I am, I suppose I should admit up front, probably the last living person to discover Leif Enger's startling novel Peace Like A River, but I do have good reasons why. Okay, perhaps not good reasons, but reasons. First, the praise for Peace Like a River has been so universally wonderful, I always assumed I'd dislike it. Call it a character flaw: if everyone loves it, I usually dislike it, if for no other reason than everyone loves it. Second, I have to admit in a bit of a whisper, I just don't like contemporary literary fiction all that much. An uncultured swine? Guilty as charged, I suppose, but I read to escape. Novels that celebrate the minutiae of detail, focus on generally aggravating and unlikable characters, and shout, "Hey, everybody, I have a thesaurus, and I like to use it!" on every page don't provide much of an escape for me. Gimme a tight plot and a character I can root for, and I'm with you for 100,000 words.

That said, Peace Like A River is, in my mind, one of those rare works that manages to be literary without stooping to navel-gazing, and manages to be plot-driven without stooping to formulaic crutches. In a word: wow. The pages of Peace Like A River are filled with miracles, and I certainly mean that in two senses. The book itself is filled with miracles, as seen through the 11-year-old eyes of Rueben; at the same time, the writing is miraculous. In the first chapter, Rueben tells us he didn't breathe for 12 full minutes after being born, until his father commanded him to do so. Then:

I believe I was preserved, through those twelve airless minutes, in order to be a witness, and as a witness, let me say that a miracle is no cute thing but more like the swing of a sword.

If he were here to begin the account, I believe Dad would say what he said to Swede and me on the worst night of all our lives:

We and the world, my children, will always be at war.

Retreat is impossible.

Arm yourselves.

How could I not keep reading after this? Every page of this novel is filled with passages most writers would aspire to craft in a lifetime of work; that Enger seems to do it so often, and so effortlessly, is ... well, I already said it: miraculous.

I won't bore you with a plot description, as that would spoil the fun. Just go find a copy of Peace Like A River and read it yourself.

Just in case I'm really not, as I fear, the last living person to discover this jewel.