Book Review: Peace Like a River

I have long been troubled by what I have perceived to be a sad lack of good fiction from a Christian perspective. At least, modern fiction. I’ve read a great many novels written since the turn of the century (19th , that is) and most come off as sermons, allegories, or fairy tales. Do not misunderstand me. I am not degrading great works of Christian fiction whole-cloth. I return to the works of C. S. Lewis with the same love and devotion of a pampered pet to its loving master, fully confident of quality and Christ in the details. There are other wonderful examples I could name, and even some of the contemporary works aren’t bad, per se. But not a work that doesn’t invoke angels and demons, where the forces of God and Lucifer square off over some poor soul’s plight or some critical issue and event upon which the fates of nations or multitudes turn. Or, a lush and tender return to pastoral times involving figures of Biblical or Christian traditions. The works of Orson Scott Card come to mind. And though I’ve not yet read them, I imagine George MacDonald’s forays into this kind of thing are much the same.

As is becoming painfully apparent to you, my experiences and therefore authority to make such a sweeping judgement on the state of contemporary Christian fiction is woefully inadequate. However, it is true that having read works like Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, or Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, or sundry Hemmingway or Orwell, Borges or Gracia Marquez, a powerful and poignant portrait of life as told by a Christian never crossed my path. I would finish a masterpiece like Steinbeck’s, my spirit heavy with the tragedy of life, only marginally buoyed by whatever scraps of hope could be found in the “indomitable spirit of Man,” and bemoan that such events would take place even in fiction without the acknowledgment of God other than as an absent landlord or obtuse puppeteer. When, O Lord, will someone write such a story with You in it? I’d wonder. Well, if no one else is going to, I’ll take up the task.

I have long regarded it as my job to write such a novel that smacks of verisimilitude, that an atheist lit professor could have their students read in class and not bat an eyelash about the God parts. In short, a tale of real events that happened in which the Lord plays a part. The lack demanded redress, and I’d have to do it. And the Lord has once again set me straight, because it’s already been written. It’s by Leif Enger and it’s called Peace Like A River.

And it’s one of the best novels I’ve ever read.

And it’s even better because of the God parts.

I won’t go into the details, because then why would you have to read it, right? Suffice to say it’s about a family in North Dakota in the 1960’s. And it’s a dandy of a read. The narrative is tight, the prose is flowery the same way flowers are (that is, their blossoms stretch to the sky delighting the eye with their beauty while their roots remain firmly in the earth; not incidentally, the better the earth the more healthy and glorious the flower. I think that’s a pretty standard condition for anything in life); the events are at times hilarious, hateful, heartwrenching, hopeful, and heartwarming. The characters are wonderfully flawed and real and dense (their characteristics, not their intelligence). Good things happen to bad people, bad things to good people, and nothing happens without reason even if that reason isn’t ever explained. There are periods of stillness and sorrow, of adventure and action, of pathos and pain, of anxiety and uncertainty, of hope and despair. All this to say, it’s just like Life. Which the best fiction is.

While I was reading it, devouring it too quickly as I do with every good thing the Lord blesses me with, I was reminded of a novel called One Hundred Years of Solitude by Garbiel Garcia Marquez which I read for my Latin American Lit class in grad school. That book has become the standard for a particular study of literature known as Magical Realism, which basically means there are events in the story that are beyond the realm of physical possibility, yet no one seems too put out by it. “These things happen,” would be the characters’ reply to inquiries about the viability of such events, like a rivulet of blood flowing around street corners and up stair steps to bring news of a murder. The person receiving the message isn’t concerned with how such a thing could happen as much as that someone has been murdered. It sounds like sloppy storytelling, I know, but it’s intentional (mostly), though what the intention is is anyone’s guess.

Things happen in Peace Like A River that contradict reality. However, they are attributed to God as miracles of faith rather than just What Happens. Does this change their character? Would they be considered Magical Realism in a literary sense? As a Christian I believe in miracles, that God does do things that can’t happen without His direct intervention. Now, obviously this is a work of fiction; the things in here didn’t really happen (as far as I know; the author makes no such claim). But they could happen, if you believe in God, the God of the Bible. So does that make them not Magical Realism, because they could happen. Whereas in Magical Realism, it’s understood that the author isn’t positing the events as being theoretically possible under the right circumstances. Then again, most of them don’t involve God in any big way, so it’s understandable.

Wait, you may be saying, You LIAR! You led off this longwinded review by saying you were looking for a story that didn’t rely on the supernatural in the narrative! You’ve been leading us down the primrose path (an expression I’m curious about. Where is this primrose path and what exactly lies at the end of it? What other path is one supposed to take? How did this expression come to be? Does it go back to Testament times and the straight, narrow, and tough road that leads to Salvation vs. the wide, smooth, and easy road leading to Destruction? Hmmm…). Where was I? Right, the indignation. Well, yes, that was a complaint of mine, and I’ve thought about it. And the thing about this novel is that the miraculous does occur, and sometimes it’s beneficial to the protagonists, but more often than not it isn’t, at least, not directly. It’s more of an expression of the Lord working through people. And this, again, is what life in Christ is supposed to be like, right? Not always casting out demons or healing a terminal cancer patient, but miracles that don’t always benefit us or even appear miraculous, that sometimes seem downright pernicious and perplexing! God thwarts our desire for our good, and He uses us against our wishes more often than not, simply because our wishes and His aren’t in harmony. And 80% of the time we don’t even realize when God’s hand is directing us overtly because we’re too focused on ourselves to see it. And when the results aren’t to our liking, we sulk and pout and snarl at God for not giving us what we want. And miss what He’s doing to us and through us and for us. This is real life. How many miracles I’ve missed over the reason would probably floor me. But you rejoice when the Lord reveals them to you and humbly say Thank you and vow not to be so mulish in the future. Which lasts all of a day.

Also, there’s a smattering of poetry in here, of an archaic and delightful flavor that brings a smile to my face. And the context of it is wonderful too.

There are so many things about this book that I love. I can’t go into further detail because then I’d be rehashing the book and you’d enjoy it more when Enger tells it. So just read it.

A friend and classmate of mine named Jim Wentworth once consoled me in a bar not to be too impatient about my writing. He told me you have to live and build up experiences before you can write about them, which made an awful lot of sense to me. In a way, a writer is always doing research since he writes from his own experience. My problem is my reticence to experience much. But I’m learning patience, a lesson which by its very nature takes a while and like most skills is basically acquired by practicing it. You learn to be patient by being patient, and it’s always tough at first when learning anything. I’m also learning boldness, though that lesson isn’t going as well as I’d like. All this to say that I feel like the narrator quite a lot at times, even though he writes about his experiences as an eleven-year-old. What does that say about me, eh?

I really cannot recommend this book highly enough. If you like to read, if you like Jesus, if you like to experience a good story, if you’re just looking for something to kill time, you can’t go wrong with this book. I have to thank Mr. Enger for writing such a wonderful novel. I have to thank my big sister Abigail for insisting that I read it. And I have to thank the Lord for inspiring such a wonderful book. And for everything else. Like the concept of reading and literature in the first place.