I had previously perused Marilynne Robinson's four Gilead novels, and only now delved into Housekeeping, penned a quarter of a century earlier. Perhaps it was the wrong sequence, yet this coming-of-age novel left a profound impression on me.

Certainly, I recognized the exquisitely balanced and refined writing style. Robinson is a consummate craftswoman, penning sentences of great intensity with a deceptively poetic veneer. I also noted the emphasis on sensorial introspection. Just as in the Gilead novels, the protagonist (here, orphan Ruth Foster) continuously alternates between registering her own sensory experiences and reflecting on their impact, while also constantly ruminating on the things that trouble her.

Here, Robinson approaches what the naturalists and symbolists accomplished in the 19th and early 20th centuries. She focuses on the allure and the threat posed by the environment in which the story unfolds: the remote, chilly village of Fingerbone (the name alone is evocative), situated on a large lake in Idaho, connected to the outside world by a railway bridge that spans the water. The tone is set from the outset: Ruth relates how her grandfather perished when a train derailed on the bridge, plunged into the lake, and was never retrieved (nor the bodies of the passengers within). And less than 20 pages later, we learn how her own mother committed suicide by driving her car off a cliff into the lake. The 'gothic flavor' of this novel is further emphasized, for instance, in an unparalleled nocturnal scene where the house is half-flooded; darkness and obscurity are clearly recurring motifs in Robinson's work.

However, the main body of this novel delineates how Ruth, along with her sister Lucille, subsequently came under the care of her aunt Sylvie, a confused, chaotic, and highly dreamy character. Robinson writes quite forcefully: “it was the beginning of Sylvie's housekeeping”, and in so doing, she immediately provides us with a key to interpreting this novel. After all, housekeeping is not merely about the struggle to maintain the house (literally), but also about keeping it 'in order', and by extension, one's own life. In hindsight, one notices that all the characters in this novel grapple with this: getting a handle on their own lives, curbing the inherent chaos of life and steering it in the right direction, and what one has to relinquish and sacrifice in the process, and whether such an orderly life is indeed the correct choice. And all this is exacerbated by the struggle with loss, grief, isolation, and loneliness, especially for a woman or a girl.

In other words, through Ruth Foster's coming-of-age narrative, Robinson initiates a reflection on the essence of this life and whether it is sensible to control it. To be sure: she does not offer simplistic, obvious answers, but rather, above all - through Ruth - poses the right questions. And thus, there is a connection with the Gilead novels, which essentially address the same theme, but with a distinct, more religious - Calvinist - slant, in which the questions of good and evil, damnation and grace are more central. I believe that Robinson undoubtedly demonstrates even greater mastery in some of those Gilead novels, both stylistically and thematically, but with this 'Housekeeping', she already manifested that her novels are among the finest written in recent decades, globally.

Rating 3.5 stars

Orphans, Ruth and Lucille, are at the very heart of this deeply haunting and desperate narrative. Their journey takes these young girls into unfathomable depths. The roots of their family story are firmly planted in tragedy. It all began when their grandfather's train derailed off the bridge and plunged into the lake in Fingerbone. Their mother abandoned them, and they are left desperately trying to make sense of her suicide.

Raised by several relatives and finally by their Aunt Sylvie, who returns to her childhood home from a life of aimless drifting to keep "house" in her rather odd manner. Meanwhile, the girls are dealing with their situation in distinct ways. They observe Sylvie's isolated and aloof ways. Her transient spirit is manifested in her habits of wandering out by the lake, eating in the dark, and hoarding items in the house. A palpable loneliness descends upon their home, and Ruth becomes irresistibly drawn into her Aunt Sylvie's orbit, while a darkness pervades. Lucille, on the other hand, resists, seeking freedom on her own terms.

The story unfolds at a slow pace, not rushing like the waters that claimed their grandfather and mother. Throughout, there are thoughtful, quiet musings on the nature of loss and sorrow. Robinson's prose is highly atmospheric, and from the very beginning, we are enveloped in a heavy sense of mournfulness from the dreary surroundings. The town of Fingerbone itself seems to be a character, chastened by its outsized landscape and extravagant weather, and further humbled by the awareness that the whole of human history has occurred elsewhere.

The poignant words in the story, such as "To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow. For when does a berry break upon the tongue as sweetly as when one longs to taste it, and when is the taste refracted into so many hues and savors of ripeness and earth, and when do our senses know any thing so utterly as when we lack it? And here again is a foreshadowing – the world will be made whole. For to wish for a hand on one’s hair is all but to feel it. So whatever we may lose, very craving gives it back to us again," add a layer of depth and beauty to the narrative.

We also encounter lines like "…why must we be left, the survivors picking among flotsam, among the dam all, unnoticed, unvalued clutter that was all that remained when they vanished, that only catastrophe made notable? Darkness is the only solvent," which further emphasize the themes of loss and the search for meaning in the face of tragedy.

"Memory is the sense of loss, and loss drags us along with it."

A story as ethereal as the souls that dance around, as intimate as the dreams and thoughts that blend with each other, as wet and cold as the water of a lake capable of swallowing an entire train and all the affections, as black and dark as a bridge that seems to breathe suspended over the nothingness of transparent and muddy water. A writing as cold as the frozen lake in winter, but crossed by unexpected and illuminating rays of light, by biblical sermons, obscured by the weight of abandonments, but open to a nature that is unique and unrepeatable all around. Away, towards a freedom incomprehensible to us who think of a house as a place of return, of memory, of the unity of the family.
The freedom of the vagabond, on the road, on the rails that take you into the world without prisons.
A book that leaves you breathless, because you understand that to write these thoughts, Robinson felt them inside.
The all-American myth of the journey without a destination when the life around you has only given you losses. This story takes us on a profound exploration of the human condition. It delves into the complex emotions of loss and the search for freedom. The vivid descriptions of the lake, the bridge, and the surrounding nature add a layer of depth and atmosphere. We can almost feel the cold of the winter lake and the darkness of the bridge. The idea of the vagabond's freedom is both alluring and a bittersweet contrast to the more traditional concept of home and family. Robinson's writing is so powerful that it makes us feel as if we are right there with him, experiencing these emotions and thoughts. This book is not just a story; it's a journey of the soul.

This is a brilliantly written book.

Each phrase and sentence within it has been deeply crafted and polished to perfection.

The overall effect is amazingly evocative, painting a vivid picture of rootlessness, of transience, and of water and light. These two themes, water and light, constantly recur throughout the writing, and at times, it feels closer to poetry than prose.

It is a book that truly repays slow reading. When you take the time to savor each word and let the ideas soak in, you will discover new layers of meaning and beauty.

Moreover, it would also reward frequent re-reading. With each subsequent reading, you are likely to notice different details, gain new insights, and be drawn even deeper into the author's world.

This book is a literary gem that demands to be read and cherished.

There's a particular style of writing that came into being in the 1980s and is especially common in MFA programs. I had no idea where it originated from. It emphasizes precise language and mood, has a strong American cultural flavor, neglects the plot, and has an overwhelming sense of sadness. A close friend recommended that I read Housekeeping. And bingo! I felt as if I had discovered the treasure trove of this style.

I'm not American enough nor sad enough for this kind of fiction. Additionally, I tend to require a plot to enjoy a narrative. When I encounter this kind of writing, I usually close the book quickly. It's difficult to pull off and most, especially young MFA types, fail. What begins as a series of carefully constructed sentences often ends up being precious and self-indulgent. But here, at its source, it functions well.

Housekeeping mainly revolves around a house in the American Western town of Fingerbone, which was built by the narrator's grandfather. In this first-person narrative, a succession of women look after the house and the two children within it, the narrator and her sister. These women are not at all successful in their endeavors.

Housekeeping is replete with quiet, sad humor and a delightful use of language. Every character is eccentric. If I have a complaint about Housekeeping, it's that the characters' eccentricities and depressive states are presented without explanation. Perhaps the difficult nature of any life is sufficient reason to explain why these characters are so odd, so no event or events need to be fabricated to drive the characters' emotional states. If that's the case, then this isn't a book that can touch my heart, but intellectually it's a book that is well worth exploring.

Housekeeping is first-rate writing that is probably best read by other writers. It's moody and funny and deliberately eschews much in the way of a real narrative. It opened my eyes to a uniquely American way of writing that in the past I almost always quickly resisted and reminded me that when art is executed well, it can appeal even if it goes against one's personal taste.

Housekeeping has a distinct voice that is distancing - brittle, isolationist, and isolating. The book is deeply immersed in both death and its premonition, presenting life as an unforgiving and unforgiveable entity that can only be endured through ritualization or complete surrender.

However, somehow, it still remains one of the most humane and often even humorous books I know. Its ironies are gentle, and its treatment of the women and girls who populate the entire book is humane and sympathetic. All of them are either suicides or on the verge of becoming suicides, all alone and adrift (sometimes quite literally).

The prose is as dense as anything I've ever read, not because it is difficult to read but because it is unflinchingly concise. A single sentence can contain as much meaning as one of Proust's, and it is lyrically rich and almost constantly assaults the senses. While reading it, I sometimes had to rise and pace around the room because it filled me with so much that I had to shake some of it out before sitting back down to continue reading.

Few authors are canonized in the minds of writers as readily as Marilynne Robinson has been. She has only written three novels in thirty years, but it makes sense that writing of this caliber would be slow-cooked, with the meat tender beneath the lid.

I was truly craving a book like this. It was something that I had wanted to read forever.

I simply can't express in words how much I appreciate this book. The story had such a hold on me that it felt like I was completely in the palm of its hands. The writing was incredibly rich and breathtaking. It was as if I was being taken out to an expensive fine-dining experience, savoring every single bite.

What made this book even more special was that it didn't have POV alternating chapters, nor was it a long-winded 500-page novel. This powerful novel, which encompassed so many themes such as family, loss, death, abandonment, unconventional lifestyles, and small towns, and had such memorable characters, was only 219 pages long. And the ending! It was something that I never saw coming.

In conclusion, this is a PERFECT FLAWLESS NOVEL!!!! It has truly exceeded all of my expectations and has become one of my all-time favorites.

“Housekeeping” is a remarkable work that I can wholeheartedly recommend to a specific set of readers. It is a must-read for those interested in experimental literature, budding new writers, and students of MFA programs. Additionally, it will appeal to curious wilders and primitive self-taught readers like myself. The language in this book is gloriously lyrical, rich in description and atmosphere, yet lacking in traditional action. Days and seasons pass, but time seems to have come to a standstill.

Water and dead tree leaves are among the elements that rest effortlessly in the world, much like dandelion seeds. However, while seeds are full of life and potential fecundity, dead leaves are not. Movement for these things is a result of being pushed by natural forces, mainly the wind. They drift mindlessly from one moment to the next, not choosing, simply being in the moment, and yielding to the forces, rippling and swaying without internal energy or outward resistance. Marilynne Robinson fills her unique story with these vivid images.

Some readers may view the story as being about being different and non-conforming, but I have a different perspective. “Housekeeping” is a high concept art novel. Instead of using traditional mediums like lines, paint, or sculpting materials, Robinson has employed words and descriptions to create a literary shape of two drifting characters. These characters are unresisting beings in human form, living lives like a leaf floating on water or perhaps drowning, yet without actually dying.

The novel reminds me a bit of Chauncey Gardiner in “Being There” by Jerzy Kosiński. Life is experienced as something that simply happens. However, unlike Chauncey, Sylvie Fisher has very little impetus from either the outside world or within. Her life is lived more like the accidental bumping of stable, unreactive atoms.

The narrator, Ruth, ruminates and remembers like someone in a sensory deprivation tank. She recalls the past in a coherent time-stream of forward storytelling. The main protagonists, the young girl Ruth and her thirty-five-year-old Aunt Sylvie, choose to live like “noble” elements. But since they still have flesh, their brains still function with synaptic charge.

Ruth thinks and remembers almost in a stream of flashback consciousness, but with punctuation and poetic lyricism, over the course of more than 200 pages. She thinks of her younger sister, Lucille, her mother, Helen, who committed suicide, her great-aunts, Misses Lily and Nona Foster, and especially her aunt, Mrs. Sylvia Fisher. She also contemplates the historical stories of her relatives, such as her grandfather, Edmund Foster, who died in a train accident, and her mother, who drowned after driving her car into a lake. Ruth muses about how they might exist now as elements in the places where they died.

The narration, presented as a coming-of-age memoir, gives the impression that Ruth is in a state of numb mental shock. However, her mother, grandmother, and grandfather all passed away some time ago. Ruth and Lucille were orphaned at a very young age. Their mother, Helen, abandoned them on their grandmother’s porch in Fingerbone, Idaho, and then committed suicide by driving her car into a lake.

After their grandmother’s death, Ruth’s great-aunts Lily and Nona came to stay for a short while but soon left. They placed an advertisement in the newspaper, asking Sylvia Fisher to come home. When Sylvie arrives, she seems normal at first. However, it quickly becomes evident that she either cannot or does not know how to parent. Instead, she acts as if she is living in the world without a body or a need for possessions or physical comforts.

Lucille and Ruth, still young children, follow Sylvie’s odd leadership. However, it soon becomes clear that Sylvie’s parenting skills are lacking. She disappears into the forest for long periods, and the girls’ meals consist of marshmallows and graham crackers. Their hair goes uncombed, and their clothes are not washed for days. The wonders of nature or the passage of clouds in the sky can occupy Sylvie for days on end.

I believe that Sylvie is actually crazy, but in a mostly non-dangerous way. I would never allow her to take charge of girls under 18 without supervision. She truly marches to the beat of a different drum. I think she may have some sort of brain damage issue. Ruth and Lucille are still grieving and frightened, and they have no other choice but to have Sylvie as their caregiver.

The girls are vulnerable and in need of stability after the loss of their grandmother and mother. The chaos of the universe seems to be attacking them. Sylvie is their only lifeline to survival, and they look to her desperately for salvation. However, what Sylvie teaches them are lessons in self-abnegation, not engagement.

Lucille manages to pull herself forward despite the many losses she has endured. She makes friends, attends school in Fingerbone, and eventually moves in with her home economics teacher. Presumably, she learns how to do housekeeping and appreciates the accumulation of household goods and ornaments. On the other hand, Ruth takes a different path. She becomes a willing student of Sylvie’s lessons in numbing the mind and body with starvation, freezing cold, and other deprivations.

Lucille rejects Sylvie and her lifestyle. She cannot tolerate Sylvie’s zen-buddhist nonsense, which is outside the realm of normal thinking and desires. Lucille wants to escape the chaos, loneliness, and dangers of life. She desires the security and order of functional housekeeping and herd conformity. Ruth, on the other hand, finds relief and excitement in living a life of numbness and transience. She feels as if she has mastered the chaos of uncertainty and grief through the mechanism of endless directionless traveling.

I cannot say that I entirely enjoyed the novel. It is too provocative and, frankly, tempting. It challenges our notions of normalcy, parenting, and the meaning of life. It makes us question our own choices and the paths we have chosen to take. “Housekeeping” is a thought-provoking and engaging read that will stay with you long after you have turned the last page.

My nature is such that I am easily affected by melancholy, sadness, and emotional content. This particular instance occurred during a really bad work week, which made it difficult for me to truly appreciate the brilliance of this writing.

Undoubtedly, this piece deserves a five-star rating for its amazing prose and literary prowess. However, when it comes to rating my personal experience, it will be a three-star read.

It is a sad family tale that involves elements of mental illness, longing, and the need for freedom. Two innocent young girls face continuous abandonment after the suicide of their mother. Their impressionable young lives are entrusted to those who, due to their own circumstances and/or personalities, are unable to care for them properly.

The sisters seldom go to school and encounter various aspects of the environment around them. Constantly playing truant, they drift apart as one sister desires a more conventional life, while their odd grandmother's eccentricities and transience take over. She would sleep in her shoes or place them under a pillow - nothing seems unusual to her. She loves the girls but is quite mad.

One sister craves order and normalcy, while the other is content to live in chaos with the grandmother who cannot conform. The well-meaning townsfolk, who pop in with food or offer surface-level gossipy help, cannot solve all the problems. In the long run, such actions will do no good.

This is such an original and layered tale of family, loss, and ultimately of home - both the physical and the otherwise. It delves deep into the complex emotions and relationships within a family, painting a vivid picture that is both heart-wrenching and thought-provoking.

The lives intertwined with loss constantly remind us of the inevitable farewell ∙ of those who leave and are irrevocably entrusted to memory. Not completely, but like the photographs faded by time and the lines of people's faces indistinguishable. You spread your hands, expecting exactly what? There is no one left who you want to warm them. People around you struggle to bridge the void. They seem friendly, as if they really care. However, nothing has any meaning for you anymore. Or almost nothing. You only ask them to be silent. To make peace. Only in this way can those you have lost be heard by you. And only in this way do you hope to catch their breaths.

The loss and the unfillable void left behind by the people who are lost is what Marilynne Robinson explores in this first novel of hers. Melancholy, inwardness, sensitivity, and lyricism in a beautiful fictional landscape, beside a lake frozen by winter and against the lines of the train that reminded how easy and yet how difficult it is for someone to leave.

This novel is, without a doubt, one of the finest examples I have encountered in recent years when it comes to telling a tragic story without a hint of melodrama. It truly should serve as a model for all those authors who are striving (perhaps a bit too hard) to evoke in their readers the feeling as if they have just peeled and chopped a mountain of onions.

"Housekeeping" is a completely realistic tale, yet the writing elevates it to a new plane of brilliance. I had the distinct impression that it was all unfolding in a world that was slightly different from ours and, in many ways, much better; a world of nuance and subtlety.

The writing is simply stunning, the characterisation is amazing, and the ending is haunting.

What could there possibly be not to love about this book?

It has quickly become a new (melancholy) favourite of mine.

"We are drifters. And once you have set your foot on that path it is hard to imagine another one." This profound statement encapsulates the essence of the story and leaves a lasting impression on the reader.

This is an incredibly beautifully written novel! The author's writing skills are truly superb. Every word seems to be carefully chosen and placed, creating a vivid and immersive world within the pages. The descriptions are so detailed that you can almost picture every scene in your mind's eye. The characters are well-developed and their emotions and actions feel genuine. It's a pleasure to read and gets you completely hooked from the very beginning. You can't help but keep turning the pages, eager to find out what happens next. This novel is a must-read for anyone who loves a good story and appreciates excellent writing.