I just finished “The Help,” by Kathryn Stockett. Thanks to some slow mornings at work, I devoured this 451-page book in two days. I literally couldn’t put it down, folks. That’s what I was doing last night instead of helping my husband with dinner, exercising, cleaning the kitchen, or processing pictures for recipes, like my “to do” list was trying to instruct me. And a book has got to be reeeeaaaallly good for me to not only ignore my whiny-butt “to do” list, but to cease to hear its naggy bleatings altogether.

This amazing book is written from the perspective of three Southern women in the 1960s, one white 23-year-old who just moved back home from college, and two black servants (they are ‘the help’). They all narrate in the first person, in alternating chunks of chapters, and they all have their own truly unique voice. The location is Jackson, Mississippi, during the Civil Rights movement. The book chronicles their everyday lives, their struggles with their families and employers, and their thoughts and emotions as they grapple with their positions in life, their socially imposed limitations, and also their dreams. There’s a great historical backdrop, but the book doesn’t feel like a “historical” read. It’s actually . . . a lot of fun. Am I allowed to say it’s “fun” when it deals with such weighty racial topics? Well, I guess I just did. In fact, it’s deliciously entertaining. The three characters’ stories come together in the meat of the plot: a big project they embark on together that could put everything at risk for all of them, white and black alike. I won’t tell you more–you’ll just have to read it. But I have to say at least this: it has a happy ending! A hopeful, happy ending. So if you’re someone who really gets into a book and gets really depressed when at the end all the characters get divorced, suicidal, murdered, and drowned, don’t worry–this book won’t do that to you.

Both the surface of the book and the depth of the book are good; on the surface, the writing style is great. Plus, you get the inside view on three lives and the homes the black women work in, with details about the bedspreads, the white ladies’ wardrobes, tantrums, the color of their refrigerators, what they had for lunch–it felt exciting and fun, like I was getting to sneak around with nobody to stop me and spy on people living in another era. But the true depth of the book is rich and excellent: its themes of love, respect, courage, and friendship are fully fleshed out in all their complexity and goodness.

The author is from Mississippi herself, and writes very much from her own experience growing up with a black family maid who took the place of her absentee mother, physically and emotionally. In the few pages explaining her background, Kathryn Stockett pens “I’m pretty sure I can say that no one in my family ever asked Demetrie [their maid] what it felt like to be black in Mississippi, working for our white family. It never occurred to us to ask. It was everyday life. It wasn’t something people felt compelled to examine. I have wished, for many years, that I’d been old enough and thoughtful enough to ask Demetrie that question. She died when I was sixteen. I’ve spent years imagining what her answer would be. And that is why I wrote this book.”

The storytelling is great, and moves the book right along–in fact, let me throw the word “riveting” out there. It’s not a mystery or a thriller, but it had that same compelling something that glued me to it until I turned the last page. Read it today! Or next week. But no later than the end of the month, OK? Trust me on this one, or else I’ll challenge you to a duel with antique, possibly malfunctioning pistols–you’re bound to shoot your own foot off.  So do it for your foot.

I just finished this book about 10 seconds ago, and immediately opened a Word document to begin reviewing it and trying to bring maximum readership its way.

As I write, I still have shivers running up and down my spine and am holding back tears. If I weren’t sitting in the office right now, I would have burst into tears (tears of the best kind) long ago. There’s nothing like a quiet office environment to discourage the loud wailing.

One of my co-workers recommended this book to me last fall, as we were chatting it up at a trade show. Trade shows can be very long . . . with a lot of standing around on your best behavior. Early on we discovered a mutual affinity for reading, and let me say, he has incredible taste. On a sidenote, he was also responsible for getting me started on Gail Tsukiyama, whose books I need to review asap. At one point, he said “You need to read ‘Peace Like a River’ by Leif Enger.” I smiled politely. It sounded like a devotional book, or maybe something about a kid and a dog who explore the woods together or go fishing or something, and then the dog saves his life from some kind of freak barn fire accident. So I didn’t read it until I saw him again this summer  and he asked (paraphrase) “So have you read ‘Peace Like a River’ yet? Because it’s one of my favorite books of all time.” Guiltily, I said I would immediately request it at the library. I picked it up about 2 weeks later and finally opened it this week.

Let me tell you, this book has catapulted to the top of my “favorite books of all time” list from the moment I hit about the 5^th chapter. The story is written in the first person, by an older man recalling a particular time in his childhood. Set in the ‘60s against the backdrop of the American West, the story follows a family through loss, love, and adventure. It’s a riveting story with an FBI chase, an unexpected love story, and a bandit style hideout. As they head out West in an Airstream trailer, the kid’s Dad explains why he’s going in these words: “I have the substance of things hoped for. I have the anticipation of things unseen.” I love that quote. Love it, love it, love it. His style feels like a combination of Willa Cather in “My Antonia” and Wendell Berry, both of whom I absolutely adore and will soon be reviewing: it’s simple, pure, and beautiful in both language and substance. Leif Enger displays a great understanding of human nature, and a great compassion for it as well. There is a depth of wisdom in his words that over and over again made the gooseflesh just creep down my arms. He gets to the very heart of things, to the hidden essence that we don’t see because it’s right in front of us. In his story, the miraculous and the ordinary walk together, and the Big and Little pictures come into the same frame.

The ending takes the tragic and makes it achingly beautiful, and is very similar to the conclusion of “The Last Battle,” the final book in the Chronicles of Narnia. The character of the father will challenge you to see beyond what’s visible by looking at reality with the eyes of your heart. This is not just a poetic, well-written masterpiece, but a book that encourages the very soul.

I would bribe you to read this, but I’ve already blown our grocery budget on Thai delivery, so it’s a no-go. So please pretend you received the bribe and request it at your library immediately.

Thanks to my library, I already have his second novel in hand and will be starting it tonight.

*Update: second book, not so good . . . but Peace Like a River is so good that not only did my non-fiction-reading husband love it, but he wants us to purchase the book and can’t wait to read it again. Do you realize how much this says about this book? It’s huge, folks, it’s huge.