One of the dust jacket blurbs on the Modern Library hardback version came from Norman Mailer who said he wouldn’t change two words of Capote’s novel.  Meaning, obviously, the story is near perfect in every sense. It was no exaggeration. The purity of the writing is like “The Great Gatsby,” a novel in which every word and every sentence rings true and exudes a smart sort of elegance. Old Norman also said “Breakfast” was destined to become a classic, and maybe it has, though the film version tends to come first to people’s minds. If the novel hasn’t been studied enough, it must be because the same sort of stuffy academic moralists who won’t give Holden Caulfield his due won’t give it to Holly Golightly either.

What are the characteristics of this book otherwise?  It’s fresh and feels contemporary. It’s a story of identity, ego, finding one’s niche, and the close relationship between noble aspirations and being a con. Character study par excellence. Both funny and sad in parts. Spot-on descriptions and engaging dialog, and an alluring voice from a sensible and credible narrator. Structurally, we are placed within the walls of Joe Bell’s bar and as readers we can stay right there and  have a martini and learn the whole scoop. The revelations will come to us fast and furious, packed into a brilliant series of packages, all smartly wrapped in thematic weight and expository brevity.

It’s still modern and still hip. I had forgotten what a stylish and resonant story it is. I think it’s an important part of 20th century American fiction. I don’t think the picture’s complete without having read it.

A family of women and girls, widowed, abandoned, and otherwise living as outcasts, struggle to exist in a bleak town in the Northwest mountains. Death by water plays a part, as well as migrancy, trains, family ties, subsistence, darkness, clutter, conformity, freedom, and more.

If you meditate on the cover of this book, you’ll get a feel for one of the story’s central images.

This is another monumental piece, larger than its parts, with writing that is brilliant and sublime. It is a close cousin, I think, to McCarthy’s Blood Meridian. Both novels create dark worlds, tragic storylines, and characters of biblical proportions. In depths that scholars can analyze for years. Both novels have astounding lyrical descriptions of landscape and sky. Both cut to the marrow of raw human existence. If there is a simple difference to point out here, it’s that Housekeeping is more accessible and not as savage; readers are more likely to stay with it.

I wondered if I would stay during some slow sections in book middle. I was tested by the family of girls and their insistence on creating their own obstacles. But in the last sections, the pace picks up again once Sylvie makes the supreme mistake of catching the law’s attention. Fighting against the odds, her “housekeeping” compensations don’t make amends, and all that’s left is for her and Ruth to abandon the house.

When they flee, a harrowing scene is described. One relating to the cover. It affected me as much as any Stephen King cellar scene. It’s just one example of the power of Marilynne Robinson’s writing. It may well send me to the store or library to check out her book Gilead.