From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. "This is the story of my life, that while I lived it weighed upon me and pressed against me and filled all my senses to overflowing and now is like a dream dreamed.... This is my story, my giving of thanks." So begin the reflections of Hannah Coulter, the twice-widowed protagonist of this slim, incandescent novel in Berry's Port William series. In 1940, the precocious, innocent Hannah leaves her small Kentucky farming town to work as a secretary in nearby Hargrave, where she meets Virgil Feltner, seven years her senior, who gently courts her. They marry and have a daughter, but Virgil, "called to the army in 1942," dies in the Battle of the Bulge. Love follows mourning, as a kind but driven farmer, Nathan Coulter, returns from combat and woos Hannah. In delicate, shimmering prose, Berry tracks Hannah's loves and losses through the novel's first half; the narrative sharpens as Hannah recounts her children's lives—Margaret becomes a schoolteacher with a troubled son; Mattie ("a little too eager to climb Fool's Hill") flees rural life to become a globe-trotting communication executive; Caleb, Nathan's hope to run the family farm, becomes a professor of agriculture instead. Beneath the story of ordinary lives lies the work of an extraordinarily wise novelist: as Hannah relates her children's fate to her own deeply rooted rural background, she weaves landscape and family and history together ("My mind... is close to being the room of love where the absent are present, the dead are alive, time is eternal and all creatures prosperous"). Her compassion enlivens every page of this small, graceful novel. Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.


From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.com
Wendell Berry has published 40 volumes of fiction, poetry and essays, a prodigious output for any writer, all the more impressive given his concurrent careers as professor and farmer. Since 1960 his fiction has been exploring the good souls of Port William, Ky. In these novels and stories, a reader hears the echoes of Berry's moral essays, which insist on the commitment to land and community, and of his poetry, which insists on forthright, graceful language. Acutely aware of the connection between writer and reader, Berry addresses us in the soft Kentucky cadences of his characters.In Hannah Coulter, the latest Port William novel, a woman simply tells the story of her long life. The form of this tale resembles not so much what we expect of a traditional novel -- the accumulation of scenes into a dramatic arc -- as it does a testament, a life sketched in broad outline, then reflected upon by the teller. This stripped-down approach, as old-fashioned as the gospels that Hannah lives by, is compelling. Though her voice is neither insistent nor even particularly forceful, it embodies its author's lyrical graciousness, and a reader settles in for long, comfortable stretches. Hannah's Depression-era girlhood is marked by poverty, the sudden loss of her mother and the arrival of a jealous stepmother, but she does not define herself by her troubles. With the support of her loving and cagey grandmam, she makes her way into the world. Though her adult identity will come through marriage and motherhood, Hannah Coulter remains the shaper of her own destiny. In her grandmam's day, she says, women dressed in long skirts for the most physical work and "must have been like well-wrapped gifts, to be opened by their husbands on their wedding night, a complete surprise." Acutely aware of the male gaze, she nonetheless resists regarding herself as an object craved by men: She is smart, competent and watchful, and she finds solace in the company of other women. "All women is brothers," a male relative says, and she wryly agrees.She marries, in turn, two characters who have themselves been the subjects of earlier Berry novels: Virgil Feltner, declared missing in the Battle of the Bulge, and Nathan Coulter, who survives the Battle of Okinawa and later marries his own grief to Hannah's. World War II is at the center of all the Port William novels -- for Berry, it is the central event of 20th-century American life -- but Hannah and Nathan do not dwell on it. After a healing time, they raise Hannah's daughter and two sons of their own and cultivate their farm, their lives crowded with work and the companionship of family and neighbors. They call their communal workforce "our membership," an economic necessity that also sustains them spiritually. Berry's vision of stewardship of the land is at once deeply conservative (in his essays he invokes the best impulses of the old Agrarian movement) and bold in its visionary ideas. The Coulters' life is not idyllic -- Berry is too honest about the labor involved and the poverty endured -- but his evocation of the pleasures of sweat and toil is convincing. The Coulters raise their children to work alongside them and plan to pass the farm on to them, but their offspring drift off, as modern children do, to urban and technological and academic lives. Hannah accepts this as she does the other disappointments of her life, as things beyond her control.For long stretches, a reader is apt to forget that a male imagination is shaping Hannah's narration, but every now and again a detail seems not so much false as absent: Men's desire for Hannah is insisted upon ("A man's desire is the most flattering mirror a woman ever stands before"), but we get little sense of her own desire. At novel's end, she will graphically envision Nathan's wartime horror, but her own struggles with the muck of childbirth and death are elided. Never mind. It is always something of a miracle when a fiction writer makes the "leap," as Eudora Welty called it, and inhabits the skin of the other sex.Near the end, Hannah's relentlessly positive spirit in the face of Nathan's painful death is so unflagging that it approaches falsity. But Berry anticipates a reader's doubts and takes the novel down a dark path. Hannah decides to learn what she can about her husband's past by learning what she can about the Battle of Okinawa. The pages describing her discoveries are the most explicitly religious, insistent and powerful of the book, an effect they achieve precisely because this darkness has been heretofore suppressed. Hannah identifies not only with her husband but with the people of Okinawa: "Want of imagination," she says, "makes things real enough to be destroyed." In this recognition, her voice becomes prophetic, and her empathy lifts her story beyond any lament for the dead and into a challenge for the living. Reviewed by Valerie Sayers Copyright 2005, The Washington Post Co. All Rights Reserved.


From Booklist
*Starred Review* For the first 40 pages or so, Berry's latest novel about the Kentucky farming community called, by its inhabitants as well as the author, the Port William membership, seems more of same. A good same, for few write American English more limpidly than Berry, and he has realized his characters as thoroughly as Faulkner did any of the people of Yoknapatawpha County. But as this telling of a farm woman's life in her voice continues--and voice it seems more than writing, so spontaneously speechlike are its cadences and the simple accuracy of its diction--it feels ever more poetic. Not gnomic and surrealist, like prose poetry, but flowing and long breathed, like epic poetry. Of course, the story it tells is epical, that of a heroine who expresses, in her living and doing, the essence of her people. Its character is domestic rather than martial; though, since its time span includes World War II, its trials include the MIA disappearance of Hannah's first husband and the ghastly combat experience of her second, Nathan Coulter, which Hannah learns of with any precision only after his death a half-century later. If its domesticity is more often happy and fulfilling, though, the cultural movement--the short, precipitate, ill-informed, poorly considered demise of the American family farm--over which Hannah's beautiful and heartbreaking story arches is as tragic as any war. Ray Olson
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved


Kirkus Reviews, September 2004
Atmospheric and quietly moving.


Book Description
"Ignorant boys, killing each other," is just about all Nathan Coulter would tell his wife about the Battle of Okinawa in November 1945. Life continued as some boys returned from the war while the lives of others were mourned. Nathan's wife, Hannah, has time now to tell of the years since the war. In her eighties, twice widowed and alone, Hannah shares her memories: of her childhood, of young love and loss, of raising children and the changing seasons. She turns her plain gaze to a community facing its own deterioration, where, she says, "We feel the old fabric torn, pulling apart, and we know how much we have loved each other." Hannah offers her summation: her stories and her gratitude for membership in Port William. We see her whole life as part of the great continuum of love and memory, grief and strength. Hannah Coulter is the latest installment in Wendell Berry's long story about the citizens of Port William, Kentucky. In his unforgettable prose, we learn of the Coulters' children, of the Feltners and Branches, and how survivors "live right on."

FROM THE PUBLISHER

In the latest installment in Wendell Berry's long story about the citizens of Port William, Hannah Coulter remembers. Her first husband, Virgil, was declared "missing in action" shortly after the Battle of the Bulge, and after she married Nathan Coulter about all he could tell Hannah about the Battle of Okinawa was "Ignorant boys, killing each other." The community was stunned and diminished by the war, with some of its sons lost forever and others returning home determined to carry on. Now, in her late seventies, twice-widowed and alone, Hannah sorts through her memories: of her childhood, of young love and loss, of raising children and the changing seasons. She turns her plain gaze to a community facing its long deterioration, where, she says, "We feel the old fabric torn, pulling apart, and we know how much we have loved each other." Hannah offers her summation: her stories and her gratitude, for the membership in Port William, and for her whole life, a part of the great continuum of love and memory, grief and strength.

FROM THE CRITICS

Publishers Weekly

"This is the story of my life, that while I lived it weighed upon me and pressed against me and filled all my senses to overflowing and now is like a dream dreamed.... This is my story, my giving of thanks." So begin the reflections of Hannah Coulter, the twice-widowed protagonist of this slim, incandescent novel in Berry's Port William series. In 1940, the precocious, innocent Hannah leaves her small Kentucky farming town to work as a secretary in nearby Hargrave, where she meets Virgil Feltner, seven years her senior, who gently courts her. They marry and have a daughter, but Virgil, "called to the army in 1942," dies in the Battle of the Bulge. Love follows mourning, as a kind but driven farmer, Nathan Coulter, returns from combat and woos Hannah. In delicate, shimmering prose, Berry tracks Hannah's loves and losses through the novel's first half; the narrative sharpens as Hannah recounts her children's lives-Margaret becomes a schoolteacher with a troubled son; Mattie ("a little too eager to climb Fool's Hill") flees rural life to become a globe-trotting communication executive; Caleb, Nathan's hope to run the family farm, becomes a professor of agriculture instead. Beneath the story of ordinary lives lies the work of an extraordinarily wise novelist: as Hannah relates her children's fate to her own deeply rooted rural background, she weaves landscape and family and history together ("My mind... is close to being the room of love where the absent are present, the dead are alive, time is eternal and all creatures prosperous"). Her compassion enlivens every page of this small, graceful novel. (Nov. 21) Forecast: Berry's reputation as a moralist may put off some readers, but those looking for an impassioned, literary vision of American rural life and values will find much to appreciate. Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews