This essay takes a while to get going, but it\u2019s a good, steady look at the way aesthetics and theology can lead us to flatten human experience\u2013especially when \u201cus\u201d is white Americans writing about race. As somebody with a very \u201csuffering and humiliation keep you close to Christ, you should consider them sometime\u201d spiritual style myself, it was good to get a reminder of the way that kind of spirituality can cut against a communal pursuit of justice. As somebody who loves Robinson\u2019s books, it was good to hear from another lover of her work who could help me see both their strengths and their lacunae.<\/p>\n
\u2026In Lila\u2019s story, Robinson extends the reach of grace farther than she ever has before\u2014 stretching it across boundaries of literacy and class, and testing it with extremes of evil and loss, and yet it survives, lovely and glowing. It\u2019s an extraordinary thing to read and very moving. In a recent interview<\/a> in The<\/em> New York Times<\/em>, Robinson tells a story about Oseola McCarty, an African American laundress of Lila\u2019s generation who gained fame when, after a long and frugal life, she donated her surprisingly large life savings to the University of Southern Mississippi: \u201cMcCarty took down this Bible and First Corinthians fell out of it, it had been so read. And you think, Here is this woman that, by many standards, might have been considered marginally literate, that by another standard would have been considered to be a major expert on the meaning of First Corinthians!\u201d <\/strong>Robinson delights in religious narratives like Lila\u2019s and Oseola\u2019s: testimonies of fervent textual engagement that unsettle common assumptions about theological expertise and the relative worth of persons.<\/p>\n
But despite this democratic expansiveness, there are some limits of Robinson\u2019s religious vision that she doesn\u2019t test or stretch\u2014aspects of our world that simply don\u2019t exist in the world of her novels. I don\u2019t just mean limits of subject matter. Call them limits of community. Like Robinson herself, every one of her characters is an introvert, a loner, a person filled with the passion of loneliness (to borrow a phrase from Robinson herself).<\/em> It\u2019s impossible to imagine her writing about anyone who wasn\u2019t. It\u2019s not surprising that in a 2012 essay Robinson defines community in fairly disembodied terms, as an imaginative act that is almost indistinguishable from the practice of reading or writing fiction: \u201cI would say, for the moment, that community, at least community larger than the immediate family, consists very largely of imaginative love for people we do not know or whom we know very slightly. This thesis may be influenced by the fact that I have spent literal years of my life lovingly absorbed in the thoughts and perceptions of \u2026 people who do not exist.\u201d In her fiction, grace is communal only in the sense that it sometimes stretches to connect two people for a little while: a sister trying her best to understand an elusive long-lost brother, or a mother clasping her child close while he\u2019s still small enough to be held. And even these moments of connection are savored in relation to the knowledge of their precariousness and the aching anticipation of their loss.<\/p>\n
The novels\u2019 power lies in their unsparing depictions of the isolated soul communing with itself or nature or God, thrown into relief by moments of mercy when the excluded prodigal or prostitute is welcomed home. But this gracious welcome doesn\u2019t extend to everyone. The novels quietly perpetuate another kind of exclusion: the marginalization of embodied, literal community as a reliable source of solace and ethical vision.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\nIn Lila\u2019s story, Robinson extends the reach of grace farther than she ever has before\u2014 stretching it across boundaries of literacy and class, and testing it with extremes of evil and loss, and yet it survives, lovely and glowing. It\u2019s an extraordinary thing to read and very moving. In a recent interview<\/a> in The<\/em> New York Times<\/em>, Robinson tells a story about Oseola McCarty, an African American laundress of Lila\u2019s generation who gained fame when, after a long and frugal life, she donated her surprisingly large life savings to the University of Southern Mississippi: \u201cMcCarty took down this Bible and First Corinthians fell out of it, it had been so read. And you think, Here is this woman that, by many standards, might have been considered marginally literate, that by another standard would have been considered to be a major expert on the meaning of First Corinthians!\u201d <\/strong>Robinson delights in religious narratives like Lila\u2019s and Oseola\u2019s: testimonies of fervent textual engagement that unsettle common assumptions about theological expertise and the relative worth of persons.<\/p>\n
But despite this democratic expansiveness, there are some limits of Robinson\u2019s religious vision that she doesn\u2019t test or stretch\u2014aspects of our world that simply don\u2019t exist in the world of her novels. I don\u2019t just mean limits of subject matter. Call them limits of community. Like Robinson herself, every one of her characters is an introvert, a loner, a person filled with the passion of loneliness (to borrow a phrase from Robinson herself).<\/em> It\u2019s impossible to imagine her writing about anyone who wasn\u2019t. It\u2019s not surprising that in a 2012 essay Robinson defines community in fairly disembodied terms, as an imaginative act that is almost indistinguishable from the practice of reading or writing fiction: \u201cI would say, for the moment, that community, at least community larger than the immediate family, consists very largely of imaginative love for people we do not know or whom we know very slightly. This thesis may be influenced by the fact that I have spent literal years of my life lovingly absorbed in the thoughts and perceptions of \u2026 people who do not exist.\u201d In her fiction, grace is communal only in the sense that it sometimes stretches to connect two people for a little while: a sister trying her best to understand an elusive long-lost brother, or a mother clasping her child close while he\u2019s still small enough to be held. And even these moments of connection are savored in relation to the knowledge of their precariousness and the aching anticipation of their loss.<\/p>\n
The novels\u2019 power lies in their unsparing depictions of the isolated soul communing with itself or nature or God, thrown into relief by moments of mercy when the excluded prodigal or prostitute is welcomed home. But this gracious welcome doesn\u2019t extend to everyone. The novels quietly perpetuate another kind of exclusion: the marginalization of embodied, literal community as a reliable source of solace and ethical vision.<\/p>\n
\u2013 See more at: http:\/\/religionandpolitics.org\/2014\/12\/22\/marilynne-robinson-in-montgomery\/#sthash.CpEpIB7h.dpuf<\/p><\/div>\n
\nIn Lila\u2019s story, Robinson extends the reach of grace farther than she ever has before\u2014 stretching it across boundaries of literacy and class, and testing it with extremes of evil and loss, and yet it survives, lovely and glowing. It\u2019s an extraordinary thing to read and very moving. In a recent interview<\/a> in The<\/em> New York Times<\/em>, Robinson tells a story about Oseola McCarty, an African American laundress of Lila\u2019s generation who gained fame when, after a long and frugal life, she donated her surprisingly large life savings to the University of Southern Mississippi: \u201cMcCarty took down this Bible and First Corinthians fell out of it, it had been so read. And you think, Here is this woman that, by many standards, might have been considered marginally literate, that by another standard would have been considered to be a major expert on the meaning of First Corinthians!\u201d <\/strong>Robinson delights in religious narratives like Lila\u2019s and Oseola\u2019s: testimonies of fervent textual engagement that unsettle common assumptions about theological expertise and the relative worth of persons.<\/p>\n
But despite this democratic expansiveness, there are some limits of Robinson\u2019s religious vision that she doesn\u2019t test or stretch\u2014aspects of our world that simply don\u2019t exist in the world of her novels. I don\u2019t just mean limits of subject matter. Call them limits of community. Like Robinson herself, every one of her characters is an introvert, a loner, a person filled with the passion of loneliness (to borrow a phrase from Robinson herself).<\/em> It\u2019s impossible to imagine her writing about anyone who wasn\u2019t. It\u2019s not surprising that in a 2012 essay Robinson defines community in fairly disembodied terms, as an imaginative act that is almost indistinguishable from the practice of reading or writing fiction: \u201cI would say, for the moment, that community, at least community larger than the immediate family, consists very largely of imaginative love for people we do not know or whom we know very slightly. This thesis may be influenced by the fact that I have spent literal years of my life lovingly absorbed in the thoughts and perceptions of \u2026 people who do not exist.\u201d In her fiction, grace is communal only in the sense that it sometimes stretches to connect two people for a little while: a sister trying her best to understand an elusive long-lost brother, or a mother clasping her child close while he\u2019s still small enough to be held. And even these moments of connection are savored in relation to the knowledge of their precariousness and the aching anticipation of their loss.<\/p>\n
The novels\u2019 power lies in their unsparing depictions of the isolated soul communing with itself or nature or God, thrown into relief by moments of mercy when the excluded prodigal or prostitute is welcomed home. But this gracious welcome doesn\u2019t extend to everyone. The novels quietly perpetuate another kind of exclusion: the marginalization of embodied, literal community as a reliable source of solace and ethical vision.<\/p>\n
\u2013 See more at: http:\/\/religionandpolitics.org\/2014\/12\/22\/marilynne-robinson-in-montgomery\/#sthash.CpEpIB7h.dpuf<\/p><\/div>\n
\nIn Lila\u2019s story, Robinson extends the reach of grace farther than she ever has before\u2014 stretching it across boundaries of literacy and class, and testing it with extremes of evil and loss, and yet it survives, lovely and glowing. It\u2019s an extraordinary thing to read and very moving. In a recent interview<\/a> in The<\/em> New York Times<\/em>, Robinson tells a story about Oseola McCarty, an African American laundress of Lila\u2019s generation who gained fame when, after a long and frugal life, she donated her surprisingly large life savings to the University of Southern Mississippi: \u201cMcCarty took down this Bible and First Corinthians fell out of it, it had been so read. And you think, Here is this woman that, by many standards, might have been considered marginally literate, that by another standard would have been considered to be a major expert on the meaning of First Corinthians!\u201d <\/strong>Robinson delights in religious narratives like Lila\u2019s and Oseola\u2019s: testimonies of fervent textual engagement that unsettle common assumptions about theological expertise and the relative worth of persons.<\/p>\n
But despite this democratic expansiveness, there are some limits of Robinson\u2019s religious vision that she doesn\u2019t test or stretch\u2014aspects of our world that simply don\u2019t exist in the world of her novels. I don\u2019t just mean limits of subject matter. Call them limits of community. Like Robinson herself, every one of her characters is an introvert, a loner, a person filled with the passion of loneliness (to borrow a phrase from Robinson herself).<\/em> It\u2019s impossible to imagine her writing about anyone who wasn\u2019t. It\u2019s not surprising that in a 2012 essay Robinson defines community in fairly disembodied terms, as an imaginative act that is almost indistinguishable from the practice of reading or writing fiction: \u201cI would say, for the moment, that community, at least community larger than the immediate family, consists very largely of imaginative love for people we do not know or whom we know very slightly. This thesis may be influenced by the fact that I have spent literal years of my life lovingly absorbed in the thoughts and perceptions of \u2026 people who do not exist.\u201d In her fiction, grace is communal only in the sense that it sometimes stretches to connect two people for a little while: a sister trying her best to understand an elusive long-lost brother, or a mother clasping her child close while he\u2019s still small enough to be held. And even these moments of connection are savored in relation to the knowledge of their precariousness and the aching anticipation of their loss.<\/p>\n
The novels\u2019 power lies in their unsparing depictions of the isolated soul communing with itself or nature or God, thrown into relief by moments of mercy when the excluded prodigal or prostitute is welcomed home. But this gracious welcome doesn\u2019t extend to everyone. The novels quietly perpetuate another kind of exclusion: the marginalization of embodied, literal community as a reliable source of solace and ethical vision.<\/p>\n
\u2013 See more at: http:\/\/religionandpolitics.org\/2014\/12\/22\/marilynne-robinson-in-montgomery\/#sthash.CpEpIB7h.dpuf<\/p><\/div>\n
more<\/a> (via William B.<\/a>, who didn\u2019t like the piece as much as I did, I should note)<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This essay takes a while to get going, but it\u2019s a good, steady look at the way aesthetics and theology can lead us to flatten human experience\u2013especially when \u201cus\u201d is white Americans writing about race. As somebody with a very \u201csuffering and humiliation keep you close to Christ, you should consider them sometime\u201d spiritual style […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1071,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15,7],"tags":[101,256,248,18,26],"class_list":["post-9362","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-art","category-mackerel-snapping","tag-america","tag-chuuuuuuuurch","tag-marilynne-robinson","tag-race","tag-suffering"],"yoast_head":"\n
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