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thestoryprofessor 's review for:
Death Comes for the Archbishop
by Willa Cather
I have strongly conflicting thoughts about this book and then one small complaint about a storytelling choice that I think I’ll start with.
The title does this story a disservice. A huge part of why I am conflicted about this book is because it is a gorgeous reflection of one character’s lifetime. It is a meditative look into a Catholic priest’s ministry in what is now New Mexico during the late 19th century. By no means does this story have an ounce of the tone that the title implies. I went in expecting something dangerous, thrilling, or charged because of the title. Instead, I got something arguably better and was frustrated by that. The title refers to the final “chapter” (there are nine “books” separated by smaller chapters each, but really the nine are more like chapters) which has the titular name, and it follows the last (peaceful!) days of the main character Jean Latour. Of course, there are a lot of dangerous events depicted, but they are rendered in the same reflective and thoughtful way the rest of the story is written as. The title is confusing, and this novel deserves something more thoughtful and layered like the enigmatic title of Willa Cather’s other masterpiece, My Antonia.
Now, the source of my conflicting feelings for this novel are extremely personal and very biased, so please take that into account. This is about the exploits and ministry of a Catholic priest, and from my perspective as a Jew… the story reads a bit fanciful of the Catholic impact on early American history. Imagine if someone wrote a beautifully written tale of a peaceful, kindhearted man who was working for the crusades by living amongst “the infidels”, and then that story used his admittedly shiny life of good-natured servitude as a representation of what the Christian ministry was like during that time. It sounds and looks lovely, but it is a clean spot in a very dirty pool. What I mean is, for every major religion has their black spots throughout history, that this book seems to gloss over the destructive effect Catholicism had on indigenous people groups, aggressive settlement, and violent contests over land (that didn’t belong to anyone anyway). This story seems to glorify Catholicism during a time in its history where it should be questioned instead. My history on this, though, has holes in it, so do your own research. Hopefully I am wrong.
Despite this strong opinion… this is a gorgeous book. It is so beautifully written. The prose would be called purple now, but much like in her work My Antonia (which is an even better novel, by the way), every single description is evocative but intentional. No word is only ever meant to be pretty or ornamental. Willa Cather is a classic author that history kinda swept underneath the rug, and I really hope that more people read her work in earnest. She reads like an American Jane Austen and midwestern John Steinbeck. What more could one ask for?
The title does this story a disservice. A huge part of why I am conflicted about this book is because it is a gorgeous reflection of one character’s lifetime. It is a meditative look into a Catholic priest’s ministry in what is now New Mexico during the late 19th century. By no means does this story have an ounce of the tone that the title implies. I went in expecting something dangerous, thrilling, or charged because of the title. Instead, I got something arguably better and was frustrated by that. The title refers to the final “chapter” (there are nine “books” separated by smaller chapters each, but really the nine are more like chapters) which has the titular name, and it follows the last (peaceful!) days of the main character Jean Latour. Of course, there are a lot of dangerous events depicted, but they are rendered in the same reflective and thoughtful way the rest of the story is written as. The title is confusing, and this novel deserves something more thoughtful and layered like the enigmatic title of Willa Cather’s other masterpiece, My Antonia.
Now, the source of my conflicting feelings for this novel are extremely personal and very biased, so please take that into account. This is about the exploits and ministry of a Catholic priest, and from my perspective as a Jew… the story reads a bit fanciful of the Catholic impact on early American history. Imagine if someone wrote a beautifully written tale of a peaceful, kindhearted man who was working for the crusades by living amongst “the infidels”, and then that story used his admittedly shiny life of good-natured servitude as a representation of what the Christian ministry was like during that time. It sounds and looks lovely, but it is a clean spot in a very dirty pool. What I mean is, for every major religion has their black spots throughout history, that this book seems to gloss over the destructive effect Catholicism had on indigenous people groups, aggressive settlement, and violent contests over land (that didn’t belong to anyone anyway). This story seems to glorify Catholicism during a time in its history where it should be questioned instead. My history on this, though, has holes in it, so do your own research. Hopefully I am wrong.
Despite this strong opinion… this is a gorgeous book. It is so beautifully written. The prose would be called purple now, but much like in her work My Antonia (which is an even better novel, by the way), every single description is evocative but intentional. No word is only ever meant to be pretty or ornamental. Willa Cather is a classic author that history kinda swept underneath the rug, and I really hope that more people read her work in earnest. She reads like an American Jane Austen and midwestern John Steinbeck. What more could one ask for?