Peace Like a River, Leif Enger
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute. As it is written, the character is believable and real.
The novel employs the wide open spaces of the Minnesota countryside and rugged terrain of the North Dakota Badlands as a backdrop for its colorful tapestry. Set in the early 1960s, author Leif Enger uses diverse elements including Old Testament and Old West allusions and literary/historical references—often accented by miracles—to tell a tale which highlights eternal truth.
As with many stories that contain elements of fantasy, it’s easy to find unmitigated joy in the unexpected mining of tiny truth nuggets hidden in the rubble of the narrative. When I happen upon a vivid and compelling truth—whether or not actually intended by the author—like the power of an atom bomb which belies its size, it detonates waves of pleasure which resonate like massive ripples in a small mountain stream. You will discover many such moments in Peace Like a River.
Without succumbing to cartoonish hyperbole or explicit moralizing, Enger uses compelling characters and masterful prose to craft a story which is both familiar and mysterious. Like a well worn path, I found values that were inspirational, comfortable, and warm as my favorite pair of gloves. And yet, despite moments of recognition, I was also intrigued and jarred by so many strange twists and turns. Like a fountain drink of living water, this story refreshed and fulfilled a deep hole, but left me craving more. Of this great novel, it’s equally true to say that I’ve seen it before and I’ve never seen it before.
Peace Like a River is a novel which contains deep sadness, pain, and lost innocence. Despite that, I found it dripping with loyalty, peace, faith, joy, and extraordinary love. As the novel ebbs and flows—I was vividly reminded once again that good is better than evil, the truth is better than a lie, and that life is better than death.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
I have to chime in on this.
My buddy Gabe Scott (the multi-instrumentalist who used to travel with me and now travels mainly with Bebo Norman) is not a big reader. For the five years I traveled with him, he had maybe finished two books that I knew of, and used them mainly as a means of falling asleep.
So when he told me that Peace Like a River was a book I’d love, I only halfway believed him. It took about two years and about fifteen other people recommending it before I ever gave it a shot. Part of the problem is that the cover doesn’t at all capture the feel of the book. If any book deserves to be called a modern classic, this one does, and the cover doesn’t communicate that at all. But, you can’t judge a book by its cover. (That’s right, I just said that.)
I finished it on the plane coming back to the U.S. from Sweden. I read the last chapter, stared out the window for fifteen minutes or so, then re-read the ending of the book. That’s when I cried.
When I got home I called Gabe and apologized. I still pull the book down and thumb through it to re-read certain passages, and the only other book that I do that consistently with is the Lord of the Rings.
I, too, love PEACE LIKE A RIVER. But I thought the ending was the least successful part of the book. Unfortunately, I don’t have the book in front of me, and I don’t remember the details, so I’m hoping somebody will jump in on my side and help out.
[THERE BE SPOILERS HERE. STOP HERE IF YOU DON'T ALREADY KNOW (OR DON'T WANT TO KNOW) WHAT HAPPENS AT THE END]
Heaven is a hard, hard thing to write about. I can’t think of another piece of realistic fiction in which somebody actually goes to heaven. There are visions of heaven (Flannery O’Connor’s story about the woman in the doctor’s waiting room comes to mind), and of course CS Lewis’s fantasies treat of heaven. I don’t mean to suggest that heaven is an inappropriate topic for realistic fiction. But there was something about the way Enger wrote about heaven that didn’t sit right with me.
If I remember correctly (and I may not…again, I’m hoping somebody else will jump in here), it seems as if Enger’s heaven was too easy an answer. The book shows people of faith struggling through what appear to be impossible situations. That struggle seems very authentic, and the author refuses to give us easy answers. He lets the characters (and the reader) sit in real pain, real confusion: every day with Jesus is decidedly not sweeter than the day before…but it doesn’t have to be.
Then the character goes to heaven, and everything is all right. As a Christian, I do believe that heaven makes everything all right in the end. For a Christian, “after all” may be the sweetest words in the language. But PEACE LIKE A RIVER made me wonder if heaven is beyond the scope of fiction.
There, that ought to start at least a little bit of controversy.
I’m pulling out the gloves. Jeremiah Land, the father in the book, dies at the end. (If that’s not a spoiler I don’t know what is.) Reuben gets a glimpse of his world-weary, heartbroken, faithful father dipping his feet in a golden river that carries him away to a shining city. It’s the only scene that I remember in the book where his father isn’t tired and broken, and I ached for Jeremiah Land. I wanted so badly for him to get in that river and let his faith become sight that the ending satisfied me and piqued my own ache. I didn’t see it as an easy way out. The father was murdered. Reuben survived, was healed of his sickness, and caught a vision of heaven that allowed him to understand his father (and his father’s faith) for the first time.
I read the book at least two years ago, and may be askew on a few facts. But that’s what I remember of my impression of it. I’ll also say that it wasn’t until I went back and re-read the ending that I got all weepy, so maybe on the first read it isn’t as satisfying of an ending.
Besides the story itself, the prose is excellent. I took notes on Enger’s use of colorful (and sometimes made-up) words–words like “muzzy”, “racketous”, “nettly”, “screel” and “whuffed”. There’s a good interview with the author here.
Controversy is good.
I’m with the Proprietor on this one. What was most powerful about the ending for me was that Rueben was there to see it, to see his Dad whole and running and joyous and then to know that he couldn’t follow, not yet, to know that his father loved him so much he had to tell him goodbye and send him back to a life of pain, hurt and bereavement because that’s what we’ve all got to endure before we wear the crown. That ending left me breathless.
The book also features multiple uses of the word “beeves” as well as “clandestine jellies”.
I agree that controversy is good. Unfortunately, I just don’t have what it takes to continue this particular controversy. I don’t remember enough about the book to talk about it in any detail. Mostly I remember being vaguely dissatisfied with the ending–and mostly because I had been so thoroughly satisfied with the rest of the book. AP, since the only person to jump into the fray was YOUR brother, on YOUR side (real fair) we may have to postpone our grudge match.
My brother could beat up your brother.
Seriously, it won’t be long before Pete’s opposing me too. (But until that happens, watch out for we Petersons. Arrrr.)
AP
Wrong! I am NEVER oppositional, nor defiant!
Well, I was going to read this eventually. Thanks, Mr. Spoiler-Proprietor. Probably not now.
This was the first Christian Fictional book I ever read back when I started walking with the Lord a few years ago. Honestly, that is what I remember about it the most. It makes me chuckle to see it here, because it was at a time when I didnt realize (was blinded to) all that is truly alive around us (especially the living word). It was also the same season in my life that a dear friend of ours, (my husband and I) very intrumental in our early walk said, “Hey I am listening to my brother’s latest album it is amazing!” Of course, his brother happened to be Andrew Peterson. So, this whole thread reminds me of those days and although I as well can’t even remember enough to debate it (although I much enjoy my debates with Pete) I can’t help but me amazed at the details of how fitting it is in my life to see it in the Rabbit Room. Thanks for posting it Curt McLey.
Welcome to the Rabbit Room, Wabbit.
[...] books that we think you’ll love. I just found a few copies of Gilead, Mere Christianity, and Peace Like a River, all books that come highly recommended by the Rabbit Room [...]
[...] may remember Enger as the author of Peace Like a River, one of the first books discussed here in the Rabbit Room. I haven’t read the new one yet, but it’s next on my list. Actually, [...]
[...] to spoil the book but those looking for explicit Christian themes and a big emotional finale, as in Peace Like a River, might be disappointed. Those things are still here but they’re buried deeper, nestled down [...]
Gee, I didn’t read all the responses but I didn’t have the same take as others. I saw the father as racing to insert himself for Reuben in that space between heaven and earth.. the void that one must travel to reach heaven. Many describe it as a peaceful river flowing toward white lights, etc. (My own mother experienced that in childbirth.) And, if I recall Jeremiah heard as he lay on the ground that Reuben was also injured and non responsive. The dr. later said the father should have lived and the son shouldn’t have based on their wounds. I believe it was the ultimate sacrifice for his son… a second resurrection so to speak, to repeat the saving at Reuben’s birth. And, I didn’t question his excellent health following the episode. My father often told of his brother literally crawling up to bed with a severe asthma attack which noone expected him to recover from. The next day he arose and never seem bothered with that affliction again. Strange how that can happen.
And, I agree with whoever said the important thing was Reuben got to see his father’s spirited and jubilant sprint toward the river. He would find the loss easier to bear than it might have been. At least that was my perspective. Just had to jump in for what it’s worth. I loved this book. I think the prose with all its references was the best I’ve read in years. Brilliant really. (imho)
PS: The only part that seemed a bit .. “convenient” for me was the connection with Sarah. But I know stranger things happen. However they had the shared history of a broken life prior to the shattering scene outside their home that day. There I’m done. aj
I know I’m getting into this thread WAY late, but I just finished listening to a reading of Peace LIke a River by Chad Lowe, which I picked up in a used bookstore on vacation this summer. I’ve had the book on my shelf for several years waiting to get to it, alas! (BTW, if you like to listen to books, Mr. Lowe’s narration is excellent. I think he gets the tone of the narrative just right.)
There is so much about this glorious novel, where to begin?
In the first place, as to “spoilers.” Don’t worry about knowing the ending in advance. Doesn’t matter. This is a book where “getting there” is way more than half the pleasure. That’s why (like every great novel) it will get better with every reading. As was mentioned in the original review, the “voice” of the narrator, and the author’s rich language of the writing is worth reading the book about three times all by itself. Every page contains wonderful expressions of truths commonplace and profound.
Secondly, to discover a male character like Jeremiah Land in modern American fiction is a “miracle” by itself. To find a sympathetic, but not sentimental portrait of a father, is a double-miracle. And to read about a character whose faith is so real, and so understated is…well, you know. One of my favorite lines from the book is the observation that Mr. Land’s “early moments with King James were non-negotiable.” What a way to describe meaningful daily devotions!
Third, to write convincingly about the realities of our faith without becoming preachy is a real gift. That even secular critics found PLAR conpelling (if not convincing?) is an indication of Enger’s skill and conviction.
Finally (not to go on and on), I was struck that the climaxing vision of “heaven” was so underplayed (like everything in the book), assuming you’ve got the nerve to even attempt such a thing. It was not “heaven” like many envision it — a vaguely “spiritual” place where all is well (more like the Greeks than the Jews). It is (as Enger puts it) “another country” — new and different, but at the same time gloriously LIKE our present experience of f God’s good creation (butterflies and fruit trees!!). In this, Enger’s vision is much like that of C.S. Lewis (”Is it fair to say that country is more real than ours?” Reuben asks himself). And while Enger gave hints of more, they will mean more to those who know their Bible that the casual reader. He did not (IMO) go too far. (Another wonderful line. Reuben’s father tells him, “Soon, which makes better sense under the rules of that country than ours.”)
“Make of it what you will.”
This is one of my all-time favorites, if nothing else for the wonderful prose. There were sections I would re-read just to let the words roll off of my tongue. It’s been quite some time since I read it but the last chapter stands out to me as a moving image of heaven (and I’m pretty picky about heaven).
His next book So Brave, Young and Handsome is also a well-written journey of two men struggling with their pasts. Not as good his first book but a book worth reading.
Just finished this book last night and it was unbelievable. Instant classic. absolutely crazy good.
Hard to describe but if pressed I’d say it was a cross between “The Green Mile”, “To Kill A Mockingbird”, and “The Great Divorce” with a lot of Louise Lamour throughout. It was at times laugh out loud funny and at others lock the door weepy.
Your simply must read this book.