In the copy I’ve got here of Andrew Krivak’s just heartrendingly beautiful A Long Retreat, toward the bottom of page 71 is a sentence I’ve thought of at least once a day since I read the book back in the beginning of December: “There was no ideal morning or ideal night, no certain task or way to pray that captured this life.” I’m not at all trying to say that the line encapsulates the book, though it does a fair job of highlighting the central questions involved. In writing it here, I want to show two huge, huge things:

1. Krivak’s a beautiful writer, and the beauty’s as much in the prose as it is in the clarity and generosity of the thoughts behind the words, and

2. Krivak’s written what may or may not seem a necessary book, but I’d argue that he, in fact, has—a book that’s necessary for anyone who considers life as a felt experience, as something sacred and rife with confusion and mystery and hope (and, of course, yes, full of horrible crazy shit as well)—and lines like the one above—lines that are almost heroically brave in their honesty (if it doesn’t seem brave to write something like that, or if it seems like that sort of line’s obvious and foregone, I’d encourage you to consider whether or not you really, deep down, don’t believe that there’s an ideal day and night somewhere, waiting to be lived (especially for those of us in darker stretches: isn’t it the whole notion of an ideal night and day, some set of hours that’s far easier than the ones we’re living through, that feels like reward, the dangling carrot at the end of the stick?)) are the strongest reasons for this book’s vital necessity.

You get it right there at the start: Krivak was a Jesuit priest, was eight years in before he felt a different pull and left the order. For those of you not in on all things Catholic, Jesuits are the smart, fun Catholics, the guys who’ll buy you a beer and talk good books and (usually) not get all huffy and fuddy-duddy about the sorts of things that so often get Catholic undergarments in a bunch. That said: the Jesuits, maybe because they’re the order that’s most focused on education, typically engender a deep questioning on the part of all those who believe, and (obviously) way moreso for those who take vows to become part of the order. So, put yourself there: imagine being a Jesuit priest (this is easier if you’re a dude, I know), and imagine that every time you’ve got doubts about your faith or your calling, you’re encouraged to pay attention to the doubt, to the wondering. You’re encouraged to listen to your doubts. (Jesuits don’t have a monopoly on this sort of thinking, of course, but it’s seemingly more okay: remember how weird people were when Mother Theresa’s notebooks were recently released, and how astonished people were when they found out she doubted, like, ever? Yeah: that’d be automatic for a Jesuit. That’s par.)

Anyway: Krivak. After writing the above paragraph, I should probably emphasize: Krivak’s book, despite being a spiritual memoir of tough faith and earnest questioning, is a great source of info re: Jesuits, and sort by extension, a great source of info regarding what used to be called (and still could be: I’m slow) living a life of a “calling.”

(I’m sorry: this review seems to keep getting away from me. I want to write sentences about how Krivak’s book is a wonderful addition to any literature regarding lives of calling, and how, just in reading books like that, the reader can experience this sort of generative encouragement or refueling in his or her own life—which is exactly what happened for me (and it’s not because I dig the Jesuits and go to their churches: it’s because I’m alive and I have questions and doubts and this book’s honesty about those issues makes me stronger—or, at least, makes me feel stronger). This is not some clever meta-device: I’m really trying, and I’m really failing).

Just read the book. If there’s any trace of fairness in the world of book news and reviews, you’ll hear plenty about this book when it comes out in March. If you don’t hear plenty about this book in March, it’s because the world is insane and full of people who don’t read good books, and you should absolutely consider it your duty to, book by book, change the world. No joke.