It may seem incongruous that The Ninth Hour, Alice McDermott’s exquisite family saga of faith, sacrifice and grace, should begin with a suicide. When Jim shoos his young wife Annie out of their Brooklyn tenement to do some shopping, locks the door behind her and turns on the gas, it looks as bleak as could be for the young widow. Early-twentieth century Brooklyn is a tough place for its many inhabitants, and particularly so for a young Irish widow with a baby on the way. It’s a situation all too familiar to the nuns of the Little Nursing Sisters of the Sick Poor, particularly the forthright and aged St. Saviour, who takes Annie under her wing with the offer of a job in the convent’s laundry. Yet not even the indomitable will of St. Saviour can prevent the pall of superstition that Jim’s suicide casts over his widow and child, a girl christened after the nun who saved her mother. But in that moment of mercy that St. Saviour offers to Annie and little Sally is planted a tendril of grace that McDermott tenderly unspools and grows over the course of her novel, easing through generations and families.
Growing up in the convent along with the nuns who tend to the sick, Sally has a happy, if strange, childhood. The convent, the nuns freely conclude, is no place for a child, yet they need her as much as she clings to them. McDermott’s portraits of the nursing sisters form the heart of the novel. Clear-eyed women, they are not blind to the faults of the Church, or free from anger from a God that allows such suffering. Even as they attend to the poor and sick ceaselessly, they wrestle with belief, question their vocation, struggle not to pass judgment, and try to bargain with a God that they know cannot be bargained with. Fully human, their faith is not the black and white matter like their habits, but a constant negotiation that McDermott handles with economical yet precise language. Growing up amidst the sisters, Sally confronts this negotiation head on when the time comes to choose her own path in life, but one which leads to a crisis and understanding of the true cost of love.
Written with humor and probing clarity, The Ninth Hour is an excellent choice for anyone who enjoys beautifully-wrought fiction, family sagas or portraits of immigrant life. Not surprisingly, there is a certain contemplativeness that makes The Ninth Hour especially suitable for an autumn read, and fans of inspirational fiction might find it especially appealing due to its particularly thought-provoking take on faith and grace. Euan Morton delivers a pitch-perfect narration on the audio book edition.