Home tells the story of two prodigals of sort, one, Jack, who openly lived a life considered devious by his family and neighbors, another, Glory, who hid her path.
But it is not quite a retelling of the prodigal story of the Bible. Certainly, the children walk into the open arms of their father, but returning home is more complicated than that. Home picks up where the Bible leaves off.
Jack and Glory return to their childhood home not for altruistic reasons. They’re retreating from the lives they created. Jack left behind debts, a failed relationship, and a life in and out of jail. Glory, while overtly she returns to care for her aging father, in truth, is running from a broken heart.
Jack and Glory’s tenuous and unexpected bond offers healing, although incomplete. The two of them, along with their father and his best friend, for whom Jack was named, struggle to forgive one another and make peace with their lives and relationships. They suture each other’s wounds with messy, childish stitches, their love and care a mixed bag of motivations: Glory “wished that it mattered more that they loved one another. Or mattered less, since guilt and disappointment seemed to batten on love.”
This is the heart of the story: what is the nature of love? Can it redeem, even when offered by broken humans? Is the love saving in the offering, the reception, or the return?
Robinson develops the characters through small movements—mannerisms, subtle interactions, and habits—and combines them with a homespun setting and rich conversation that unveils its meaning in layers. The narrative is given through Glory’s eyes, beautifully limited, biased, misunderstanding, and misunderstood. As Glory attempts to understand Jack, we attempt to understand her and enter bit by bit into the pain that brought her home. Robinson’s characters are rich in the frailty.
Home considers the question of what is home. It also weaves in theological questions of predestination and redemption, and each character comes to a different conclusion regarding all of these questions. The beauty of Robinson’s deep and overt theological conversations is not that they set forth a particular belief but allow the reader to work through these difficult issues with the characters and, indeed, with the author.
Home offers us the sacraments in the ordinary. Glory’s offerings consist of everyday, simple gestures: “Her father and brother were both laid low by grief, as if it were a sickness, and she had nothing better to offer them than chicken and dumplings.”
A follow-up to Gilead, Home isn’t a sequel. One need not read the former to understand and appreciate the latter, although for those who have, seeing the details from one book and point of view through the eyes of another offers something between nostalgia and a deeper appreciation of the complexity and layers. Home seems to be the book Robinson meant to write when she penned Gilead. I enjoyed Home more because of the characters and tiers of meaning.
by Daniel Siedell: This is one of those books that I like to read slowly, stopping every chapter (which are more like separate essays) to consider the author’s point. Currently, I’m reading the chapter about art criticism. Coming from the world of music criticism in my past life, while the specifics are different, the debates are the same.
by Jeanne Damoff: I’m ashamed to say this, but I’ve been putting off reading this book for over a month (sorry, Jeanne!). I know it will be a book that will Play Doh my emotions. But this is the next book, to be started tonight, I expect.
by Marcus Zusak: This is my current audio book. I’m coming to the end of this. The POV is brilliant: the story is given through the eyes of death, a much more kind-hearted fellow than the Grim Reaper. Death retells the story of Liesel Meminger as he reads her account of it. He offers asides, such as times he encountered her in his collections or flash forwards to the deaths of a certain character. It combines an omniscient POV with limited in a new way, stealing the strengths of each. Set during WWII in a small German town, it follows Liesel and a small cast of characters: her neighbor and best friend, Rudy, her foster parents, and the Jewish refugee in her basement, Max. Not only a new story, it gives a fresh perspective on the time period. Zusak doesn’t hide from the atrocities, but neither does he exploit them, but tells the story of Liesel, one girl during this time.
by Leif Enger: This is up next for my local book club, and I’m looking forward to reading it.
