Publisher Description

NATIONAL BESTSELLER • From the Pulitzer Prize–winning author of Olive Kitteridge and My Name is Lucy Barton comes a "deeply moving" (The Washington Post) novel that "confirms Strout as the possessor of an irresistibly companionable, peculiarly American voice" (The Atlantic Monthly).

"Superb . . . a shimmering tale of loss, faith, and human fallibility."—O: The Oprah Magazine

In the late 1950s, in a small New England town, Reverend Tyler Caskey has suffered a terrible loss and finds it hard to be the person he once was. He struggles to find the right words in his sermons and in his conversations with those facing crises of their own, and to bring his five-year-old daughter, Katherine, out of the silence she has observed in the wake of the family's tragedy. Tyler's usually patient and kind congregation now questions his leadership and propriety, and accusations are born out of anger and gossip. Then, in Tyler's darkest hour, a startling discovery will test his parish's humanity—and his own will to endure the trials that sooner or later test us all.

Author Biography

Elizabeth Strout is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Olive Kitteridge, winner of the Pulitzer Prize; Olive, Again, an Oprah's Book Club pick; Anything Is Possible, winner of the Story Prize; My Name is Lucy Barton, longlisted for the Man Booker Prize; The Burgess Boys, named one of the best books of the year by The Washington Post and NPR; Abide with Me, a national bestseller; and Amy and Isabelle, winner of the Los Angeles Times Art Seidenbaum Award for First Fiction and the Chicago Tribune Heartland Prize. She has also been a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction, the International Dublin Literary Award, and the Orange Prize. Her short stories have been published in a number of magazines, including The New Yorker and O: The Oprah Magazine. Elizabeth Strout lives in New York City.

Review

"Strout's greatly anticipated second novel . . . is an answered prayer."—Vanity Fair
 
"Superb . . . a shimmering tale of loss, faith, and human fallibility . . . You feel yourself in the hands of a master storyteller."—O: The Oprah Magazine
 
"Deeply moving . . . In one beautiful page after another, Strout captures the mysterious combinations of hope and sorrow. She sees all these wounded people with heartbreaking clarity, but she has managed to write a story that cradles them in understanding and that, somehow, seems like a foretaste of salvation."—The Washington Post
 
"This lovely second novel confirms Strout as the possessor of an irresistibly companionable, peculiarly American voice: folksy, poetic, but always as precise as a shadow on a brilliant winter day."—The Atlantic Monthly
 
"Graceful and moving . . . The pacing of Strout's deeply felt fiction about the distance between parents and children gives her work an addictive quality."—People (four stars)

Long Description

In her luminous and long-awaited new novel, bestselling author Elizabeth Strout welcomes readers back to the archetypal, lovely landscape of northern New England, where the events of her first novel, Amy and Isabelle, unfolded. In the late 1950s, in the small town of West Annett, Maine, a minister struggles to regain his calling, his family, and his happiness in the wake of profound loss. At the same time, the community he has served so charismatically must come to terms with its own strengths and failings-faith and hypocrisy, loyalty and abandonment-when a dark secret is revealed. Tyler Caskey has come to love West Annett, "just up the road" from where he was born. The short, brilliant summers and the sharp, piercing winters fill him with awe-as does his congregation, full of good people who seek his guidance and listen earnestly as he preaches. But after suffering a terrible loss, Tyler finds it hard to return to himself as he once was. He hasn't had The Feeling-that God is all around him, in the beauty of the world-for quite some time. He struggles to find the right words in his sermons and in his conversations with those facing crises of their own, and to bring his five-year-old daughter, Katherine, out of the silence she has observed in the wake of the family's tragedy. A congregation that had once been patient and kind during Tyler's grief now questions his leadership and propriety. In the kitchens, classrooms, offices, and stores of the village, anger and gossip have started to swirl. And in Tyler's darkest hour, a startling discovery will test his congregation's humanity-and his own will to endure the kinds of trials that sooner or later test us all. In proseincandescent and artful, Elizabeth Strout draws readers into the details of ordinary life in a way that makes it extraordinary. All is considered-life, love, God, and community-within these pages, and all is made new by this writer's boundless compassion and graceful prose. "From the Hardcover edition."

Review Quote

"Strout's greatly anticipated second novel . . . is an answered prayer." -- Vanity Fair

Discussion Question for Reading Group Guide

1. Do you think small-town life is that different from city life? 2. What do you think the "voice" of this novel is telling you, besides what it says? That is, what kind of tone does it setwhat kind of character (not the author) might be telling you this story? 3. Pick out some of the passages about nature in the First part of the book and see if you can discern the author's implicit attitude toward the New England landscape and toward nature in general. 4. What does the state of Tyler's house at the beginning of the book say about him and his family? Are they different by the end? 5. This book raises the question of whether a father's parenthood is necessarily different from a mother'sa question that concerns us to this day. What do you think about this controversial topic? 6. Why do you think Tyler's daughter, Katherine, stops speaking after her mother's death? When and why does she Find her voice again? 7. This book is set during the height of the Cold War. Do you think the era plays an important role in the story, or is it just a backdrop? 8. What are Tyler's strengths and what are his weaknesses? How do they affect his ability to perform his role in the community? 9. The role of the clergy in small communities during the Fifties is presented vividly through the story of Tyler Caskey. Do you think the clergy's role has changed over time in these places and in general? 10. Whether you are religious or not, how did you respond to Tyler Caskey's intense involvement with matters of faith and belief? 11. In some ways, Abide with Me is about class distinctions, even in this egalitarian community. How conscious were you of this aspect of the book as you read it? 12. Find examples where the weather serves as a metaphorical backdrop for Tyler's story, and explain. 13. The novel uses domestic interiors, architecture, and lighting to complement its scenes and themes. Can you give some examples of this?

Excerpt from Book

Chapter 1 ONE Oh, it would be years ago now, but at one time a minister lived with his small daughter in a town up north near the Sabbanock River, up where the river is narrow and the winters used to be especially long. The minister''s name was Tyler Caskey, and for quite some while his story was told in towns up and down the river, and as far over as the coast, until it emerged with enough variations so as to lose its original punch, and just the passing of time, of course, will affect the vigor of these things. But there are a few people still living in the town of West Annett who are said to remember quite clearly the events that took place during the wintry, final months of 1959. And if you inquire with enough patience and restraint of curiosity, you can probably get them to tell you what it is they claim to know, although its accuracy might be something you''d have to sort out on your own. We do know the Reverend Tyler Caskey had two daughters at the time, but the littler one, really just a toddler then, lived with Tyler''s mother a few hours away, farther down the river in a town called Shirley Falls, where the river got wide and the roadways and buildings more frequent and substantial, things taking on a more serious tone than what you might find up near the town of West Annett. Up there, you could drive for miles--and still can--on twisting back roads, not passing by anything more than the occasional farmhouse, acres of fields and woods all around. In one of these farmhouses, the minister and his little girl Katherine lived. The place was at least a hundred years old, built and farmed for decades by the family of Joshua Locke. But by the end of the Depression, when the farmers had no money to pay for hired hands, the farm had fallen into disrepair. Their blacksmith business, started before the First World War, also dwindled away to nothing. Eventually the house was occupied, and remained so for years, by the sole inheritor, Carl Locke, a man who seldom came into town, and who, when called upon to pull open his door, did so holding a rifle. But in the end he had left the entire place--house, barn, and a few acres of fields--to the Congregational church, even though no one seemed to remember him being inside the church more than twice in his life. At any rate, West Annett, even containing as it did the three white buildings of Annett Academy, was a fairly small town; its church coffers were small as well. When Reverend Smith, the minister who had been there for years and years, finally got around to retiring, hauling his deaf wife with him off to South Carolina, where apparently some nephew waited to look after their needs, the church board waved them good-bye with a tepid farewell, then turned around enthusiastically and made a very nice real estate deal. The parsonage on Main Street was sold to the local dentist, and the new minister would be housed at the Locke place, out there on Stepping Stone Road. The Pulpit Committee had made their recommendation of Tyler Caskey with this in mind, counting on his youth, his big-boned, agreeable nature, and the discomfort he had shown right away in discussing matters of money, to prevent him from complaining about being housed in a field two miles from town; and on all these points they were right. The minister, in the six years he had lived there now, had never once complained, and except for permission to paint the living room and dining room pink, had never asked the church for anything. Which is partly why the house remained a bit ramshackle, inside and out. It had a broken porch railing and tilting front steps. But it offered those pleasing lines you find in old houses sometimes; a tall two-story, with generous windows and a nice slope to the roof. And if you studied the place for a moment--the southern exposure it got on the side, the way the mudroom faced north--you realized the people who built it years before had possessed a fine sense of what they were doing; there was a symmetry here that was unadorned, kind to the eye. So begin with a day in early October, when it''s easy to think of the sun shining hard, the fields surrounding the minister''s house brown and gold, the trees on the hills sparkling a yellowy-red. There was--there always is--plenty to worry about. The Russians had sent up their Sputnik satellites two years before--one whirling around right now with that poor dead dog inside--and were said to be spying on us from outer space, as well as right here in our own country. Nikita Khrushchev, squatty and remarkably unattractive, had even arrived a couple of weeks before for a visit to America, whether people liked it or not--and many did not; they were afraid he''d be killed before getting home, and then what horrors might ensue! Experts, whoever they were, and however they did it, had determined that a guided missile from Moscow to New York would fall within 7.3 miles of its target, and while it was a comfort to live outside this radius, there were three families in West Annett who had bomb shelters in their backyards anyway, because after all, you never knew. Still: This happened to be the first year in many where countrywide church membership had not increased at a greater rate than the general population, and that, if you thought about it, had to mean something. Possibly it meant people were not panicking. Possibly it meant people wanted to believe, and were apparently believing--particularly here in the northern reaches of New England, where the same people had lived for years, not many communists among them (although there were a few)--that after half a century of colossal human horror, the world really could perhaps be finally decent, and safe, and good. And today--the one we''ve chosen to start with--was lovely in its sunny brightness, the tops of those distant trees a brave and brilliant yellowy-red. Even keeping in mind how this kind of autumn day can be an awful thing, harsh and sharp as broken glass, the sky so blue it could break down the middle, the day was perfectly beautiful, too. The kind of day where you could easily imagine the tall minister out for a walk, thinking, I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills. It had, in fact, been Reverend Caskey''s habit that fall to take a morning walk down Stepping Stone Road, then turn back up around Ringrose Pond, and there were some mornings when he continued on into town, headed to his study in the basement of the church, waving to people along the way who tapped their horns, or stopping to talk to a car that pulled over, leaning his large body down to peer into the window, smiling, nodding, his hand lingering on the car door until the window was rolled up, a wave good-bye. But not this morning. This morning the man was sitting in his study at home, tapping a pen against the top of his desk. Right after breakfast, he had received a telephone call from his daughter''s school. His daughter''s teacher was a young woman named Mrs. Ingersoll, and she had asked the minister in a remarkably clear voice--though it was somewhat too high-pitched for his taste--if he would come to school in the late afternoon to discuss Katherine''s behavior. "Is there a problem?" the minister had said. And during the pause that followed, he said, "I''ll come in, of course," standing up, holding the black telephone while he looked around the room as though something had been misplaced. "Thank you for calling," he added. "If there''s any kind of problem, of course I want to know." A small, stinging pain below his collarbone arrived, and, placing his hand over it, the man had the odd momentary sense of someone about to say the Pledge of Allegiance. Then for some minutes he walked back and forth in front of his desk, his fingers tapping his mouth. Nobody, of course, wants to start a morning this way, but it was especially true for Reverend Caskey, who had suffered his share of recent sorrows, and while people were aware of this, the man was really far more worn down than anyone knew. the minister''s study in the old farmhouse had been for many years the bedroom of Carl Locke. It was a large room on the first floor, with a view of what must have been, at one time, a very nice side garden. An old birdbath still stood in the center of a circular design of now mostly broken bricks, and vines grew over a tilting trellis, beyond which could be seen part of a meadow and an old stone wall that wobbled its way out of sight. While Tyler Caskey had heard stories of the cantankerous and, some said, filthy old man who had lived here before him, while his wife had even complained for months when they first moved in that she could, in this room on a warm day, detect the smell of urine, the truth is that Tyler liked the room very much. He liked the view; he''d even come to feel some affinity to the old man himself. And now Tyler thought he wouldn''t go for his morning walk; he''d sit right here where another fellow had struggled apparently with righteousness, and probably loneliness, too. There was a sermon to prepare. There always was; and the one for this Sunday the minister was going to call "On the Perils of Personal Vanity." A tricky topic, requiring discretion--what specifics would he use?--particularly as he was hoping with its teaching to head off a crisis that loomed on the ecclesiastical horizon here in West Annett regarding the purchase of a new organ. You can be sure that in a small town where there is only one church, the decision as to whether or not that church needs a new organ can take on some significance; the organist, Doris Austin, was ready to view any opposition to the purchase as an assault upon her character--a stance irritating to those who had a natural hesitancy toward any change. So with

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