Lent by Jo Walton

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.