Tag Archives: Catholicism

The Resolution Project Book Forty-Two: The Heart of the Matter (1948)

“They had been corrupted by money, and he had been corrupted by sentiment. Sentiment was the more dangerous, because you couldn’t name its price. A man open to bribes was to be relied upon below a certain figure, but sentiment might uncoil in the heart at a name, a photograph, even a smell remembered.” (p. 45)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned if you’re the type to be bothered by that.

The Heart of the Matter cover

Elevator Pitch: Major Henry Scobie is the closest thing to an honest cop left in an unnamed town in British West Africa during the Second World War. While his compatriots routinely take bribes and abuse the local populace, Scobie adheres to a strict moral compass, driven by his Catholic upbringing and the intense pity in his heart for the wife he no longer feels anything for but pity. When a young woman comes into Scobie’s life after a traumatic accident, he had to deal with new feelings that grow inside of him, and see whether or not he can reconcile what he wants with what his faith would dictate of him.

This was a pretty solid book. The only real exposure I’d had to Graham Greene before reading it was mostly through movies he was involved in, ie. The Third Man (one of my favorite films noir) and the funny Our Man in Havana. I’d also read The Destructors in high school, I guess, but I don’t really remember too much about it now.  So I didn’t really have any preconceptions upon going in to The Heart of the Matter other than he seems to enjoy setting stories in far off locales, which I learned later kind of comes from his having served in MI6 during the Second World War. He was stationed in Sierra Leone for much of it, which was supposedly the inspiration for the area Scobie polices.

While Heart does descend into lots of philosophical meandering and religious guilt in a matter almost reminiscent of Go Tell It on the Mountain and Call It Sleep it also has the decency to attach an interesting story to all the moaning about God and what he thinks of the protagonist, which I appreciated unlike those other two books. To me, the main message behind Heart is that we can never fully understand or empathize completely with another person. Everyone in the book is an island of sadness, nostalgia, emptiness and pain, and everyone wants desperately for someone else to get what led them to become this way. Scobie feels he’s done his wife wrong by making her spend 15 years in a foreign hellhole, and hates the people at the club who disdain her love of reading and literature  for whatever reason. Wilson, a new transplant to the colony, falls in love with Scobie’s wife, and attempts to reach her through that love of literature and poetry, but to no avail. Yusef, a Syrian crime kingpin, just wants to be Scobie’s friend, and to have meaningful discussions with him about life, which is something he cannot get from the mostly local boys he uses as informants and assassins.

As a side note, the more I read about the English sort of clubs and the culture contained therein, the more they seem absolutely abhorrent. Granted, most of the books I’ve read with these kinds of organizations have them as representations of colonial/patriarchal power, although perhaps not intentionally in every instance. It is certainly the case here in Heart, and also in A Passage to India; whereas in A Handful of Dust, and to a lesser extent the American equivalent in Appointment in Samarra, the club is more a symbol of wealth, conspicuous consumption and prestige. I wonder if these organizations still exist nowadays, I mean here in Canada we’ve got things like the Elks and the Rotary Club, but those seem to be more “fraternal” than the classical English-style? Maybe I’ll look into it more, my grandfather was apparently a Mason, so maybe I have an in there. I’ve seen the instructional video on how to shake hands.

Greene’s writing style is not exactly florid, which I really appreciate. He’s able to distill complicated concepts like what it must feel like to be an average, run of the mill Catholic person down with incredible ease:

“When he  thought about it at all, he regarded himself as a man in the ranks, a member of an awkward squad, who had no opportunity to break the more serious military rules. ‘I misses Mass yesterday for insufficient reason. I neglected my evening prayers.’ This was no more than admitting what every soldier did – that he had avoided a fatigue when the occasion offered.” (p. 103)

He’s also great at the police procedural type stuff. Scobie eventually does something really bad, and has to cover it up, and we the reader are privy to his inner monologue as the policeman’s brain thinks through every avenue of investigation and makes up evidence to cover holes. It’s interesting in that we start to see this happen even before Scobie has made a conscious effort to do so, like the back of his mind is working faster than he even realizes.

Overall, this is an excellent book. It delves into the psyche of a deeply conflicted man, takes place in an exotic and interesting locale, has the paranoid backdrop of World War II spy-catching and smuggling, and has some essential truths to impart about the frailty of the human condition, and our relative inability to ever understand one another.

“‘When we say to someone, “I can’t live without you,” what we really mean is, “I can’t live feeling you may be in pain, unhappy, in want.” That’s all it is. When they are dead our responsibility ends. There’s nothing more we can do about it. We can rest in peace.”" (p. 143)

Who would I recommend this book to?: People who are fans of Graham Greene’s work in film. People who are interested in life in the British African colonies during the war, and have a high tolerance for moaning about the “white man’s burden.” People who are interested in the precepts of Catholicism, and wish to see them pushed to the absolute limit by desire and shame.

Total pages read since January 1st: 14054 pp.

Total books on the Time 100 list read: 49/113, or 44% complete.

Next up on the Resolution Project: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (1950), by C.S. Lewis

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The Resolution Project Book Twenty-Eight: A Death in the Family (1958)

“Look at me, Poll,” he said. She looked at him. “That’s when you’re going to need every ounce of common sense you’ve got,” he said. “Just spunk won’t be enough; you’ve got to have gumption. You’ve got to bear in mind that nobody that ever lived is specially privileged; the axe can fall at any moment, on any neck, without any warning or regard for justice. You’ve got to keep your mind off pitying your rotten luck and setting up any kind of a howl about it. You’ve got to remember that things as bad as this and a hell of a lot worse have happened to millions of people before and that they’ve come through it and you will too. You’ll bear it because there isn’t any choice – except to go to pieces.” (p. 141)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned.

A Death in the Family cover

Family man Jay Follet is called to his father’s bedside in the dead of night in the summer of 1915. Fearing the worst from his ailing father, Jay speeds through Tennessee backroads only to find a false alarm waiting for him at his childhood home. On his way back to Knoxville, however, his car malfunctions while on bad terrain and Jay is killed instantly by hitting his chin on the steering wheel. A Death in the Family, then, is about how his family deals with the grief of his loss. The narrative floats between his now widowed wife, his atheist brother-in-law and his eager-to-please son Rufus, as they come to terms with Jay’s death over the two or three days following the accident.

The thing I liked best about this book, in addition to how real it felt (author James Agee lost his father to an accident when he was six, some have called this novel autobiographical), was how good a job it did at putting you into the mindset of a child. There are flashback sequences from young Rufus’ point of view scattered throughout the book, delineated from the rest by way of being italicized. In these parts, Agee deftly captures the feeling of being a small child, a precocious child who only half gets things that he is told and ends up extrapolating meaning for words like “instantly killed,” “drunk,” and an “eightfoot embankment.” Rufus is an excellent reader surrogate as, through a child’s eyes, we have to look again at the world to see what is trying to be imparted to the boy. It’s also helpful given the time period the novel is set in, 1915, to have an inquisitive mind that wouldn’t take for granted some of the social mores and taboos of the era, allowing us to experience a way of life that has since moved on.

Agee is also blisteringly critical of organized religion and its role in helping grieving families. Most of this work is done through the character of Andrew, who is what we’d call either an atheist or more likely an agnostic, and for this reason is set apart from Jay’s wife Mary and her aunt Hannah, who are very devout. He warns her that if she starts falling down the hole of religious fanaticism after her husband’s death, it’s not likely that she’ll ever make it out again. Christianity is also demonized in the form of Father Jackson, who comes to officiate the funeral. Rufus and his little sister Catherine never really hear what the priest tells Mary and Hannah upstairs; they instead intimate through everyone’s tone of voice that she is subsuming her grief into devotion, rather than having it out in the world to be dealt with:

“And they felt that although everything was better for their mother than it had been a few minutes before, it was far worse in one way. For before, she had at least been questioning, however gently. But now she was wholly defeated and entranced, and the transition to prayer was the moment and mark of her surrender.” (p.272)

A lot of people seem to use their devotion like that, like a crutch that explains every single thing that happens. It’s defeatist. But enough about that. A Death in the Family is by no means a fun novel, but it is a very interesting one. Agee pours his real-life grief into the story, and it feels palpably real as a result. Definitely a must for someone who wants to understand how death changes people.

“That’s what they’re for, epitaphs, Joel suddenly realized. So you can feel you’ve got some control over the death, you own it, you choose a name for it. The same with wanting to know all you can about how it happened.” (p.158)

The List:

1. The Adventures of Augie March

2. All the King’s Men

3. American Pastoral

4. An American Tragedy

5. Animal Farm (read before 2011)

6. Appointment in Samarra

7. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret

8. The Assistant

9. At Swim-Two-Birds

10. Atonement (read before 2011)

11. Beloved

12. The Berlin Stories

13. The Big Sleep (read before 2011)

14. The Blind Assassin

15. Blood Meridian

16. Brideshead Revisited

17. The Bridge of San Luis Rey

18. Call It Sleep

19. Catch-22 (read before 2011)

20. The Catcher in the Rye (read before 2011)

21. A Clockwork Orange

22. The Confessions of Nat Turner

23. The Corrections

24. The Crying of Lot 49 (read before 2011)

25. A Dance to the Music of Time (1st Movement)

26. The Day of the Locust

27. Death Comes for the Archbishop

28. A Death in the Family

Total pages read since January 1st: 6798 pp.

Next up on the Resolution Project: James Dickey’s Deliverance (1970)

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The Resolution Project Book Twenty-Seven: Death Comes for the Archbishop (1927)

“This Missourian, whose eye was so quick to read a landscape or a human face, could not read a printed page. He could at that time barely write his own name. Yet one felt in him a quick and discriminating intelligence. That he was illiterate was an accident; he had got ahead of books, gone where the printing-press could not follow him.” (p. 85, in reference to Kit Carson)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned.

Death Comes for the Archbishop cover

This was a solid little book, I unwisely chose to read it in the Large Print format so it hurt my eyes, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Father Jean Marie Latour is tasked with taking over the diocese around New Mexico in 1851 after its annexation by the United States. When he arrives in the unforgiving landscape, he finds that not only does the harsh terrain replace his native France in his heart, it also becomes the scene for many of his greatest trials and tribulations.

This book is fairly episodic, as it looks at nine or so periods in the life of the Bishop, as well as his best friend and colleague, the Vicar Joseph Vaillant. The back cover of the book would have you think that the life of a priest in the wild countryside is very lonely, but I didn’t really get that from the text itself, aside from the last segment. Latour and Vaillant seem to be welcomed into the homes, pueblos and villages of both the Mexicans and the Indians alike, who possess much in the way of Church architecture from the days of Spanish missionaries. There is of course, many scenes of traversing rough country, living off the land and sleeping under the stars, but it never felt that lonely to me. As Vaillant is called away more often, with his eventual destination being Colorado during the Pike’s Peak Gold Rush, Latour thinks often on their life together, and how they got into the missionary trade, kind of providing a reverse narrative as the main story reaches its fatal end.

The book’s also been called “mythic”, and I’m much more inclined to agree with that. The way the stories are laid out is I guess roughly chronological, but not too much is constant between them. Latour has to deal with wayward Spanish priests who have taken wives and gamble and party all day long; the sticky situation caused by a rich widow’s inheritance and a bequeathment to the Church; a murderous road agent who assaults travelers who need a place to stay; and finally the construction of a cathedral in Santa Fe. It felt to me like any of these could have been short stories published in a magazine, but the way they are laid out does tell us about the melancholy of growing older.

Death Comes for the Archbishop reminded me a lot of Wilder’s The Bridge of San Luis Rey, partially because of all the Catholic dogma and belief, but also in the episodic approach shared by the two books. I’m probably one of the least religious people ever (seriously, the only gods I would ever really believe in would probably be Lovecraft’s Great Old Ones, and no, I’m not really joking), but this book, like Wilder’s text, definitely makes a lot of Catholic belief make a bit more sense to me, and makes it beautiful in its way, the adherence to tradition and veneration of artifacts and miracles, especially. Overall, this book is an excellent one, especially in the approach it takes to death. It’s not something to be afraid of for the most part, it’s the culmination of all your days on Earth. If you do good things, like the two wilderness priests, you have nothing to fear. The quotation below says it best:

“‘I will go at once, Father. But you should not be discouraged; one does not die of a cold.’

The old man smiled. ‘I shall not die of a cold, my son. I shall die of having lived.’” (p. 279)

The List:

1. The Adventures of Augie March

2. All the King’s Men

3. American Pastoral

4. An American Tragedy

5. Animal Farm (read before 2011)

6. Appointment in Samarra

7. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret

8. The Assistant

9. At Swim-Two-Birds

10. Atonement (read before 2011)

11. Beloved

12. The Berlin Stories

13. The Big Sleep (read before 2011)

14. The Blind Assassin

15. Blood Meridian

16. Brideshead Revisited

17. The Bridge of San Luis Rey

18. Call It Sleep

19. Catch-22 (read before 2011)

20. The Catcher in the Rye (read before 2011)

21. A Clockwork Orange

22. The Confessions of Nat Turner

23. The Corrections

24. The Crying of Lot 49 (read before 2011)

25. A Dance to the Music of Time (1st Movement)

26. The Day of the Locust

27. Death Comes for the Archbishop

Total pages read since January 1st: 6488 pp.

Next up on the Resolution Project: James Agee’s A Death In the Family (1958)

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The Resolution Project Book Seventeen: The Bridge of San Luis Rey (1927)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned.

“He divided the inhabitants of this world into two groups, into those who had loved and those who had not. It was a horrible aristocracy, apparently, for those who had no capacity for love (or rather for suffering in love) could not be said to be alive and certainly would not live again after their death.” (p.83)

The Bridge of San Luis Rey cover

What a fantastic book, you can really see why it won Wilder the Pulitzer Prize in 1928. It actually took me far more time to parse my thoughts about it afterwards than it did to actually read the book itself, for it packs quite a wallop. It is 1714 in the Spanish colony of Peru when Brother Juniper, a Franciscan monk living amongst the native people in an attempt to convert them to Catholicism, witnesses the collapse of the San Luis Rey bridge, and the deaths of five people in the midst of crossing it. Eager to prove to his flock the ideas of Divine Providence and the plan God has for everyone on Earth, Juniper sets out to uncover the histories of all five of the bridge’s victims to find out why they had been chosen to die this day. Juniper’s findings are relayed to the reader through four short sections detailing the lives and loves of the five unfortunate souls who fell off the bridge, and they present a far more nuanced version than would really suit his purpose.

Maybe it was the South American locale the book takes place in, but the writer that Wilder most reminded me of here was Jorge Luis Borges. To me, both men share a humanist approach to their characters, as well as a reverence for texts that exist within the world of the book; with Juniper’s assessment of each person’s life forming the main part of the narrative, there are also notes on the Marquesa de Montemayor’s letters to her daughter in Spain, and how they have been studied intensely over the years (the Marquesa is the first of the victims claimed by the bridge to be examined). I love that “intra”-textuality feel, it’s something that has been brought up numerous times on the list, and will doubtlessly be done again.

The quote that preceded this article comes from the last of the people profiled, Uncle Pio, a sort of svengali-figure for the Perichole, a famous actress and singer who really lived at the time the book takes place. I think it is a good way of qualifying Wilder’s outlook on humanity as opposed to Juniper’s insistence on the existence of a divine plan. Rather than the sinners and saints, the preterite and the elect, Wilder feels that the life spent in interaction with other people is the one worth celebrating, the ones who have loved and been loved in return, and have felt heartache. They are the ones who have truly lived. Another book that The Bridge of San Luis Rey put me in mind of was Orson Scott Card’s Speaker for the Dead, which also deals with how best to examine the entirety of someone’s life. In both books, the main character acts almost like a detective, bringing together all the strands of a dead man’s life in order to paint a picture that is not completely flattering, but humanist, none the less.

Here’s what Richard Lacayo had to say about the book: http://www.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,1951793_1951936_1952234,00.html

Just a marvelous book overall.

The List:

1. The Adventures of Augie March

2. All the King’s Men

3. American Pastoral

4. An American Tragedy

5. Animal Farm (read before 2011)

6. Appointment in Samarra

7. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret

8. The Assistant

9. At Swim-Two-Birds

10. Atonement (read before 2011)

11. Beloved

12. The Berlin Stories

13. The Big Sleep (read before 2011)

14. The Blind Assassin

15. Blood Meridian

16. Brideshead Revisited

17. The Bridge of San Luis Rey

18. Call It Sleep

19. Catch-22 (read before 2011)

20. The Catcher in the Rye (read before 2011)

Total pages read since January 1st: 4823 pp

Next up on the Resolution Project: Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange (1963)

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The Resolution Project Book Sixteen: Brideshead Revisited (1946)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned.

“Just the place to bury a crock of gold,” said Sebastian. “I should like to bury something precious in every place where I’ve been happy and then, when I was old  and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember” (p. 20)

Brideshead Revisited Cover

In comparison to the stilted language and melodrama that permeated the last book I read on the Time Magazine list, Theodore Dreiser’s An American Tragedy, Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh was a refreshing stroll down memory lane, a look at the way a geographical location can mean so much to so many people. Charles Ryder is an undergraduate at Oxford in the early 1920s when he meets the flamboyant and extravagant Lord Sebastian Flyte, with whom he begins a friendship that change both of their lives. Flyte introduces Ryder to his eccentric English Catholic aristocratic family at their estate Brideshead, a location Ryder returns to much later during the Second World War as a member of the armed services, at which he embarks backwards through his own history with the family.

I really loved this book, so much so that I read it a lot slower than I could have, in order to remain in its thrall as long as I possibly could. It is probably closest in form to Ian MacEwan’s Atonement, to name a more recent (and Time magazine-approved) work, as it deals with the lives and loves of English aristocrats in the dimming light between the two World Wars. Like Atonement, the protagonist is not a member of that esteemed group, and as such is not ruled by the dogma and feudal obligations the Flyte family are bound by. “Dogma” is definitely the appropriate word to use in relation to this wonderful book. The Flytes are, for the most part, members of the Catholic minority in England, and as such, live their lives in relation to the Church, whether it is the rebellion against it as personified by Sebastian and his expatriate father Lord Marchmain, or the devout worship of Lady Marchmain and her young daughter Cordelia. Indeed, Waugh was an actual convert to Catholicism, and much of the book is devoted to the idea of “divine grace”, which I took to mean the way in which belief in God as prescribed by Catholic rites pulls characters towards it. I don’t want to say much more about this concept, for fear of spoiling it for people who haven’t read it yet, but the allure of religion works upon each of the characters in their own special, and often surprising way.

The actual house called Brideshead is a singular location in my experience. While exact geographical details are never explicitly laid out, it is implied to be absolutely massive, containing multitudes of rooms with decorating styles spanning centuries. The closest I suppose I’ve gotten to seeing such a place in my life would have to be Warwick Castle in the Midlands of England, but the different eras shown in its decorating scheme were absolutely essential as they showed how life operated in the building over the years. Brideshead, though, is almost described as being more of a mausoleum at times, a place where the weight of centuries imposes itself on the current occupants, who are only beginning to sense the oncoming darkness and the end of their way of life. It also brought me to mind of the film La règle du jeu ( The Rules of the Game), by director Jean Renoir. That film also shows the end of the aristocratic era, in France of course, but with more of an “upstairs/downstairs” point of view, with the hired help also playing a big role.

I also really enjoyed the first big sequence of the book, Ryder and Sebastian’s days at Oxford, which seemed to consist primarily of drinking, going to boring parties, and etc. It reminded me a lot of my time in residence, complete with the old before your years feeling you get after second year. Many theorists believe that Waugh was subtly hinting at a homosexual relationship between Ryder and Flyte during this sequence, which could very easily be true, but it could also just be one of those English “romantic friendships”, sort of like between Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins. I liked that it was ambiguous.

Brideshead Revisited movie poster

There have been quite a few adaptations of Brideshead Revisited into other media, most recently a 2008 film adaptation, which apparently paled in comparison somewhat to the release of the aforementioned Atonement. I’d very much like to see it, or the ’80s TV adaptation when I get a chance, but as ever, duty calls.

“These men must die to make a world for Hooper; they were the aborigines, vermin by right of law, to be shot off at leisure so that things might be safe for the travelling salesman, with his polygonal pince-nez, his fat wet hand-shake, his grinning dentures.” Charles Ryder, on the decline of the aristocracy in England (p. 125)

The List

1. The Adventures of Augie March

2. All the King’s Men

3. American Pastoral

4. An American Tragedy

5. Animal Farm (read before 2011)

6. Appointment in Samarra

7. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret

8. The Assistant

9. At Swim-Two-Birds

10. Atonement (read before 2011)

11. Beloved

12. The Berlin Stories

13. The Big Sleep (read before 2011)

14. The Blind Assassin

15. Blood Meridian

16. Brideshead Revisited

Total pages read since January 1st: 4302 pp

Next up on the Resolution Project: Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin (2000)

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