Prodigal Jack Boughton has returned to Gilead, bringing joy to his dying father and an ache to his lonely sister’s heart.
It breaks my heart to say this, but I don’t think Home lives up to Gilead. Mailynne Robinson’s prose is still astonishing in its simplicity, and the characters are just as sharp as ever. Even her digressions are riveting. But when it was over, I did not feel it added anything to Jack Boughton’s story. If anything, it reads like an appendix to Gilead–the book is not equal to being called ‘twin’ or even ‘companion.’ If Gilead did not exist, Home would be a marvel. Unfortunately, Home can only be the little brother calling out, “me too!”