This novel is an engaging, sweet-natured, humble tale about miracles. You know that because the story begins with this observation: “A miracle contradicts the will of earth,” and, “People fear miracles because they fear being changed — though ignoring them will change you also.” Later, another observation about miracles — sometimes we don’t see them, even though we look at them every day. (174).
But this is also a story about honor, integrity, providence, hospitality, forgiveness, tragedy, and what it’s like to wrestle with God. Not sure what Enger’s worldview is, but he writes as someone immersed in a world of Christian assumptions. In a coldly secular world, it’s very refreshing to read a story that is "haunted by transcendence," as Charles Taylor would say.
But it’s not just the themes that make this such a compelling read — it’s Enger’s style of writing: “Her fingers were the oldest part of her.” “She resembled an opportunity missed by Rembrandt.” “She had a beautiful laugh, and hearing it you could only wish you’d said the thing that brought it forth.” “No conversation in any room but the kitchen was worth overhearing.” “Humility came to me too late. I am a living proverb; learn from me.” “ I knew my dad was the smartest, best hearted, most capable man in any room occupied . . . To see him therefore in janitor clothes seemed to me the result of a strange and discomforting arithmetic.”
These are the kinds of phrasings that make good fiction such a joy to read. I suppose it will get lost in the film version, but I look forward to seeing it nevertheless, and I also look forward to reading more of Leif Enger.