Evie Yoder Miller’s second novel depicts three generations of the Lehmans, a Mennonite farm family in Wisconsin, as they interact with each other over a Thanksgiving weekend. The women in the family are the primary characters: Martha, in her 80’s; Charlotte, her daughter; and Carrie, Charlotte’s 20-something daughter. Each of the book’s twenty chapters is told in third person from one of their perspectives, with Carrie’s view the most frequent, followed by Martha’s. Four of Martha’s chapters also include excerpts from her mother’s diaries from the 1920’s and 1930’s.
Everyday Mercies begins with Martha asking: “Where, the peace that passes understanding?” (1), a question that any of the characters could ask, as they all seem to be at a crossroads, whether spiritually or professionally. The novel’s two significant narrative subjects are Carrie’s attempt to find direction for her life after an unsuccessful spell as a teacher in Appalachia and a recent breakup and Martha’s grieving process after her husband’s death. Secondary conflicts include Carrie’s father James’s worries about the economic viability of his farm and her teenage brother Chad’s late-night alcohol-fueled shenanigans. In each of these threads the characters attempt to discern where “home” is for them. Much of the book’s plot plays out via conversations between the characters and glimpses into their thoughts.
Through these conversations, Everyday Mercies wrestles with two major questions. First, what does it mean to be a Mennonite; and second,how does one respond to and live within these uncertain economic times in the U.S.? While the prominence of the former question seems to make Mennonites the novel’s primary intended audience (and, indeed, references such as those to “upside-down thinking” [21] and Dutch Blitz [103] may only make sense to Mennonite readers), its investigation of the latter question helps it move beyond sectarian boundaries.
The book hints at definitions of Mennonites throughout in answer to the first question. Carrie’s aunt Gloria asserts “Once a Mennonite, always a Mennonite” (134), implying an ethnic element of the faith. This inescapability is borne out in Carrie’s approach to her young person’s malaise: while she questions the definitions of “success” that she has been taught, this questioning is made possible by the Mennonite view of the world she was raised with. Everyday Mercies also considers how “the English” view Mennonites, as there is discussion of plain dress throughout the novel and how it feeds outsiders’ misconceptions. Martha fits the tourist stereotype of what a Mennonite is because she dresses plain for church, but she is much more flexible theologically than her plainness implies. Carrie’s definition is the one the novel ultimately affirms, and it places the essence of Mennonitism in actions. She says that Mennonites are “just us. Ordinary people–farmers and such–doing the best we can every day” (93). The characters embody their individual versions of ethics-based Mennonitism through their deeds. James is a steward of the land in his farming; Charlotte shows love for others via her cooking; and, although he is portrayed unsympathetically, the reason Carrie’s ex-boyfriend Ryan abandons her may be seen as laudable, as he leaves in order to go to Palestine with Christian Peacemaker Teams.
The second question is partially investigated through James’s musings about whether his dairy farm can continue to compete in an industry dominated by mammoth agribusinesses, but is preeminently examined through Carrie’s struggles to find herself. Charlotte does not understand why her college-educated daughter works at a thrift shop instead of finding another teaching job. For Carrie (and, the novel implies, many others in her generation), the old model of having a middle-class job and raising a family is no longer satisfactory, but she has not found a replacement yet. She knows “[s]he needs to be for something” instead of simply criticizing old ways (100, Miller’s italics), and seeks advice for how to begin searching for it. It is significant that none of the other characters suggest a theological remedy for the lack that Carrie feels. Through this silence Everyday Mercies asserts that wanting to feel fulfilled in one’s earthly life is a legitimate desire.
Ultimately the explorations of these questions speak to an issue that synthesizes the two and has of course been a central one in the Anabaptist tradition since its beginning: how can Mennonites successfully be in the world (and in Everyday Mercies, specifically the twenty-first-century world, with Facebook and hybrid cars and slow food movements; one of the novel’s strengths is the deftness with which it describes these innovations) but not of it? The book’s treatment of these weighty themes makes it more compelling than Miller’s 2003 novel Eyes at the Window. The characters in Everyday Mercies are memorable because readers can identify with them and their struggles.
Everyday Mercies has few weaknesses. The diary excerpts are fascinating, especially in their sensitive portrayal of clinical depression, but their infrequency does not allow them to be an effective part of the story. They are the one loose thread left after the book’s tidy ending. Perhaps a sequel where Carrie investigates them more in-depth than her grandmother is able to would be in order. Another questionable aspect of the novel is the great disparity between the characters’ generational concerns, which at times threatens to stretch the story’s plausibility too thinly. Martha has recently decided to stop wearing her head covering outside of church while Carrie is a feminist interested in cutting edge techniques for sustainable organic agriculture. Martha’s lingering feelings of guilt as she questions her partial abandonment of plain dress seem quaint in light of Carrie’s big picture thoughts about issues of social justice, and one could argue that the novel is too ambitious in its readiness to address issues. However, the poignant conversations between grandmother and granddaughter show that they are ultimately concerned with the same question: how does one live a proper life in this messy, complicated world?
The strengths of Everyday Mercies easily outweigh the deficiencies. Miller’s smooth, realist writing style will appeal to a wide variety of readers (including non-Mennonites, though they will have a very different reading experience), whether one is reading for leisure or for academic purposes. Everyday Mercies is an important addition to U.S. Mennonite fiction.