In this mesmerizing and profound novel, the arc of a woman's life in a devout, insular community challenges our deepest assumptions about what infuses life with meaning.
Ruth is raised in a snow globe of Christian communism, a world without private property, television, or tolerance for idle questions. Every morning she braids her hair and wears the same costume, sings the same breakfast song in a family room identical to every other family room in the community; every one of these moments is meant to be a prayer, but to Ruth they remain puzzles. Her life is seen in glimpses through childhood, marriage, and motherhood, as she tries to manage her own perilous curiosity in a community built on holy mystery. Is she happy? Might this in fact be happiness? Ruth immerses us in an experience that challenges our most fervent beliefs.
It would never work out, but I’m in love with Ruth.
She’s the impish narrator of Kate Riley’s novel about a Hutterite community in Michigan. Chances are you don’t know anything about the Hutterites — I didn’t until last week — but one of the many delights of this autobiographical story is that Riley feels no rush to lay out their beliefs.
Instead, we come to feel the tight dimensions of this little Anabaptist sect just as Ruth does — with a mixture of innocence and incredulity. Born into the faith in 1963, she grows up under the loving supervision of the Brotherhood, which forbids personal property and discourages the “festering intimacy” of family life. In keeping with Hutterite tradition, their colony — the Dorf, as members call it — is a group dedicated to hard work and spiritual striving.
Ruth is no atheist, but the fabric of her faith feels like a too-tight garment of scratchy wool. “She prayed God leach her of all curiosity,” Riley writes, “but He would not.” That rebuffed supplication becomes both her triumph and her tragedy.
No one goes wanting in the Dorf that Riley describes, but “the Brotherhood lived in a constantly recalibrating state of voluntary poverty.” Their meeting hall, dorms and shops are built from timbers and decorated with green shutters in the Bavarian style of the mother country. Ruth can’t help noticing “their resemblance to the house at the end of Candyland.”
The outside world, Ruth learns, is a howling wilderness of “printed T-shirts and cohabitation before marriage.” Meanwhile, her community of some 300 souls is....
I love learning about and reading books centered on religious communes so the synopsis of Ruth made me excited to dive in!
Ruth is unlike any other religious commune or cult story ever written. It’s a quiet, emotionally moving story of a woman’s life as she grows up in the Hutterite Brethren commune into a woman who is separated from the modern world.
Ruth is such a fascinating and layered character. Ruth’s inner struggle to follow the strict path set for her and her questions about the world she’s in are all something we can relate to. The struggles with her religion, at one point she prays to have god to remove her curiosity as well as her mischievousness and rebellious thoughts make for some very humorous moments. One of my favorite parts was when she judged her classmates based on those who prefer Anna Karenina versus those who prefer The Brothers Karamazov.
I just adored this unique and original story and I think readers who enjoy character-driven stories would enjoy it too. I listened to the audiobook version which is read by Rebecca Lowman who did an amazing job bringing Ruth to life.
Ruth by Kate Riley was published on August 19 so it is available now! Many thanks to Penguin Random House Audio for the gifted copy.
So, it’s not exactly a cult book, my cult book loving friends, but it’s not NOT a cult book either. The novel follows Ruth from childhood through middle age in her Anabaptist sect where all is shared and decisions are made by elders (however there is no abuse here.) Ruth’s life is fairly regimented and while Ruth is, for her group, a tiny bit of a free spirit, she doesn’t really question the world she lives within nor does she appear to chafe against its teachings. But is she happy? That’s the fundamental question here, and you’ll have to decide for yourself.
There were definitely things I liked about this book; often books about a religious community are quick to label it “bad,” when, here, certainly, there’s no real evidence there’s anything bad about the Brotherhood at all…there’s no coercion or abuse here and plenty of people leave the congregation. These are simply people who choose to worship and live differently than most; the people depicted here are more like the Amish than anything. Can happiness be found there? Of course.
That said, I found the book choppy and a bit stilted at times. I was never entirely clear what happened to some of the characters who just seemed to vanish. So, while there were high points, there were things that could have been improved upon, for me.
I found the style of writing to be refreshingly witty and sophisticated, a welcomed change from the colloquial style of many contemporary authors. This book is not plot driven, rather it depicts a community through the perspective of one woman. Her voice is laugh-out-loud funny at times, and consistently beautiful and rich in detail. Ruth feels like an outsider in her community, and letting the reader in on that feeling felt special and relatable.
I never would have picked up this book unprompted but I got an ARC as a first-round reader for a prize and I'm so glad I did! Don't read this expecting a clear, linear narrative. It's more a collection of anecdotes, the overarching narrative implied and impressionistic. That's not usually my favorite style, but each section is so well crafted, and Ruth's experience of her life in a Christian commune (which is itself fascinating and seems to be based on the real life Bruderhof Communities) is so layered and bittersweet, I ended up loving the book and feeling like I'd really known Ruth. Some reviews say that they found the narrative choppy, that they found Ruth remote and/or inaccessible, but to me that's like complaining that a Monet is blurry. Part of the power of Riley's style is allowing the reader to fill in some of the blanks. I found it very affecting.
I felt completely disconnected from this story and particularly from Ruth. The text never allowed me to get close to her, to hear her voice. Maybe that was the author’s intent, to mirror the isolation felt by Ruth in the commune, but for me, feeling isolated from a story does not equate to an entirely pleasant reading experience.
This is a novel that’s more interested in character study than plot, but wow—what a voice! It follows the titular Ruth, member of an “intentional” religious community, from pre-teen to her fifties, detailing every observation from her devout and cloistered life. You’d think the writing would be dry, but it is the exact opposite—sharp, introspective, witty, and at times laugh-out-loud funny. The narrative nods to the escapism, fascination, and preconceived notions involved in reading such a story, and it’s no wonder—Riley dropped out of college to join a similar faction, and considers it the happiest time of her life.
This is the story of Ruth, who is being raised in a Hutterite family in Michigan. It is a quiet story about her life and their community. Everything is shared. They have no personal possessions. They strive to live their faith in a communal way. Strict conformity is expected, down to the smallest of behaviors.
At first, I found it interesting, but now the writing has stalled for me. It is a little too quiet.
Not for everyone, but by God, was it for me. A novel of simmering intellect, tenderness and wit of observation, girded by Anabaptist structure. Reminder to self to go back and copy down some passages. The kind of book where a turn of phrase or simple observation is like a precious candy to be savored impishly.
Ruth is the type of interior-life-focused, character-driven novel I adore. Set in a Hutterian Brethren commune in the glove of Michigan, this ecosystem of fundamental separatists shares everything and lives lightly. Ruth Della Shawl (b. 1963), our sole narrator, poises to keep readers locked in: we live in her no pretense, snappy mind as she chafes against the brotherhood’s elders and the traditions of her Anabaptist commune. She hungers for knowledge and untethered independence, a disposition that naturally seems incompatible with her quaint community’s philosophy of life. There are no “candles (accessories to fire worship), musical instruments (biblically unprecedented), and dolls (Baals).”
As such, Ruth learns to sublimate her inquisitiveness, keeping her thoughts to herself, her husband, and her kids—“She withheld her finding from the community, well aware that every observation entered her mind a question and exited her mouth an indictment”—and remains living in her Dorf colony. The push and pull courses through the novel: Ruth never relinquishes the “evil thoughts” as she matures; she dutifully preoccupies herself with being a morally good person.
Her kids also evince the push and pull. In comparison to other children, Ruth’s kids exhibit anarchistic behavior (or maybe they go through the standard rebellious teenage phase); whatever the case, I appreciated how Riley creates their personalities and storylines because it points back to Ruth. Outwardly, she may be docile, but secretly at home, her kids pick up on her courtship with intellectualism and unreformed will.
The story is not complicated, yet it insists I give it my attention. I found Ruth’s decorative observations, delivered with wit, and regularly bundled as metaphors and analogies entirely mentally stimulating. Her description of her beloved Calvin, “wry but not cruel,” doubles well for her voice. Riley’s description captivates. For example, Ruth’s familiarity with the encyclopedia and the line, “reading was the most consistent cause of Ruth’s loneliness, as well as its palliative,” has stuck in my mind.
Even though I gleefully cheer when novels don’t drag on, “[e]verything happened so much” for Ruth, and I wanted my time with her to continue. For what it’s worth, I believe the project respects the Hutterite tradition. Again, from what I can gather, Riley portrays the patriarchal community as realistically and truthfully as she can; one can make their decision on the cloister’s biblical nature accordingly. On that note, readers may want to note that this book is more religious than I expected; I suspect I enjoyed Ruth all the more for it.
I adored this book. It gave me sweet Gilead (the wonderful Marilynn Robinson book, not The Handmaid’s Tale setting😬) vibes and I could have kept on reading for even longer.
Ruth has grown up in an Anabaptist Hutterite commune (think Amish-ish but with electricity, conservatism, and big hearts for social justice). We see glimpses of her world and beliefs through almost mini-chapters, starting from childhood and going through middle age.
The format of this book was perfect. At first it seemed a bit slow and makes the reader feel out of the loop since we’re finding out more about the commune as we read. BUT, once you have the vernacular and routine down, then you can really sink your teeth into the small stories and commentaries on commune life. The second half especially shines as Ruth ages, even while maintaining her childlike spirit.
I loved Ruth’s playfulness and whimsy so much, especially since she’s in a place that you think might not always appreciate those characteristics. She’s funny and she’s herself even if her neighbors may not know what to make of it sometimes.
There are so many well-written, clever observations throughout this book and I found myself underlining and re-reading them. It is such a testament to Riley’s writing!
I went into this book expecting culty vibes, but I quickly realized my expectations were way off. This book shows the imperfections and beauty of an insular life of faith in such a genuine way. Can happiness be found even in a “confined” lifestyle? This may end up being one of my favorite books of the year.
Unfortunately, Ruth didn't work for me. I found it flat--though I find Hutterite communities and their interpretation of the New Testament absorbing. She spends most of the novel profoundly depressed and detached from her own feelings, which made it hard for me to attach to her as a reader. She also never really grows up, or into herself, which is kind of the point, but it would have been more interesting if Ruth had had some character development. While there's nothing outright wrong with this book, I just found it a meh reading experience. No matter how much energy I put into it, I did not find the book returned my eagerness to know Ruth.
I read Ron Charles review in The Washington Post…he loved the character Ruth. She did nothing for me. Nor did the book. Nor did the bombastic writing. I do not recommend it.
This didn't seem like my kind of book at all, but I picked it up on the strength of the Washington Post review. The main character is such a delight. I really appreciated the glimpse inside an insular community. It initially seemed to be unfathomable, but became instantly recognizable to anyone who has lived in a shared housing situation - even a college dorm. The takeaway message for me was that people are people.
I thought I knew how a female character in this restrictive setting was going to be handled, and then Riley surprised me (and sometimes Ruth herself) with the occasional tenderness of life in an anabaptist community. To be so immersed in life on the Dorf that Ruth’s experience began to feel like my own shared history is yet another feat of fiction.
I recently came across a recommendation for a new 2025 book by author Kate Riley called Ruth. It was advertised as a book for the curious and persistant seeker, following a “fictitious” religious commune/communty that has obvious and direct allusions to the Hutterites.
I’ll be honest, after going out and purchasing it and now having finished it, I find myself conflicted. I can sense, and even see in part, notes of brilliance behind the page. And yet, the further I got into the book, the more distance I was experiencing when it came to grasping that brilliance. Even further, I felt like the story had lost me despite my best efforts to stay centered in it, and no amount of retreading and re-reading pages and even chapters seemed to help in relocating me within what this book was trying to do. However, the book did leave me thinking and wrestling. In particular, I loved the way the author uses the basic premise of this fictionalized Hutterite community, which we navigate from the point of view of a young woman named Rtuth, to flesh out certain nuances regarding the human experience, especially where it relates to our beliefs. Where the book feels like it is operating as a critique in one moment, it deftly “critiques the critique” with the same brush using certain questions or observations or plotting to try and upend and overturn our expectations for dogmatism on either side. For example, as it explores the restrictive social dynamics of this community, the challenge of an ideological vision for a community where no one lacks is juxtaposed against this idea of an enforced impoverished state. Or the idea that this is built on a partioning out of needs and wants, an act that often blurs where and how and why such lines get drawn. The same “want” can be seen to restrict ones sense of self while similtaneously being correct in the potential destruction it can bring about in the life of a community, family or individual. Or the same “need” can be seen to give itself to the illusions of wanted desire, leading one to question where certain restricitons are actually leading to forms of oppression and harm.
These sorts of nuances play through the intracicies of Ruth’s own delicate dance between the safety of the community and the constant allure of the world that lies beyond it. In a very real sense this is a book about seeking truth, and the more Ruth seeks the more complex and shadowed things become. It is one thing to note sexual desire, for example, it is another to attend for the ways such desires can enslave. In this, the world might offer us the allure of desire and discovery but it cannot attend for the destruction. It can only contain such realities within the reductionism of our constrcuted ideas of a liberated self. Which of course is never a truly liberated self. We are all slaves in the end.
The book also uses this same approach to explore the nature of belief in God. After all, when God is rooted in the bigger questions regarding the nature of reality and the foundations of our beliefs and convictions, the temptation is to reduce that to the sorts of practicalities of rules and regulations that are easier to control, which of course are part of any given society, Hutterite or secular. And as is common, where we find rules we want to break them and escape them. Thus seeking the world often means seeking a world without God precisely because we believe this promises true liberation from the shackles of religious oppression. As is often the position of the common secular humanist/atheist, in a world ruled by a particular conception of law and order, religion achieves such control of society by attaching the ideas of reward and punishment as negatives that belong to this agent called God. And yet in Ruths story, we find in the world that surrounds this community the same shackles and the same questions and the same control built on systems of reward/punishment. Thus this forms the essential struggle of the faith journey, forcing us to see beyond the trappings of moralism to find what actually grounds such constructs in something true. This constant push and pull between feeling God’s absence and God’s presence, between the practicalities of acceptment and judgment, of the allusive natures of Love and what we might call evils, of encountering our doubts and our convictions, is the thing that finds us always sitting in this pervasive tension regardless of where we find ourselves on this journey.
This is as far as I got with this story, and most of this I gleaned from the book’s first half. There is a transition that takes place around the halfway point in the story that progresses the plot, and it was here that I found myself trying to keep up, trying to figure out where to place and fit those above observations. And to be clear, there’s a good chance that the issue here was me. I’m okay with that being the case, and I would actually love to get someone elses thoughts regarding their navigation of the story. Maybe it will help clarify and bring some of that struggle into fresh light. As it is, I appreciated it more than I was able to truly experience it fully, even while I found its themes resonating nonetheless.
The review that led me to this book called it “strange and wonderful” and I have to agree. The comparison to Mrs. Bridge is apt. Quick snapshots of an extremely ordered world inhabited by the disordered, disobedient, and discordant Ruth.
The process of making my way through this book was enjoyable enough, I just don't know that I completely understand the point of it.
I did learn some things about how Hutterites live, and it was well written. But I don't fully understand what Ruth's issues were. Depression, obviously. Ennui. But from being a curious and witty believer who is not supposed to be curious and witty? Maybe if I hadn't done this one on audio I would have picked up more, but while listening to this book was a pleasant enough experience, my concluding sentiment is one of "meh".
I expected something of a horror novel, based purely on the cover but was delighted instead by the coming-of-age of a precocious hutterite girl! I was drawn in by the beautiful prose, deep human insight, and delightful zaps of Ruth’s humour. The Hutterite subject matter is close to me and I found the depiction very clear-eyed and kind.
really interesting ideas on whether one can be happy without worldly possessions or a strong sense of identity. Ruth is a delightful narrator, and I enjoyed learning about the Hutterites!
I initially found Ruth’s life interesting to read about however as the book carried on, it became very bleak. I felt disconnected to Ruth and her life, the writing felt very stand off-ish and there was no real connection between the snapshots of her life that we saw. I have so many questions about certain aspects and finished the book feeling underwhelmed.
Thank you to NetGalley and the publishers for kindly providing an ARC in exchange for an honest review. #Ruth #NetGalley. All opinions are my own.
Thank you to Penguin Random House for the #gifted audiobook! #PRHAudioPartner #prhaudio
𝗥𝘂𝘁𝗵 is a coolly detached novel about a life in a small insulated Christian community in Michigan. This is not exactly a cult novel, but rather an examination of the tightly controlled religious life that Ruth lives in.
The community, called a dorf, is fictional here, but was loosely based on Kate Riley’s experiences living on a similar religious commune. While the author ultimately found that life too constricting, she is obviously fond of many of the ways of such a sequestered system which is reflected in the affection with which she portrays her characters here.
We never really get to know any of the characters in depth, however, which might be the author’s goal. Ruth follows the rigid rules of the dorf and gets married to a somewhat boring but reliable man. Allen accepts Ruth's little quirks and seems like a good father to their three children (although he calls Ruth “Mom”!) 😬
This is a very sheltered world where permission must be granted by the elders even to adults to travel anywhere outside the dorf and where the followers live by socialist-like rules.
This book began its life as a series of emails that Riley sent to a friend when she lived on the religious commune. And that’s how the novel feels to me: many vignettes of Ruth’s life without much depth. I never really got to know her, but that might reflect what life is actually like for a woman in these religious communities. They can never really express themselves or their own beliefs.
Finally, I LOVE the trend of book covers that feature paintings (like 𝘚𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘺 and 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦!), because the cover of this book is what first drew me in.
this book reaches for greatness and it’s almost there, especially in the first half. however the withholding it does as a way to emulate this type of living ends up hurting the book. ruth is a great character, we follow the majority of her life from childhood to adulthood in an anabaptist isolationist commune. through the 3rd pov and with a peak into her mind, we follow a very funny child whose curiosity questions a lot about her community, this spirit is slowly dulled as the years go by due to patriarchal submission.
due to the vignette form, we don’t get to linger on many moments, on many characters, on many relationships - riley even though she gives us a lot of details about the mundane workings of daily pastoral life for women in these religious communities still manages to not tell us much about faith, about the specific workings of the community good or bad. this might be a way for riley to show how insular these communities are even from the women who live in it, the new yorker said “it’s a faith so particular that even the reader is denied access to it”. this plus the plotless nature of the book, then needs ruth voice to carry but once she gets married & has children, she has much of her spirit dulled - this makes for a rough second half, where the repetition and twee humour grates on the reader. it just gets unbelievably sad.
the part that sticks out is definitely ruth’s experience in liking boys & having children. she’s not some deeply involved parent, something that makes sense for the communist community that forsakes too close of a familial bond. her struggle with post partum depression was beautifully written, the devil she had to fight alone. the offbeat writing and the almost meditative look into pastoral life through food often worked well, it just couldn’t carry that withholding once the possibility of childhood ended for ruth. i did appreciate that ruth wasn't some rebel character, it's nice to look at the ways we submit and assimilate in patriarchal culture as we grow older so not to lose our cultural and familial and personal ties.
the NYTs review distilled riley's point well "Ruth begins to understand that "art could be anything one saw with reverent attention," and it is with this kind of attention that we view Ruth's own suffering". ruth’s voice unfortunately is not strong enough in the second half and she’s overshadowed by a setting, a setting riley doesn’t want to dig deep in and even when you the reader let go of those desires and decide to wade in still waters, you still want more.
i appreciated the guardian review showing me another angle of the book, which is that the deep look into traumas effects is not the only way to deal with a life of suffering. “Reticence, dissociation, quiet quitting: these are the unsung heroes of self-care, as Riley's protagonist can vouch” - ruth being lazy, being an average mother, not being brave, all those are valuable lessons to read about, problem is riley doesn’t reach for the stars despite giving us a galaxy problem and world.
whole lotta telling without any of it being a story. and not in the “no plot just vibes” kinda way because unfortunately there were no vibes either. just words.
Really impressive! Riley has created a character cursed with curiosity in a Christian communal sect, but told completely within the worldview of that community, the language and the preoccupations of family, community and faith, so much so that at times it was easy to feel disoriented. But overall Ruth is one of the most compelling characters and remarkable books I’ve read this year.