Poetry Friday, But This Is Prose — Here in the Bonny Glen

April 24, 2009 @ 10:58 am | Filed under: Books

A passage for the commonplace book:

I saw a bubble float past my window, fat and wobbly and ripening toward that dragonfly blue they turn just before they burst. So I looked down at the yard and there you were, you and your mother, blowing bubbles at the cat, such a barrage of them that the poor beast was beside herself at the glut of opportunity. She was actually leaping in the air, our insouciant Soapy! Some of the bubbles drifted up through the branches, even above the trees. You two were too intent on the cat to see the celestial consequences of your worldly endeavors. They were very lovely. Your mother is wearing her blue dress and you are wearing your red shirt and you were kneeling on the ground together with Soapy between you and that effulgence of bubbles rising, and so much laughter. Ah, this life, this world.

—from Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

Sherry, you were so right; this novel is exquisite. I’ll have more to say, much more, in posts to come.

Here’s a link to Sherry’s Semicolon post on Gilead, which is where I first heard about this gorgeous book.

Tags: Gilead, Marilynne Robinson

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sarah says:

I was wading through the paragraph, thinking, well this is all a bit ordinary really … and then that last line. It gathered everything up and breathed on it and turned it all to gold.

Gorgeous indeed.
Posted on April 24th, 2009 at 1:08 pm
hopeinbrazil says:

This book caught me totally by surprise. My expectations were very low (after all it was highly acclaimed by lots of book bloggers and I assumed it would not appeal to my finicky tastes.) I’m so glad I read it.
Posted on April 25th, 2009 at 12:38 am
Beck says:

I LOVED that book. It was just enchanting, every word of it.
Posted on April 25th, 2009 at 2:52 pm
Karen Edmisten says:

You keep making my tbr pile grow ….
Posted on April 26th, 2009 at 8:59 am

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(from a post called Way Leads on to Way)

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Every day is complicated, messy, and full of friction. And every day has glorious or cozy moments worth celebrating. I seldom bother to chronicle the friction and the mess because writing time is fleeting and precious—and childhood even more so. I’d rather capture the small joys that I might forget—or take for granted—if I don’t take time to set them down in words.

(Excerpt from this post about Real Life, quoted here because I don't want anyone to be under the impression that things are always perfect around here! Heaven knows we are anything but. Perfect, frictionless, orderly? Nope. Happy? Most of the time!)