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3.89 AVERAGE
3.89 AVERAGE
I really enjoyed this gentle but deep novel about guilt, forgiveness, commitment and death.
I have been reading a few hard but short books lately. This book, while ultimately hopeful, definitely shows you the wretched, grasping refuse of humanity. If you want some light and pleasant reading with humor aside from the sardonic kind, don't read this. That being said, this is still a great read.
I feel I would have liked this book more if I didn't copiously write notes in the margins in preparation for a book club meeting. Still, I did enjoy it a good bit. Though all of its characters are trapped in the mire of one or more vices, they are deeply lovable and at times dispense real wisdom. This is the book of a visceral struggle for sainthood in a world where there seems to be every reason to despair save a smidgen of hope, and my goodness, you feel it.
I'd recommend anyone- Catholic or not- read this book. Having read Crime and Punishment and Notes from Underground, I think the Dostoevsky comparison made by some is apt, and if secular readers can find meaning in him, they can find meaning here as well, even when the world Greene creates seems at times to rebel against any sense of meaning.
I still don't feel like I completely "got" it, but that's the great thing about classics. You can always go back again.
I feel I would have liked this book more if I didn't copiously write notes in the margins in preparation for a book club meeting. Still, I did enjoy it a good bit. Though all of its characters are trapped in the mire of one or more vices, they are deeply lovable and at times dispense real wisdom. This is the book of a visceral struggle for sainthood in a world where there seems to be every reason to despair save a smidgen of hope, and my goodness, you feel it.
I'd recommend anyone- Catholic or not- read this book. Having read Crime and Punishment and Notes from Underground, I think the Dostoevsky comparison made by some is apt, and if secular readers can find meaning in him, they can find meaning here as well, even when the world Greene creates seems at times to rebel against any sense of meaning.
I still don't feel like I completely "got" it, but that's the great thing about classics. You can always go back again.
Very powerful things said here about Mexico back then, hitting the Roman Catholic religion the hardest
Hasn't really grabbed me in the first 100 pages so putting this one down.
As a work of literature this book is excellent, but its entertainment value is terrible. I found the protagonists endless musing about what a sinner he was interminable.
emotional
reflective
tense
slow-paced
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I haven't yet decided if reading this novel at the height of summer in the Philippines was supremely prescient or foolhardy. The first few chapters of this novel are alienating in their bleakness, approximating the aridity of a soul so far from grace. Graham Greene's prose sucks out all the oxygen from the story, leaving a nihilistic parable suspended in time.
The Power and the Glory is ostensibly grounded in a historical event. Set in the 1930's, it dramatizes the period when a wave of revolutionary fervor led to the persecution of Mexico's Catholic Church. Priests are hunted down--either forced to renounce their vows through marriage or executed. Graham Greene creates what is a essentially a man-on-the-run thriller here, as an unnamed character called "the Whisky Priest" struggles to elude capture in the countryside of rural Mexico. He is chased by a bloodhound simply known as "the Lieutenant," whose desire to annihilate the old, corrupt ways propels this all-consuming vendetta.
As characters go, the Whisky Priest is one of the most affecting characters I have ever encountered. Morally weak and changeable, he is hardly the example of noble martyrdom. In the time of plenty, he took advantage of people's veneration by indulging in drink and other proclivities, even fathering a child. Cosmic payback is upon him, however, because in a cruel trick of fate, he is now the last symbol of his religion for miles around. Mortal danger doesn't entirely cure him of his vices, yet he is unable to leave the people behind, so thirsty are they for rituals he had once taken for granted: confession, Communion, Mass.
Graham Greene seems to be one of those writers who are entirely consumed by overarching themes, so much so that his characters' specificity wilts in the face of them. The Whisky Priest is not simply an alcoholic clergyman who has fathered a child, he is the embodiment of every human frailty experienced in the 2,000 years of Christendom. Which goes to show great a writer he is that despite this absolutism--perhaps even because of it--The Power and Glory is wonderfully compassionate, nuanced, and dare I say, ecumenical.
A Catholic through conversion, Greene had once answered the question of his choice by saying, "I had to find a religion to measure my evil against." Redemption, therefore, lies not in its majesty but in the capacity for self-negation, needing the basest of circumstances to show its ultimate strength.
Reading this was tough going, and even during the most dramatic sequences I feel that some of the profoundness in the Whisky Priest's musings became lost on me. Greene never makes things easy for the reader, from beginning in medias res to refusing the recognizable categorizations of Virtue and Sin. Definitely a lot of things to unpack here, but so worth it.
Read on my blog.
The Power and the Glory is ostensibly grounded in a historical event. Set in the 1930's, it dramatizes the period when a wave of revolutionary fervor led to the persecution of Mexico's Catholic Church. Priests are hunted down--either forced to renounce their vows through marriage or executed. Graham Greene creates what is a essentially a man-on-the-run thriller here, as an unnamed character called "the Whisky Priest" struggles to elude capture in the countryside of rural Mexico. He is chased by a bloodhound simply known as "the Lieutenant," whose desire to annihilate the old, corrupt ways propels this all-consuming vendetta.
As characters go, the Whisky Priest is one of the most affecting characters I have ever encountered. Morally weak and changeable, he is hardly the example of noble martyrdom. In the time of plenty, he took advantage of people's veneration by indulging in drink and other proclivities, even fathering a child. Cosmic payback is upon him, however, because in a cruel trick of fate, he is now the last symbol of his religion for miles around. Mortal danger doesn't entirely cure him of his vices, yet he is unable to leave the people behind, so thirsty are they for rituals he had once taken for granted: confession, Communion, Mass.
Graham Greene seems to be one of those writers who are entirely consumed by overarching themes, so much so that his characters' specificity wilts in the face of them. The Whisky Priest is not simply an alcoholic clergyman who has fathered a child, he is the embodiment of every human frailty experienced in the 2,000 years of Christendom. Which goes to show great a writer he is that despite this absolutism--perhaps even because of it--The Power and Glory is wonderfully compassionate, nuanced, and dare I say, ecumenical.
A Catholic through conversion, Greene had once answered the question of his choice by saying, "I had to find a religion to measure my evil against." Redemption, therefore, lies not in its majesty but in the capacity for self-negation, needing the basest of circumstances to show its ultimate strength.
Reading this was tough going, and even during the most dramatic sequences I feel that some of the profoundness in the Whisky Priest's musings became lost on me. Greene never makes things easy for the reader, from beginning in medias res to refusing the recognizable categorizations of Virtue and Sin. Definitely a lot of things to unpack here, but so worth it.
Read on my blog.
As often happens with books that are considered masterpieces, time and the loss of historical context for a story can have a huge impact on a book's value. That's exactly the case with Graham Greene's THE POWER AND THE GLORY. Other reviewers have no doubt summarized the book, so there's no need for that be done again here. Suffice it to say that I found it a tedious read, and like many of the books of its age, there was a distinct lack in its pacing until the last twenty or so pages. For a good part of the story, the protagonist is wandering around in a state of vague despair, worrying about his own failures as a priest and human, while simultaneously asking similar questions of those around him. There is a general sense of urgency as he tries to make it to the border before he's arrested, coupled with a desire to fight off the classic trappings of the priestly class and truly serve the souls he sees as lost (including his own); but ultimately, none of these components add up to a very readable book. THE POWER AND THE GLORY might offer some value as a Catholic text, one which sheds light on the way that Catholicism regarded itself (particularly during the book's time period); but all that matters little, as I found almost nothing to offer in the way of memorable language or plot. If a story isn't ultimately entertaining, it's almost never worth reading...such is the case here.
I kinda skipped three or four chapters...
This was a bit of a struggle, being twice as long as its limited ambition requires - that ambition being to illustrate the weakness, fallability and moral confusion of a Catholic priest, tempered by a hint of hope. At least this was acheived.
The setting is a Southern State of Mexico where a deadly Catholic purge has been underway for ten years. The churches have burned and the priests have fled, or been killed, or renounced their vocations - except for one. Quite how such a stupid, vacilating character managed to evade capture for so long is beyond comprehension, but nevermind - even more frustrating is that the situation is never explained. Why is the purge happening? Why is it State-wide but not Nation-wide? What year is it, anyway? Why are distilled spirits and wine illegal when beer is legal? I don't know if ignoring all this was meant to make the story more like a parable or if Greene's obsession with Catholic angst just rendered all context unimportant to him, but for me it was a missed opportunity.
The setting is a Southern State of Mexico where a deadly Catholic purge has been underway for ten years. The churches have burned and the priests have fled, or been killed, or renounced their vocations - except for one. Quite how such a stupid, vacilating character managed to evade capture for so long is beyond comprehension, but nevermind - even more frustrating is that the situation is never explained. Why is the purge happening? Why is it State-wide but not Nation-wide? What year is it, anyway? Why are distilled spirits and wine illegal when beer is legal? I don't know if ignoring all this was meant to make the story more like a parable or if Greene's obsession with Catholic angst just rendered all context unimportant to him, but for me it was a missed opportunity.
Powerful and bold. I worried that too many of the characters were too morally aware, even the dog, but maybe that was the point?