Review: Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry
Since I started writing my Prairie Muffin Manifesto, a few ladies have connected so much with what it says that they have used the badge on their websites and proclaimed themselves Prairie Muffins, too. Some find that some of the Manifesto resonates with their convictions, but there are a few touchy points that hinder them from wanting to be known as Prairie Muffins, though they consider themselves “sympathizers” (this sounds rather like an underground cabal, doesn’t it?) Mostly, there are those who see the words “Prairie Muffin” and immediately conjure up the frumpy picture of female oppression which I abjure and which I have been battling since the beginning.
For now we will ignore those who think any use of the words “feminine,” “patriarchy,” “submission,” or even “complementarian” are anathema.
When I began to codify some convictions I have about biblical womanhood, it was not to start any kind of movement. It was a somewhat tongue-in-cheek (with serious intentions) way of encouraging Christian women to hang on to the principles that they know are true but which are daily under attack—both from “friendly fire” and from the world. In our postmodern age, any attempt to take a stand for truth when it is under attack is considered hubris and is usually not welcome, even in the church. Though every assault on God’s revealed truth is fundamentally an attack on the character of God, those assaults take different forms in different ages. In our age, though we see other manifestations of Satan’s schemes, the biblical family is particularly targeted by the enemies of God. Thus, there are defenses raised by God’s people promoting righteousness in family issues, such as a renewed emphasis on distinct roles for men and women, homeschooling and Christian education, and ministries which focus on encouraging Christian families.
I think that the interest in Christian agrarianism is also a phenomenon which comes from a desire to defend the family against worldly assaults.
Though I live in the country, I do not live an agrarian life. I am not a good gardener, and I would rather be inside reading a book than digging in the dirt. My husband has no interest in being a farmer, and though he can’t stand the city, he derives our income from there and he is content making a living doing what that at which he excels: slinging computer code for hire. I would say, however, that we are agrarian sympathizers. We like getting eggs from our few chickens and recognize their superiority to the pale-yolked store-bought eggs. We are happy to drink water from our own well. We take responsibility for providing for our own needs (including some alternative power) and don’t expect any help from the government. We prefer to stay home and consciously try to preserve our time as a family, not living in the car or getting involved in too many extraneous activities. We go to church near our home so that we can cultivate relationships in our community with the people with whom we worship. And we engage in what Allan Carlson says is an outworking of the agrarian credo in modern times: homeschooling. He says:
Contemporary home-schooling circles, moreover, are disproportionately “agrarian” in their behavior: they are more likely to live in rural places, villages, or intentional communities; they are more likely to maintain a “family garden” and simple animal husbandry; and their families are larger and more stable: another Agrarian trait. It seems that once having tasted household freedom in the act of home education, the family looks for other ways to grow into autonomy.
That household freedom is what makes us sympathetic to agrarianism and its principles. We repudiate the encroachments of statism and, even more, the cultural enslavement which so many people seem to want to embrace. Which is why Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow was such a compelling book for me.
It was the first Berry novel I have read. I have enjoyed some of his poetry and an essay here and there, and this story, set in the same fictional community of Port William, Kentucky as all of his fiction is set, was as much a defense for the agrarian way of life as any of Berry’s non-fiction. You can tell he is a poet, even in his prose and essays. He paints pictures in his writing, and though his sentences are usually simple, even spare, his insights into character and place are rich—a quality that his poetry has most likely contributed to his other writing.
The simple title is emblematic of this modest style of writing. Jayber Crow is the name of the narrator and main character who, in David Copperfield-style without the Dickensian flourishes, relates his life and adventures in a mostly linear fashion, with some notable digressions and interjections. Like David Copperfield, Jayber Crow discovers some things about himself that he doesn’t like, and he learns a lot about what is truly valuable in this life. Jayber Crow also learns to think a lot on the life that is to come.
An orphan, Jayber spends the first ten years of his life with an older couple near the river, working and learning to love his simple life, and like a tree planted by those streams of water, he grows deep roots at a young age. When “Aunt Cordie” and “Uncle Othy” die within months of each other, Jayber is sent away to an orphanage where he learns to despise institutions (”Like…most institutions, it was turned inward, trying to be world in itself”) and where he dreams of returning to his home in the Port William area. After a brief college stint where he realizes he’s not cut out to be a ministerial student let alone a minister, Jayber heads back to Port William to cut people’s hair, as the town barber.
Some parts of this book are not nice. Jayber is full of sin, and so are the people in his town. As he frequently admits, sometimes apologetically, barbers eventually hear about everything that goes on in their town. As he tells us (the readers) all about it, he also tells of his growing realization of the eternal consequences of all he observes. To make money on the side, Jayber is the church custodian and town gravedigger, positions that position him to dwell on deeper things. He decided he wasn’t made for the ministry when he had too many questions about the “hard” verses in the Bible and couldn’t accept them on “faith” like his compatriots were content to do. Instead, he ends up learning far more about those difficult doctrines by having to love his enemies and by participating in the suffering of those he loves. Jayber loves deeply: his friends, his place, and a woman who cannot return his affections, and he learns that love can be both a comfort and a pain. Jayber’s theology (which is probably Wendell Berry’s theology) is not always orthodox, and sometimes seems to indicate a kind of universalism, except for occasional bits of wisdom from some of his friends, like Athey—the hardworking man who spent his whole life building up a magnificent farm only to have his craven son-in-law mortgage it all off in the name of progress—who said, “If the Devil don’t exist, how do you explain that some people are a lot worse than they’re smart enough to be?”
Or Miss Gladdie Finn who tells Jayber, “You don’t want to go to Hell, honey.”
He replies, “I don’t… But I don’t reckon it has enough room for everybody who’s eligible.”
“Well I don’t know,” she says, “A soul is mighty small.”
“It’s strange the way your mind withdraws from a place it knows you are going to leave,” Jayber says as he prepares to move away from the town of Port William when it declines in the end of the century while modern life encroaches on its simple ways. This encroachment is a theme that agrarians discuss and repudiate with lives that embrace simple living as much as possible. When Port William’s soul wastes away because of the more shallow attractions of city life and the devastation of two wars, Jayber doesn’t like it, which he makes clear in his observations of events as they transpire. “Television had come. Instead of sitting out and talking from porch to porch on the summer evenings, the people sat inside in rooms filled with the flickering blue light of the greater world.” But though he knows that those changes mean something valuable has been lost, he can also see, as he gets closer to Heaven, how the changes may have brought some benefit, as well. He says that his autobiographical book is about Heaven,
But the earth speaks of Heaven, or why would we want to go there? If we knew nothing of Hell, how would we delight in Heaven should we get there?
Those in Port William who are always looking for greener grass are the most unhappy of people. Those in Port William who are rooted to the place and who are willing to love, accept, and encourage others in their lives are sometimes unhappy, too, but they also know how to be joyful, and they know that this life is not all there is. Even if the grass seems greener (though with a distinct fluorescent tinge) elsewhere, there is no greener grass than in those green pastures beside still waters in eternity. Even the trees planted firmly by the rivers of water in Port William do not last forever, so our roots must run even deeper than a vision of agrarian (or Prairie Muffin) utopia.
The here and the not yet is a tension that Christians need to live in wisdom, as we work and obey God here, looking forward to the future there with Him. There are many sparkling distractions that would tempt us away from our purpose, which is to bring glory to God in all that we do…not pursuing our personal peace and affluence, a path which never gets us to the promised land, but building the permanent kingdom of Jesus Christ in the spheres which He gives us to serve Him. Modern life is often not conducive to this purpose. There is a lot of wisdom in agrarianism about cutting out the dross. Jayber Crow shows the beauty of life lived in simplicity and rootedness, as well as giving a picture of how to deal with the inevitable changes that are imposed on us as we live with that tension.
March 19th, 2007 at 4:17 am
Carmon, thank you for this review. Warning: The following comment is very long. I apologize, but I’ve been wanting to ask someone this ever since I finished the book I mention below:) I have a pile of Wendell Berry books on my dining room table that dh brought home from his college for me. I’ve read 2, though Jayber is not one of them (it’s on the pile:)). I was as moved by Hannah Coulter as you seeem to have been by J. Crow. In that one, Berry addresses modernism and agrarian rootedness through the eyes of a mother who eventually loses all 3 of her children to various “cities” as a result of her attemps to provide more oportunities for them than she had growing up (read: a college education). The book has caused me to ponder more deeply the implied benefits of agrarian living that Berry seems to be promoting (I have only read 3 of his works, all fiction, so I’m extrapolating from his stories). And I have to admit, I’m torn. I grieved to a degree with Hannah over the “loss” of her children by the end of the book. She only has a regular relationship of any kind with one of them after they grow up and leave, and she realizes that by encouraging education and further opportunity for her children, she is at least partly responsible for this. By the end, they have nothing in common with her, nor she with them, becaue they are rooted in completely different worlds. It’s this kind of encroachment of the modern world that, in part, contributes to the decline of the town, and we’ve seen it all over this country. I will be the first to admit I want close relational ties with my grown children. Neither my dh or I have them with our own families, but we are working hard to build the foundation for them with our own children. However, I cannot honestly say that I want my children never to leave our small town. If they choose to stay here, great. But I want them to go and do what they sense God calling them to do. I see many, many families in our rural area who have 3 and 4 generations still living here, which part of me envies because both my dh and I are like Hannah Coulter’s children: we left our childhood communities behind and with the exception of yearly visits home, have no roots there anymore. But I also continually see people in the families around us who’s views of the world are very narrow and uninformed and it bugs and saddens me. The entirety of their world revolves around their families and the little communities they have never left. There is an entire world which needs the Gospel message, and the feet of God’s people working in it to further His kingdom, including the cities. If we’ve done our job as parents well (by God’s grace), I would hope our relationships with our children will be close nomatter where they end up. And we’ll be together in heaven. In the meantime, if one of my children feels called to inner city Chicago mission work (this is hypothetical: I only have daughters right now and honestly I would not relish the thought of this at all, but for the sake of argument, let’s go with it:))I want them to follow God’s call. Where do we find the balance? Which brings me to my main point, I guess. I can’t help but wonder if Berry (and honestly, some branches of the reformed movement, of which dh and I are also a part) are promoting family-centered and agrarian living in a way that is perhaps a bit idolotrous. Carmon, I suspect you will disagree with my tentative conclusion, and I welcome your input. I am very confused by this and am trying to ask a very honest, humble question. I welcome any dialoge you are willing to offer!
March 19th, 2007 at 12:49 pm
This will be interesting! A very thoughtful observation, Heather.
March 19th, 2007 at 8:04 pm
Hi, Heather,
I wish I had a short or long answer to your dilemma, a dilemma most of us can relate to. When I was a younger mother, I might have had an answer for you about how to make it all work out perfectly. Now I know better. For example, I do think we have a responsibility to protect our children, even shelter them. As they get older, though, despite your most stringent efforts, you will not be able to protect them from everything, thus you need to be strengthening their convictions along with your protecting. That’s the rub. It’s not so much just keeping them from what’s bad but also helping them desire what is good. That’s why one of my mottos is, “Motherhood is not for wimps.” This is an overwhelming job, one that we cannot do in our own strength. It takes wisdom from God and continual prayer. This is why I made sure to mention the tension between the now and the not yet in my review.
You are right about the danger of idolatry as we seek to build those ties with our children, or pursue a reformed or agrarian vision. Our mission is much bigger than fitting into a theology or an *ism*, as helpful and even important as those frameworks can be. We should always ask “why” do we want those things, why are they important? If the answer is not because it is pleasing to God or because it brings glory to Him to do it, then we need to repent of our idolatry and start over, building on the proper foundation. Wendell Berry’s stories paint a beautiful (and sad) picture of how family and community life could be lived in an agrarian context, and help us get a glimpse of eternal things and an appreciation of creation as well a love for other imperfect people. But they are imperfect stories, as is any man-made tale, as is anything I write here. Only God’s Word is totally reliable for informing us of truth, though other things may reflect that truth. We need to, above all, cultivate a love for God and His Word in our children, and that will bind them to us, no matter where He may send them, for eternity.
March 20th, 2007 at 4:17 am
Carmon, thank you for your thoughts. You went a different way than I expected:) I completely agree with the fact that our only source of truth is the Word and that we should saturate our families in it (something that my family needs to work harder at). However, I enjoy being challenged by works such as Berry’s to re-think my own assumptions about life and what I THINK God says about choices my family makes on a daily basis. I just re-read your original post and realized that your last paragraph addresses exactly my tension. I think where my discouragement has come is in watching families reject “modern life” in total to move to the country and begin homesteading. While this decision is not wrong in and of itself, I have sensed a tendency among some to promote this lifestyle as the most Godly way to live on earth, and that all things “city” should be rejected. Where does that leave my hubby, who teaches at a local college? Does he provide a good living for his family? Yes. Do we have a “family-based, home-centered” income? No. And I would not want that for him. He would not be happy doing anything else than what he does. God has clearly gifted him to do what he is doing. And I wonder where it leaves people like Tim Keller, pastor of Redeemer Pres. in Manhattan? I completely agree that much of modern city living is at the very least, distracting, and at its worst, heathen. However, as I said in my first comment, we have seen a different kind of problem in the area where we live. There is a tendency among some to bury their heads in the sand and ignore the larger world. Furthermore, I have seen tradition be an idol here in a way that I think is harder to find in the city. For example, our community, like many rural communities, is very churched. However, finding a solid evangelical church has been quite a challenge for us. And I have seen several examples of families choosing family tradition over doctrinal soundness when it comes to choosing a local church body to affiliate with (”My grandparents and parents went to this church”). In the end, we have had to commute 20 miles to find an acceptable church, and while it’s a very solid church, belonging to a fellowship that far away when the entire rest of our lives is lived in our own town has brought its own set of issues. (I know 20 miles is not that far, but many of the families live that far or further out in all directions. . . regular fellowship is very difficult to manage.) I know you’re not saying one way to live is more Godly over the other. I think the bottom line to all my ramblings is I agree with you: There is a tension that we have to navigate. And whatever nuggets we can take from agrarian promoters that allow us to simplify our lives in order to live in a more God-honoring manner are worthy of serious consideration (and I acknowledge there are many). I just think we need to avoid the extremes. Thank you for helping me think this through!
March 20th, 2007 at 6:47 am
Carmon,
Well done—the book you reviewed sounds like the book I’m reading. I guess I haven’t reached the not nice parts yet. I can’t say I’m looking forward to them, either. But I’m hoping that Berry is old fashioned enough that they won’t be too gruesome.
As far as Wendell Berry’s theology goes, I don’t think a reader can extract a systematic version of it from his writings, nor do I think he would approve any attempt at it. He is mostly against systematic thinking, by which I mean constructing a complete and coherent explanation of something and then using it to interpret the specifics. Berry is insistent that the system (what he would call “pattern”) underlying creation is beyond our comprehension, and the human tendency to systematize is what misleads us about the true nature of the specifics.
His invocation of Christian ideas mostly happen in two ways, both of which are guaranteed to frustrate systematic thinkers. First, his descriptions of creation are developed without reference to the supernatural, and when he does invoke a Christian concept it is to shed further light on these independently developed ideas. The ideas themselves can be held in common with Buddhists and animists and atheists; the Christian concept is offered only to explain how Berry understands the mystery underlying the concept, with no claim that his readers need to understand things the same way. I guess you could say that his invocation of Christian concepts in these contexts is entirely unapologetic. This frustrates the apologists among us, and the apologist in us.
Second, when Berry speaks to other Christians on Christian matters, it is almost always to raise uncomfortable questions—and leave them unanswered. His essay “The Burden of the Gospels” is a good example of this; he focuses on some of the claims that Jesus makes in the gospels (ones that align well with his own pacifism and ecumenism, of course), and proceeds to ask why so many evangelicals behave as if Jesus never said those things. I think that it is easy to confuse this approach with a standard attack—find some Christian ideal that Christians don’t exemplify very well in order to establish that Christians are hypocrites and all that they say should be dismissed. The more generous reading, though, is that Berry is simply asking his brothers to ponder why we so often behave as if Jesus meant something different that what his words seem to be saying.
(I need to add that what offends Berry is not so much that Christians disregard Jesus’ words, but that they are so quick to explain His words away, at least the ones which have uncomfortable implications for them; to do so is to avoid the burden of the Gospels.)
March 20th, 2007 at 7:51 am
Beautiful review, Carmon! Thank you.
Rick, the first Berry novel I read was Nathan Coulter, which has some very Not Nice parts in it, and he’s pretty discreet in the way he presents it. The same holds true with the third I read, A World Lost.
March 21st, 2007 at 12:49 pm
To Heather and Carmon,
I tell myself this: “Bloom Where God Has Planted YOU”
Thank you for your posts.
March 30th, 2007 at 5:39 pm
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