The Signature of All Things

Once again, I've just finished reading a book on Kindle. This little device, which I welcomed with a "be gone from me, Satan" comment when my brother gave it to me one Christmas, has definitely come in handy the last few years. I've noticed, however, and have described here, that I can't seem to remember what I read on the thing!

That will not be the case with The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert. I'll remember this book even though I've never really held it in my hands, even though the length of it was not immediately apparent to me. (I don't always pay attention to those little percentage marks in the right-hand corner.) I'll remember it because it's a big, messy, life-loving novel of a type I don't read much anymore.

I'll remember it for eponymous passages like this one:

“the signature of all things”—namely, that God had hidden clues for humanity’s betterment inside the design of every flower, leaf, fruit, and tree on earth. All the natural world was a divine code, Boehme claimed, containing proof of our Creator’s love.

And for less splashy lines like these:  

Have you ever noticed how the most splendid lilacs, for instance, are the ones that grow up alongside derelict barns and abandoned shacks? Sometimes beauty needs a bit of ignoring, to properly come into being.

I'll remember it for the character of Alma, a woman who gracefully accepts disappointments and challenges and who at the end of her life says she was fortunate because was able to spend it "in study of the world. As such, I have never felt insignificant. This life is a mystery, yes, and it is often a trial, but if one can find some facts within it, one should always do so — for knowledge is the most precious of all commodities."

Like all good books, this one left me feeling closer to the heart of things. It left me feeling more alive.