There is a girl who truly detests talking and almost never utters a word.

On the other hand, the author seems to have an endless supply of words and just keeps babbling non-stop. The author goes on and on and on and on and on, as if there is no end to her chatter.

The whole situation is quite strange. The girl's silence stands in sharp contrast to the author's excessive talking.

Unfortunately, the ending of this story really sucks, just like the middle and the beginning. It fails to bring any sort of resolution or satisfaction.

Perhaps if the girl had spoken up at some point, or if the author had learned to hold her tongue, the outcome might have been different. But as it is, the story remains a rather unfulfilling one.

It makes one wonder what could have been if things had been different.

Every episode within this narrative represents a world of longing, a world that is utterly beautiful. There is Lucille, longing to be like the others, perhaps seeking acceptance and a sense of belonging in a crowd. Then there is Ruthie, longing to be loved, yearning for that special connection and affection that can bring warmth and meaning to one's life. And Sylvie, longing for a world of transience and dwelling, a place where she can find both stability and the freedom to explore the ever-changing nature of existence.

On some occasions, these longings meet each other, intersecting in a harmonious way that adds depth and complexity to the story. However, at other times, they collide, creating tension and conflict as the characters' desires pull them in different directions. But despite these challenges, the result is a magnificent novel that delves into the major feelings in one's life. It is all told in this slow, 'perceptive', strong language that draws the reader in and makes them feel as if they are a part of the characters' world.

After the untimely death of their parents, sisters Ruth and Lucille find themselves uprooted and moving in with their grandmother in the small, quiet town of Fingerbone, Idaho.

They are then shuffled around among various relatives, a nomadic existence that leaves them feeling adrift. Eventually, they end up in the care of their rather eccentric aunt Sylvie.

The two sisters respond very differently to the multiple losses they have endured. Ruth, for instance, seems to internalize much of the pain, while Lucille is more outwardly rebellious. They choose divergent paths in life, with Lucille longing for a more conventional existence and Ruth finding solace in the natural world around her.

The story is narrated from the perspective of Ruth as an adult, looking back on her tumultuous younger years. The writing in this book is truly elegant and atmospheric, painting a vivid picture of the town and the emotions of the characters.

The natural surroundings, such as the orchard, become an emotional refuge for Ruth. As she states, "I learned an important thing in the orchard that night, which was that if you do not resist the cold, but simply relax and accept it, you no longer feel the cold as discomfort. I felt giddily free and eager, as you do in dreams, when you suddenly find that you can fly, very easily, and wonder why you have never tried it before."

The book delves deep into themes such as abandonment, memory, belonging, and the social pressures to conform. The overall tone is melancholy, yet there is an ever-present glimmer of hopefulness. Ruth, in particular, never gives in to despair, despite the many hardships she has faced.

The characters are beautifully drawn, with Ruth and Sylvie standing out in particular. Their complex personalities and relationships add depth to the story. While the plot may be a bit thin in places, the book more than makes up for it with its powerful exploration of the human condition. It will surely appeal to those who appreciate stories of self-preservation in the face of tragedy.

Housekeeping, 1980, Marilynne Robinson

Housekeeping is a remarkable novel penned by Marilynne Robinson and published in 1980. The story is narrated by Ruthie, who takes us through the journey of how she and her younger sister Lucille are brought up by a series of relatives in the fictional town of Fingerbone, Idaho.

Initially, their capable and kind grandmother raises them. But then, their rather eccentric aunt Sylvie, who has been living a transient life, comes to take care of them. At first, the three form a close-knit group. However, as Lucille grows up, she begins to dislike their unconventional lifestyle and decides to move out. When the courts question Ruthie's well-being, Sylvie returns to her life on the road and takes Ruthie with her.

This novel delves deep into the concept of housekeeping, not just in the domestic sense of cleaning and maintaining a home, but in the broader sense of creating and maintaining a spiritual home for oneself and one's family in the face of loss. The girls experience a series of abandonments as they come of age, which adds a layer of complexity and poignancy to the story.

The events in the novel occur in an indeterminate time period. While no specific dates are mentioned, Ruthie refers to her grandfather living in a sod dugout in the Midwest before his journey to Fingerbone. She herself traverses adolescence sometime in the latter half of the 20th century, as evidenced by her reading of the novel Not as a Stranger, a bestseller from 1954.

The first reading of this novel took place from August 10, 2015, to August 7, 2016. It was translated by Marjan Mohammadi and published in Tehran by Amoot in 2014. The book has won several awards and accolades, including the National Book Award in 2008, the Orange Prize for Fiction in 2009, and was shortlisted for the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award in 2010. It has also been named the best book of the year by The Washington Post, The New York Times bestseller list, and The Los Angeles Times Book Prize. It has received rave reviews from The San Francisco Chronicle, the largest newspaper in Northern California.

The story beautifully portrays the struggles and challenges that Ruth and Lucille face as they grow up and come to terms with the changes in their lives. It explores themes such as absence, the fight against difficulties and achieving success over them, as well as instability and the transient nature of life. Marilynne Robinson's words are carefully crafted, making this novel a must-read for anyone interested in exploring the human condition and the power of storytelling.

Published on October 29, 2020; September 10, 2021; A. Sharbiani

Robinson is, without a doubt, an outstanding and empathetic writer who crafts prose that is truly stunning.

This story delves deep into the profound ways in which grief and tragedy can reverberate through a family, spanning generations. It showcases the diverse responses that people have when faced with such hardships.

Moreover, it is a story that shines a light on the complex female relationships within a family. What is particularly notable is that the book is characterized by the near-complete absence of male characters. The one male who does make an appearance seems to be apologetic for his presence.

However, I must admit that my mind did wander at times while reading. But this could potentially be attributed to the fact that I was listening to the book via audiobook.

Nonetheless, Robinson's work is a captivating exploration of family, grief, and the power of female bonds.

Wonderful, wrenching elegy concerning people who remain inexorably at odds with the world, who will never really fit in anywhere (and usually don't want to) and how they deal with it.

'I went to the woods for the woods' own sake, while, increasingly, Lucille seemed to be enduring a banishment there.

When we did come home Sylvie would certainly be home, too, enjoying the evening. She described her habit of sitting in the dark. Evening was her special time of day. She gave the world three syllables, and indeed I think she liked it so well for its tendency to smooth, to soften. She seemed to dislike the disequilibrium of counterpoising a roomful of light against a worldful of darkness. Sylvie in a house was more or less like a mermaid in a ship's cabin. She preferred it sunk in the very element it was meant to exclude. We had crickets in the pantry, squirrels in the eaves, sparrows in the attic. Lucille and I stepped through the door from sheer night to sheer night.

This story paints a vivid picture of individuals who are out of step with the world. The narrator's choice to go to the woods for its own sake contrasts with Lucille's perception of it as a form of banishment. Sylvie's love for the evening and her unique way of experiencing it add another layer to the narrative. The description of the various animals in the house further emphasizes the sense of a world that is both familiar and strange. The final image of Lucille and the narrator stepping from one darkness to another leaves a lasting impression, hinting at the continued journey of these misfits in a world that may never fully understand them.

It would come to me to say “the two faces of America”: along with “The Underground Railroad”, a novel that tells of the Great American Story, I was reading this small intimate novel, where instead one turns to the small details of daily life rather than to real “events”. And yet this too is America, that of the periphery, of the countryside, of solitude and of marginalization (obviously the railroad also speaks of marginalization, but from a completely different perspective). It is the story of two sisters, but perhaps more, that of an entire line of women in the same family, from the grandmother, to the mother, to the aunt... all the way to the two nieces. It seems that nothing ever happens, and yet the narrative unfolds along with the slow movement of a lake, its freezing, its overflowing: yes, a lake that has life, movement, and that has “swallowed” human beings. A particular writing that slows down the gestures, the breaths, in which the inevitable, misfortune, seems to loom, but then takes on other forms.

From a certain point of view it reminded me of “Our Shelter” by Greenslade (who knows if it was inspired by this book by Robinson that came out and was acclaimed already in 1982), which however had struck and involved me much more. I defer the final judgment on the author to a future reading of her famous trilogy, which starts from “Gilead” (the only one I haven't read :( ), passing through “Home” and “Lila”.

In any case, a melancholy and stagnant reading.

This book's greatest strength lies in its remarkable sense of place. Robinson masterfully develops the settings, ranging all the way from the state down to the city, home, and even the internal monologue of our narrator, Ruth. It is an extremely atmospheric novel that has the power to sweep the reader away.

However, I did find that the story had a slight deficiency. The novel delves into themes such as isolation, home life, transience, and familial relationships. Yet, it doesn't necessarily offer a particularly strong conclusion or verdict on any of these aspects. That's perfectly fine; after all, when reading fiction, I don't anticipate being force-fed what I should be thinking.

But Ruth is so naïve, self-conscious, and unsure of everything in life. While this makes her a great observer, it unfortunately also makes her a rather dull narrator. In contrast, her Aunt Sylvie was far more captivating. In fact, I almost wish that we had been able to read from her perspective or that the narrative had switched to hers halfway through the book.

3.5 stars.

Parto con un grazie a chi mi ha consigliato il libro qualche anno fa.

Ruth and Lucille are two girls who have known firsthand the meaning of the word "abandonment". Left in the care of their grandmother, then their aunts, they pursue the dream of having a family only when it is their mother's sister who takes care of them. Sylvie gives them an apparent distracted affection, but capable of revealing itself strong and tenacious when circumstances require it.

In this novel, no adult transmits a sense of protection that these two girls ask for and deserve. They seem like boats in the middle of the lake (that lake that marks the destiny of almost all the members of this family), at the mercy of the current, carried away by the wind that brings them back to a past of death.

The lake is the true protagonist of this story: frozen in winter, dark and deep in the other seasons, ready to flood the few houses that stand on its shores. A thief of lives, a keeper of many destinies and bodies never found. A silent mirror that reflects the very black nights, the reassuring sun, the strange moon, reflects thoughts, pains and absences. The lake is the mind, with all its lost faces, the moments, the things let go and those to be found.

La Robinson tells us this tormented story with that sense of gloomy desolation, sketching a completely inhospitable scenario. A sense of anguish and sadness that accompanies you throughout the reading, but also the strength and courage that love and found friendship infuse.

"I cannot taste a cup of water without remembering that the eye of the lake is that of my grandfather, and that the heavy, blind and oppressing waters of the lake composed the limbs of my mother, weighed down her clothes, blocked her breath and blocked her life."

A novel that requires patience and attention, a poetic style without a doubt. I rediscover pleasures even in this type of reading that is usually distant to me.

Marilynne Robinson truly gives me the impression of being more of a northern European writer rather than a North American one.

Her sentences possess a steely and clear-eyed quality, which reminds one of writers such as Tomas Transtromer, Par Lagerkvist, and even at times W.G. Sebald. However, unlike Sebald, the history that shrouds and haunts "Housekeeping" is that of a deeply private set of tragedies, not a continent-wide catastrophe.

Putting literary comparisons aside, she masterfully balances the luminous mysteriousness of the present moment with gorgeous and sorrowful reminiscences about the times, memories, and ghosts that haunt a young girl and her family. This is a powerful book, at times almost elemental.

Moreover, her prose occasionally exhibits an almost ancient sort of quality, which is all the more remarkable because this isn't the work of a flamboyant author attempting to impress or entertain (although the book surely does both of those things), but rather that of a writer depicting people grappling with all the long shadows that the past can cast in our lives. I could envision Terrance Malick making a film of this. Highly recommended.

I have been constantly thinking about this book ever since I completed reading it, and I am still in a state of uncertainty about what to exactly say.

I firmly believe that it contains some of the most exquisite prose that I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

It has the power to make me frequently come to a halt, go back, and read a particular passage not just once or twice, but multiple times before I can continue with the story.

There are certain parts that are incredibly sad, in fact, the entire story is immersed in a profound sense of sadness and the struggle to eke out a life amidst the melancholy.

However, these women seem to somehow transcend or perhaps outrun the melancholy in their own unique ways.

The grandmother is strict and conforming, never once mentioning love.

Of her daughters, Molly ministers to the heathen, Helen runs away and then comes home only to fly into the air.

Sylvie, on the other hand, lives in her own world.

In the next generation, Lucille decides to break the cycle.

But Ruth...

"When did I become so unlike other people? Either it was when I followed Sylvie across the bridge, and the lake claimed us, or it was when my mother left me waiting for her, and established in me the habit of waiting and expectation which makes any present moment most significant for what it does not contain. Or it was at my conception." (p214)

Thus begins the final pages of the story, which are some of the most beautiful writing I have ever experienced.

I have a strong desire to copy these last pages out here and read them every single day.

I had numerous passages marked for inclusion in this review, but I have decided to leave it with just the one mentioned above.

This will likely remain one of my all-time favorite and most moving reading experiences forever.

\\"Poiché desiderare una mano sui capelli è quasi come sentirla davvero.\\" This profound statement sets the tone for a story that unfolds around a mysterious lake.

A lake where destinies are shaped. It is a deep and dark lake, beneath whose waters lie a mother and her father. Around this lake, the fates of sisters Ruth and Lucille are divided. Orphaned, they are first entrusted to the care of a somewhat rough grandmother, then to two unlikely elderly relatives, and finally fall into the slippery and inattentive hands of their mother's sister, Aunt Sylvie.

Sylvie is anything but nurturing. She is not maternal, not attentive to conventions, and does not care for the two girls in the traditional sense. Ethereal, almost vanishing, she is herself a primary element of nature, like water, air, wind, leaves, and insects admitted into the house as legitimate inhabitants. Sylvie is undoubtedly the central character of the novel.

The two girls, inseparable in early childhood, are separated by their different degrees of fondness and acceptance of their aunt's strange way of interpreting life.

Objects, materiality, the possessions of a deceased person, memory, the intense desire to have that hand on one's hair that we loved so much. Thoughts that blend with dreams.

It is a dark novel, yet at the same time, it is moving and extremely poetic, becoming (also) an intense reflection on the processing of grief and the abandonment (willed or not) but above all, the suddenness of it.

\\"C’è cosí poco da ricordare di ciascuno, un aneddoto, una conversazione a tavola. Ma a ogni ricordo si ritorna piú e piú volte, e ogni parola, per quanto casuale, si inscrive nel cuore, nella speranza che il ricordo si attui un giorno, e diventi carne, e che i vagabondi trovino una strada verso casa, e che i morti, di cui sentiamo sempre la mancanza, passino finalmente attraverso la porta e ci accarezzino i capelli con affetto sognante e abituale, perché non avevano l’intenzione di farci attendere cosí a lungo.\\" This beautiful passage further emphasizes the power of memory and the longing for the return of the loved ones who have passed away.