Gilead, Marilynne Robinson
Not my style. No cuss words. The idea is a 77-year-old preacher is writing a journal for his 7-year-old son because he knows he won't be around long. Religion is strange and offputting to me so I didn't enjoy that aspect of it. Often difficult to keep the pronouns straight because proper names are rarely used. A couple of good lines about getting old but this tried to be a tear-jerker and I don't like being manipulated. Summation: would have made (and was, in the New Yorker, I think) a great short story.