I found Marilynne Robinson through an essay she wrote in Harper’s critiquing evangelical religion. It was so dead-on I just had to read her second novel, Gilead. She pulled off a lovely voice, from a man at death’s door writing letters to his son, and also managing to have quite a few theological rumorings and speculations. It’s written in snatches, like Veronica by Mary Gaitskill, and somehow a large percentage of sections left me teary eyed. Other than Bret Lott (I’ve read Jewel) and perhaps Anne Lamott, I don’t know of many other Christians who are writing literary fiction – there are slates of them churning out “religious” thrillers and romances, but those disgust me.
Labels: Marilynne Robinson
