Small Rain – Garth Greenwell
Set in Iowa City — ironically the setting of my previous read as well — Garth Greenwell’s “Small Rain” explores the isolation and unraveling of self that so many of us endured during the first COVID-19 summer.
Greenwell’s unnamed protagonist experiences this in a way that’s magnified tenfold, as he is confined to a hospital room with a potentially fatal diagnosis: an aortic dissection. The fact he survived such low odds and remains coherent adds an underlying tension to every encounter. He is suspended in a liminal state, living on what feels like borrowed time.
Fans of his previous works know that Greenwell’s writing is nothing short of poetic, and he has this rare ability to elevate the mundane to something lyrical. Here, it is five long chapters, each tracing different facets of the narrator’s experience navigating America’s broken healthcare system — even with the supposed safety net of “good insurance.”
Yet, it’s not the usual polemic against the institution. Rather, Greenwell humanizes the people within it, like the compassionate ICU nurse Alivia, who becomes a lifeline for the narrator who is only allowed a brief outside visitor each day. These moments of connection — fleeting and with a severe power imbalance — are still some of the most moving in the book, reminding us that even in chaos, humanity persists.
It’s impossible to ignore the autobiographical threads here, and while “Small Rain” isn’t officially labeled as such, it feels intensely personal. Is this the same narrator as proxy from “What Belongs to You” and “Cleanness?” It’s never overtly addressed, but the echoes of the characters’ experiences in those novels are here.
Greenwell once again taps into themes of love, desire and the body — only now the body is not an object of desire, it is in decline. But there is plenty of desire in these pages, just a kind that will feel familiar to readers who have settled into a domesticity they swore would never catch them.
The relationship between the narrator and L., his partner, is tender, unflinchingly honest and devoid of the angst that colored his earlier works. There’s a maturity in their love, a quiet understanding that feels earned and real. You find yourself rooting for them to emerge from this crisis intact, not only because you grow to care for them, but because you can’t help but project yourself into their experience and wonder how you would handle such a challenge.
Know there isn’t much of a plot, but one isn’t needed when the storytelling is solid. It’s slow, hyper-focused on the minutiae of hospital life and medical treatment, and punctuated by flashbacks that don’t always seem relevant at first glance. But within those digressions, Greenwell mines our collective humanity. His memories — whether of his father defending a malpractice suit or renovating a home with L. — reveal how we rationalize, compartmentalize and make peace with our choices, both big and small.
For me, though, the most powerful section was his account of the derecho that devastated Iowa in August 2020. Having lived through it with a strikingly similar experience to what happened to the narrator and L., reading about it here was unexpectedly cathartic. That sense of survival mode kicking in, followed by months of delayed processing, felt so personal.
It’s a relatively small part of the book, but for those of us who lived through that disaster, it resonates in ways others might overlook. It gave me a kinship to this novel that I have not had with any other read this year.
If there’s a weak point, it’s the section where Greenwell dissects George Oppen’s poetry. While it makes sense given the protagonist’s background as writer and educator, this part of the narrative felt more like a classroom lecture and detracted from the otherwise conversational flow of the story.
Greenwell’s narration of the audiobook — while not flawless — captures the peaks and valleys of his prose with a subtle, knowing touch. The novel urges us to appreciate the simple pleasures — the taste of coffee, the warmth of touch, the joy of casual conversation — reminding us that these ordinary moments are the ones that truly shape our lives.
While “Small Rain” won’t appeal to everyone, it is easily one of my favorites reads of the year.
Rating (story): 5/5 stars
Rating (narration): 3/5 stars
Format: Audiobook (library loan)
Dates read: October 13 – October 20, 2024
Multi-tasking: Okay. After the first few pages you find the rhythm of the story, but if you aren’t paying close attention you’ll miss the beauty within Greenwell’s intimate story.
