Source of book: Borrowed from the
library
This book was this month’s
selection for the book club I am in, The
Literary Lush. This isn’t a book that was on my list, which is often the
case - the club encourages me to read outside my usual genres.
Jo Walton apparently writes mostly
in the science fiction and fantasy genres. A quick web search will reveal her
wearing a decidedly pointy hat, and she does look the part of a roundish,
benign witch character in one of the classic stories.
Currently a resident of Canada,
she was born in Wales, and speaks fairly fluid Welsh.
Lent is essentially two
books in one. The first third or so is a pretty straight forward historical
fantasy. It tells the story of Girolamo Savonarola, the famous (or infamous if
you prefer) Dominican monk of the 15th Century, who attempted to reform the church
and local politics, before running afoul of the secular government and the
corrupt Catholic church. He was executed as a traitor and a heretic.
One of the quirks of my
fundamentalist homeschool curriculum from my childhood is that, while it was a
pretty egregious whitewashing (and protestant-washing) of history, it did
introduce me to some eras of history that few students even study these days.
One of those eras was the
Renaissance, and I learned about a lot more than just Dante and the great
artists.
Savonarola was one character I
learned about as part of the curriculum. It has been a long time, so I didn’t
remember everything - I definitely did a bit of brushing up as read this book -
but I do recall that the curriculum (which editorialized about literally
everything), had mixed feelings about Savonarola.
On the one hand, he was everything
a Fundie could love: opposed to secular culture and sexuality, tried to
establish a theocracy of sorts, was big on moral reform. On the other, he was
very, very Catholic, which was Bad™. And also, he didn’t just focus on supposed
moral contaminants - he fought against church corruption, and advocated for
civic care of the poor, which is, as has become ever more apparent, a big
bogeyman for American right wing religion.
He also had a bit of a gift for
prophecy, which led to his rise.
So, the first part of the book is
all about the historical Savonarola, from his own perspective. But, with things
like his ability to see and banish demons, and foretell the future very real.
Thus, historical fantasy.
But then, things take a different
turn. We discover, when Savonarola finds himself in hell, that he is actually a
demon, condemned to repeat a human life over and over again, like Groundhog
Day.
This is, in fact, the central pun
of the title. Yes, the season of Lent comes into the story a lot. But it is
also about Girolamo being “lent” to the human world, then “returned” to hell,
where he belongs.
In that first iteration, he is
given a magic stone, which he doesn’t know how to use. But when he returns,
things go slightly differently, and he regains his memory of his past
lives.
Armed with this knowledge, he
decides to change the future in two ways.
First, he attempts to avoid the
mistakes of his prior lives, which led to his death. In addition to this, he
hopes to make his reforms even more permanent.
The second thing, however, is that
he, along with fellow monks, theorize that maybe, just maybe, they can undo the
damnation of the demons. Maybe they too can be saved, as mortals are.
I won’t give away the rest of the
book - a good bit of the fun is finding out all the alternative histories that
the author dreams up. And also, whether any of the attempts to break the spell
of damnation succeed.
I found it an interesting read for
a number of reasons, not least of which is the fact that the author clearly put
in the work to get the historical - and theological - details right. This is
historical fiction done right, not sloppily like so many modern genre novels do
it. (One reason I don’t read that much genre fiction - there is a lot of dreck
out there, and finding the gems isn’t always easy.)
The book is filled with actual
historical figures, events, and controversies. There is a certain amount of
artistic license taken in the sense that Walton puts thoughts into the
characters’ heads, and invents conversations. But the backbone of the story -
at least the first part - is thoroughly plausible.
Also fascinating to me is that the
various characters remain the same throughout each iteration. Yes, they do
different things, they say different things, and they are worked upon by
totally different events. But their essential characters remain true regardless
of situation.
So, the good, empathetic,
thoughtful sorts remain that way in very different circumstances. The bad,
cruel, and vicious ones likewise. Ditto for the greedy, the power-hungry, the
immature, and so on.
What changes most, perhaps, are
the options open to the characters as each alternate timeline unfolds
differently.
The book also functions as a
social commentary on history and our own times. Many of the issues still plague
us today. The lust for political power. The hypocrisy of religious leaders. The
sexual double standard. The questions of “moral” versus economic reform.
And, more than anything, the
seduction of pride and its seeming ubiquity even in otherwise good
actions.
There are a number of pithy lines
that I thought were worth sharing.
First is this early line from
Savonarola, after he has banished a demon that had possessed a nun. The other
nuns worry she could have been killed. He explains that God doesn’t give demons
actual power to do true harm by themselves - they don’t kill or injure humans.
But their true power lies elsewhere.
“But their power to harm seems limited, unless they have
human help. Then they can be truly dangerous…Strange as it is to think, some
will risk eternity for Earthly power.”
Hmm, relevant to today, perhaps,
with those currently in power?
But Savonarola also notes that
with the exception of those who lust for power to use to harm others, humans
tend to have complex motives.
William of Ockham wrote that going to church to display
yourself and your piety was a sin, while going to church out of love of God was
a moral act, but the two are indistinguishable to any Earthly witness. Old
Giovanni Rucellai wants to give to God, and to save his usurious soul from
Hell, and to make people think well of his family, all at the same time. Only
God can judge the complex motives of a human soul.
This is primarily true in the
context of doing good, which can be done for any number of motives. The US
probably ended Jim Crow primarily because it was losing the Cold War abroad
because white supremacy undermined the argument in favor of capitalist democracy.
I think it is less true of true
vicious evil. Nobody commits genocide out of “good” motives, because there are
none. Nobody rapes out of “good” motives either. You can see the difference.
You can know people by their fruit, but good fruit isn’t always as good as it
seems. That said, good deeds from impure motives are still good, and should be
encouraged regardless.
One recurring scene is the death
of Lorenzo D’Medici. As often happens, the relatives of the rich hover like
vultures.
No matter how big or lavish the room, it reminds Girolamo of
many other rooms where families have gathered and squabbled waiting for
death.
There is also an interesting
commentary on an issue that has plagued the Catholic Church for centuries.
Walton addresses it from the perspective of its time, but also cuts to the
bigger issue. Angelo, the poet, is attracted to men, and confesses on his deathbed.
But his actions have always been with men, not boys, which eases Savonarola’s
mind a little.
He hates to see the young boys from poor families sell their
bodies down under the Old Bridge. The sodomites seduce them into unchastity,
turning their heads with flattery and paying them a little for their favours.
If they get caught, it is the boys who suffer, who cannot afford to pay the
fines. There are young boys there every day. Girolamo wishes he could rescue
them, but what could he do with them? There are so many of them and they are
hungry.
Another recurring issue in the
various lives is what to do with Isabella. She is a young woman that the Count
has taken as his mistress. He now feels called to the church, but wants to do
right by Isabella.
He cannot marry her - she is below
his social station. She cannot join one of the main orders as he can, because
she is a “fallen woman.” The best he can do is either find someone who will
marry here despite the stigma, or at least set her up with some money to start
a business.
There is also the option of one of
the “Magdalen” orders - ones that fallen women could join. Isabella does not
wish for this, as she does not accept lifetime humiliation for doing exactly
what the Count has done. Except she at least had the excuse of being poor and
lacking better options. As she puts it, “I have done nothing the count hasn’t
done.”
She is one of two strong women in
the book. The other is Lorenzo’s daughter, who really should have been his
heir. Instead, she is relegated to popping out a never-ending stream of babies
while watching the men fuck everything up.
Another line that really struck me
is one regarding the Count’s death (by poison in the first part.) I have seen
in real life where people who weren’t particularly close to a decedent go
around bragging about the relationship. Sometimes this was to try to get money.
But often just for prestige.
Now the Count is dead, Benivieni
will spend the rest of his life going around telling people how close they
were, how he was his best friend. Girolamo sees it so clearly he isn’t sure
whether it’s prophecy or just an observation of human nature.
In another passage, Girolamo
contemplates the inefficiency of government.
It seems crazy, and it certainly isn’t efficient. But
efficiency is not the only merit in government. It is a bulwark against
tyranny, and as one Italian city-state after another has succumbed to a
powerful tyrant, their odd way seems better and better to the Florentines.
Take note of this with calls to
make government “efficient.” That’s usually a code word for making government a
weapon against its people.
One set of recurring minor
characters are Camilla and Ridolfo. They are parties to an arranged marriage,
which she is unhappy in. The couple decide to dissolve their marriage, and take
vows. However, his heart isn’t in it. As Girolamo tells Camilla, “God wasn’t
calling him, it was just you and me.”
I suspect this is the case all too
often. Let’s just say that I was not called to be a part of Gothard’s cult -
God had nothing to do with it. But my parents “called” me - that is, ordered me
- to join.
I’ll end with a bit of theology.
There is a passage in I Peter which refers to a belief of the early church,
that between Christ’s death and his resurrection, he went down to hell and
released the captives. This is referred to as the Harrowing of Hell.
There are many perspectives on the meaning of this, and have been over
time.
The Evangelical one is pretty much
the shittiest, of course, because a core Evangelical belief is that God will
torture most of the humans he creates forever.
An alternate which dates back to
the early church, however, is the universalist one, that Christ saves
all.
This book adheres to that idea.
Indeed, when Girolamo returns to hell each time and realizes he is a demon, he
notes the utter and complete absence of human souls. They are all either in
paradise or in purgatory.
Hence, the hope that perhaps hell
can be harrowed once again, and the demons given the chance to repent and be
saved.
This is the deeper meaning of the
book. What does damnation and salvation mean? And how is the way we live our
lives connected to that? I won’t give away any spoilers, but the conclusion is
at least interesting in its hint about that.