Summary: Marilynne Robinson, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the National Humanities Medal, returns to the world of Gilead with Jack, the latest in one of the great works of contemporary American fiction.
Jack tells the story of John Ames Boughton, the beloved, erratic, and grieved-over prodigal son of a Presbyterian minister in Gilead, Iowa. In segregated St. Louis sometime after World War II, Jack falls in love with Della Miles, an African American high school teacher who is also the daughter of a preacher―discerning, generous, and independent. Their fraught, beautiful romance is one of Robinson’s greatest achievements.
MY THOUGHTS:
I discovered this in a Little Free Library one evening. The conclusion to Robinson's Gilead series hadn't even been on my radar. It is the backstory in which Jack Boughton, everyone's favorite Prodigal Son, does Romeo. This novel was published in 2020, so when I first read Gilead back in 2017, Jack hadn't even been written yet. I tell you, I was keen to get it home on my TBR pile.
But although I love Jack (the character), the thought of spending a whole novel in his own tortured headspace daunted me. Experiencing him through the points of view of his godfather and sister in the first two books was exhausting, though very rewarding. Turns out my nerves were justified, but I'm still glad I've read it.
The setting is St. Louis in the 1940s. Jack is a self-proclaimed bum who holds down a string of menial and un-prestigious jobs. Della Miles, the love of his life, is a young colored woman; an English teacher and the pride and joy of her family. They click as instant soulmates from the moment he first comes to her rescue in a rainstorm, and she mistakes him for a reverend.
Jack aspires to a philosophy of utter harmlessness. His youthful mistake with the girl, Annie Wheeler, which turned so tragic, still hangs over his head. Yet now, ironically, he could commit harm so easily simply for loving Della, for they live in the Jim Crow era when interracial marriage was illegal. Their disgusting, discriminative society is the real villain, for what could be more harmless than a loving couple being free to marry and raise a family? The biggest irony of all is that what Jack and Della long for more than anything is a simple union that would not harm a soul.
It's quite a compelling version of Romeo and Juliet.
In terms of the series as a whole, the placement of this final novel is very interesting. If we're being strictly chronological, the final moment for all these characters comes at the end of book one, Gilead, when the minister John Ames gives Jack a very special blessing. In Robinson's Gilead quartet, the sequels are actually prequels. The second, third, and fourth stories all take place either simultaneously or previously to Gilead. When I read Home (Number Two), I found myself agreeing with Jack's sister, Glory, that Della sounded like bad news for him.
Yet doesn't this prove that we shouldn't make snap judgements without knowing a person. For now that we actually meet Della in this fourth instalment, it's clear that she's truly the best thing that ever happened to him on many emotional levels. She imparts confidence, pride, and a reason for living to Jack. She cares for him with deep passion, enough to give up everything for his sake, including her standing with her own family.
That brings me to another point. I read some other reviews and got triggered by a fair percentage of readers who claim that they cannot find Della believable, for why ever would she fall for a dropkick like Jack? I think they overlook the fact that we remain in Jack's headspace throughout the entire story, and that's the very point. He's our filter, so to speak, and he can't believe it either! He considers her love for him miraculous. But if we care to read between the lines, there are plenty of hints as to why she loves him so devotedly and considers him a 'glorious presence out of place in the world.'
Just because these hints elude the modest and self-critital Jack, who is our lens through which we experience the action, they shouldn't necessarily elude us too, for he's our hero.
Hey, our boy rarely goes to church, but whenever he does, preachers tend to make him the butt of their sermons! No wonder he has a bit of a persecution complex. By the way, if you're into poetry, art, theology, or metaphysics, Jack and Della talk about that sort of stuff a lot. He has a super extensive vocabulary too, so you'll be bound to pick up a few new words. (Can you be down-and-out and a bit of a literary snob at the same time? I think Jack proves that you can.)
I feel like setting the record straight on one other point too. Some reviewers consider Jack to be 'middle aged' while Della is much younger. I don't know where they get this notion from. At the start of Gilead Jack is 43, and that takes place at least eight years later, since Jack and Della have an 8-year son who is nowhere on the horizon throughout this novel. That means Jack must be 35 at the oldest during this story, and most likely a year or two younger. Hey everyone, I am Gen X, and 33 or 34 is nowhere near middle-aged in my books.
I'll leave you with this awesome line from Della to Jack. 'If I could imagine an eternity of sitting here with you, talking nonsense, there would be nothing more I would want from death.' I feel I have to lop off a star and a half simply because Jack is the target of so much injustice, unfairness, and plain bad luck, my heart ached too much to consider it a thoroughly enjoyable read.
🌟🌟🌟 ½
Check out my reviews of the previous books in the series, Gilead, Home, and Lila.
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