An absolutely beautiful book. Eleven-year-old Ignatius (called Brother) is the youngest of 5 brothers and the only one at home on their rural Oregon ranch with his grandparents when his father is called to Iraq. The four older brothers are either away at school or in the Army themselves.
The chapters are months, giving the book an almost episodic feel. The book covers just over a year, beginning in July and ending the following August.
What made this book speak to me was the thread of peace, routine, thoughtfulness, and tenderness that one can see in Brother's life on the ranch and in Brother's thoughts. Brother's inner feelings are sensitive, conflicting, and realistic. I also love the role that religion and faith, especially the merging of different faiths, play in this book. In the February chapter, the area is assigned a new priest. I love the description and character of Father Ziegler. My favorite scene, though, is when the "grands" have a moment, as they do every Sunday, in the church before Grandpa goes outside to worship in the traditional Quaker silence and Grandma stays inside for Catholic Mass (p71).
Quotes:
(Grandpa is speaking) "Land shapes a man's heart, too, and his aspirations. A man near the mountains learns to look up, and it calls his mind to God." And then he'd do that Quaker thing where he sits quietly and says nothing, and the rest of us go back to playing chess or poker, and a dozen hands later he would say something like, "God's in the valleys, too, in the coolness of the water and the softness of the ground. That's the tender side of the Almighty."
I love it when he talks like that, because then, when I go wading in the creek, I think of the Holy Spirit squooshing up between my toes.
Jim is a better dancer than all the rest of use put together. For one thing, he can remember both steps of the two-step. Plus, he's brave enough to ask a girl to dance. I'm never going to do that. Not in a million years.
(I cut a some out of this one)
A dead person’s body is a serious transportation problem. At least, it is out here. No ambulance; not even a car for miles.
“All right, God, “I say, and I am a little mad because He was here an hour ago and now, just when levitation would be really helpful, He’s nowhere in sight.
“Look, I can’t leave him,” I say. ”That’s it. I’m staying until you find a way to get us both out of here, and if I starve to death, it’s your fault.”
That’s when the miracle happens.
“Well, all right then, God. Thanks!” I say, too amazed to put more flower on that prayer.