PROSE worth rereading does not merely communicate: Lucidity with “elegant variations,” as they used to be called, is not worth a second look, since you get the point. The best prose makes things happen. It uses pace, rhythm, length of phrase and sentence, pauses, vocabulary, imagery; it brings into being the experienced reality of a mental world. In his New York Times review of Marilynne Robinson’s novel Gilead, James Wood wrote that in her work, “silence is itself a quality, [and] the space around words may be full of noises.” That should catch anyone’s attention; it did mine. And Wood was right.
First of all, Robinson slows things down, as in an old epistolary novel. Gilead employs a diary form; what plot there is does not drive the reader ahead. Gradually, as the book slows down your ordinary pace, you begin to read patiently and with wonder.





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