt something like a confused and anxious old man by the end.  I wonder, was that the desired effect?

John Ames comes across as a limpid, even transparent soul. Is that annoying? Maybe. I think modern (or is that contemporary?) readers are a little jaded and a little hardened when it comes to “realism” in literature. Maybe it’s something like violence in movies--unless death is portrayed as particularly gruesome or perverted we don’t really consider it. In the case of John Ames, we’re given an almost “too-good” character. But maybe Robinson’s hyperbolic treatment of him serves to represent the opposite of perversion--an ordinary blessedness that might actually be possible. Ames is a little preachy, but I think the most engaging thing about him is his deep consideration of life. True thoughtfulness.

When I read, the characters (or narrators) that affect me most are the ones that somehow get inside me and make me want to see differently or live differently. John Ames does that for me. So on one level, the voice is effective. I can think of only a handful of characters who’ve done as much--Little Tree (in The Education of Little Tree) and the ensemble in The Lord of the Rings come to mind…

As the novel proceeds, Jack Boughton presents the only real conflict in the story, and it’s nice to see Ames have to face himself and move beyond his sometimes glossy view of the world. It lends reliability.

I find Marilynne Robinson to be such a fine writer, I don’t care how she clothes her prose. I could read it all day long. This might be a case where the author overshadows her own characters.

arrrgh. just lost my reply and my beloved progeny’s nap will end shortly.
I believe I do like epistolary novels because the form reflects real life in the sense of being limited by my own finite perspective...I like Jessica’s comparison with Augustine’s Confessions...and the sense of frustration/limitation in not being able to really “know” Jack...it had a somewhat cathartic effect on me because it echoed so poignantly that experience of being unable to resolve the mystery of someone else because of personal prejudice/hang-up or the other’s resistence to being known, or simply the mystery of sufffering as I encounter it in my own life and in the lives of family, friends and strangers.
Now, irony, moi? Sadly, with the fractured attention and time span that accompanies parenting a toddler I operate along the lines of my left hand truly not knowing what my right hand is doing...caught in a compromised position with a secondary source eh? lol!
I did google “new critic” though as my academic side was nowhere around and found some interesting stuff- post constructionist! russian formalism! new historicism! reader response!
I can see bits and pieces I like in various positions but none that I could take unreservedly to my literary bosom.
For example...a close reading of the text sounds very appealing but I am totally unable to decipher the text’s meaning in splendid isolation...I can’t resist a peek at secondary sources sometimes cause they’re so interesting! I am very curious about an artist’s view of their work, and possible cultural/historical influences, how a text might be informed by a time and place. Not that I really get a chance to think thru this very much...to be honest. But the detour into lit crit has actually reminded me of what thinking used to feel like- HA!
Jennifer, I liked your insight on modern/contemp readers and “realism” as it is accepted /taught today, and your comments on John Ames and the power of “ordinary blessedness”...that in particular made me think of John Ames in the light of this tradition-

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lamed_Vav_Tzadikim

Well, thanks again to eveyone commenting here, it enriches my reading and my day!