Read at the recommendation of a friend, I had preconceived notions of the style and quality of this piece of non-fiction, and I am happy to report that I was pleasantly surprised to find varying degrees of superlative merits to the book.
Norris’ accounts of returning and settling into her late grandmother’s home in Lemmon, South Dakota (population 1,614) consist of loving descriptions of this vast and starkly beautiful landscape, of its extremes of weather and topography, and of its townspeople and farmers. Part autobiography, part social history and customs, and part meditation, Norris is clear and transparent in her thoughts and feelings for her motherland, and for how the external geography of the land shapes her own internal geography of her mind and heart.
This is a journey that begins on the surface in moving out West from the East coast, but continues even after she reaches her physical destination in that there is a self-knowledge that begins to occur by way of her observations of daily life in the Great Plains or what she calls the Desert. Things are harsh and extreme and uncertain in the desert, but there is a wisdom that may be gained from it. She says, “Maybe the desert wisdom of the Dakotas can teach us to love anyway, to love what is dying, in the face of death, and not pretend that things are other than they are. The irony and wonder of all this is that it is the desert’s grimness, its stillness and isolation, that bring us back to love. Here we discover the paradox of the contemplative life, that the desert of solitude can be the school where we learn to love others.”
In an easy-going yet elegant style of prose, she shares in considerable detail the intricacies of monastic life which leads her to a deeper understanding of herself. We get the sense that this self-knowledge heightens her own appreciation of the concept of community, both social and spiritual. And yet, she takes care not to over-idealize the monastic tradition. She says, “I suspect that monastic life is like marriage in that only those on the inside really know what’s going on.”
Hospitality plays a significant and essential role in the Benedictine monastic tradition, and Norris recounts a story of an older monk instructing a younger monk in the virtues of embracing everyone who may enter the monastery by asking himself this question: “Oh, Jesus Christ, is it you again?”
On a personal note, I found a few things particularly interesting in Norris’ narratives. The first is her self-realization of the role that the women in Norris’ family play in her rediscovery of faith and worship, and in her exploration of life in the Dakotas. Second, several of Norris’ very brief chapters are titled “God is in the Details.” It is fascinating to see through her eyes – even as one is perhaps seeing it through one’s own eyes – how one may discern the presence of God in these details.
What a wonderful reflection on a book that I love! Although I’ve read this book more than once I feel like I’ve gained an even deeper appreciation and understanding of it from the insights in your review. Thank you!
I am grateful to you for your very generous comments. Thank you for introducing me to a wonderful author. Which is the next in her series of books that you would recommend?
I highly recommend The Cloister Walk, which is almost a sequel to Dakota. It has more of a focus on her faith life, living near a monastery in Minnesota for an extended period, her marriage and some of the struggles her husband has, the bible and especially the psalms, the desert fathers; less on her home in Dakota.
Okay. Will start on that today.