Ronald Knox and Sherlock Holmes: The Origins of Sherlockian Studies

Ronald Knox and Sherlock Holmes: The Origins of Sherlockian Studies– Five Writings by Ronald Knox, edited with an introduction by Michael J. Crowe.  Gasogene Books, 2011.  126 pages.  Hardcover, $32.95.

 

Monsignor Ronald Knox is known for being a famous convert to Roman Catholicism, influenced in part by a pre-Catholic G.K. Chesterton, as well as being a famous Catholic apologist in his own right. Additionally, Knox was a great fan of mysteries, writing several detective stories himself and subjecting crime writing to serious– and not so serious– literary criticism.

 

Knox is generally credited as being the leading architect of what is now affectionately referred to as “The Great Game.” This is a form of pseudoscholarship that treats the Sherlock Holmes tales of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as if they were actual events imperfectly recorded. Many practitioners of “The Great Game” treat Sherlock Holmes as a real human being. Discrepancies and errors in the Doyle Canon (often referred to as the Sacred Writings) are explained in logical yet imaginative ways. Fans ponder about unrevealed details of Doyle’s characters’ lives, and posit theories about their favorite To cite one famous example, Doctor Watson’s official full name is John Hamish Watson, but in one story, Mrs. Watson refers to her husband as “James.”

 

Knox actually wrote to Doyle for an explanation, and the reply declared that this name mix-up was a simple misprint. Not everyone was convinced. One theorist contended that Mrs. Watson’s tongue slipped and she called her husband by the first name of her secret lover– Professor James Moriarty! More widely accepted by practitioners of The Great Game are the musings of Dorothy L. Sayers, who suggested that Mrs. Watson preferred to address her husband by his middle name due to some negative connotations with the name “John,” and being very English insisted on Anglicizing the Scottish “Hamish” to the more familiar English “James.”

 

This anthology contains all five of Knox’s known writings on Sherlock Holmes, including the essay “Studies in the Literature of Sherlock Holmes,” the article that launched The Great Game. Originally meant as a means to both celebrate Doyle’s fiction and satirize the New Criticism of the Bible, this essay opened a window for a new way of looking at mysteries. While parodying intellectual foibles, Knox demonstrated that overanalyzing fiction can also be fun.

 

Doyle was impressed and nonplussed by Knox’s efforts, telling Knox that, “I cannot help writing to you to tell you of the amusement– and also the amazement– with which I read your article on Sherlock Holmes. That anyone should spend such pains on such material was what surprised me.”

 

Other entries in this volume include Knox’s introduction to an anthology of mystery short stories, containing his famous “Ten Commandments of Mystery Writing.” Here, Knox advocated rules of fair play for the crime writer who wished to produce quality fiction and respect his readers. These “Commandments” included dictums such as that the criminal must be a character introduced fairly early on in the story, though the reader must not be privy to the workings of the killer’s mind. Superfluous secret passages, twin siblings, evil Chinese stereotypes, fictional poisons, and supernatural forces are to be largely eschewed, although exceptions can be made in certain cases. Interestingly, many masters of the genre broke Knox’s rules quite brilliantly in several classic works.

 

Two essays of pseudoscholarship are included in this volume, including “The Mathematics of Mrs. Watson,” exploring the backstories of some major characters; and “The Mystery of Mycroft,” which contends that Sherlock’s elder brother was in fact an agent working in collaboration with Professor Moriarty. The volume is rounded out by the pastiche Holmes short story “The Adventure of the First Class Carriage.”

 

Crowe’s introduction gives a brief summary of Knox’s life and intellectual career, as well as the impact on Sherlock Holmes on popular culture. Crowe also provides extensive annotations for details that most contemporary readers will not understand, as well as a very short bibliography of some of the leading works of Holmesian scholarship and pseudoscholarship. 

 

Knox’s legacy of Sherlockian studies continues today. The Baker Street Journal, a publication of scholarly and pseudoscholarly topics connected to Holmesian miscellany, has been in existence since 1946. Ronald Knox and Sherlock Holmes is a valuable read for fans of either of the title figures, classic mystery fans, and anyone who is sick and tired of literary scholarship that makes fiction seem dull and pallid.

–Chris Chan

This review was first published in Gilbert!

Bertrand de Jouvenel: The Conservative Liberal and the Illusions of Modernity

Bertrand de Jouvenel: The Conservative Liberal and the Illusions of Modernity

by Daniel J. Mahoney

Wilmington, Delaware: ISI Books, 2005

218 pages; soft cover $15 

 

Many pundits allege that the latter half of the twentieth century is notable for its relative paucity of towering intellectual figures. ISI Books’ new Library of Modern Thinkers argues that the promulgation of that belief lies in the fact that many impressive minds are simply obscure. In Bertrand de Jouvenel: The Conservative Liberal and the Illusions of Modernity, the fifth book in the Library of Modern Thinkers series, Daniel J. Mahoney argues that the ideas of this difficult-to-classify political philosopher are indispensable to a fuller understanding of the nature of modern politics and morality.

Political scholars Dennis Hale and Marc Landy have dubbed de Jouvenel (1903-1987) “the least famous of the great political thinkers of the twentieth century.” Mahoney portrays de Jouvenel as a brilliant thinker who addressed issues with a subtlety and thoroughness unmatched by most of the celebrated intellectual figures of his day. The paradox in the subtitle (“conservative liberal”) underlines de Jouvenel’s determination to follow “a principled middle path between reactionary nostalgia and progressive illusions.” De Jouvenel’s inability to be easily politically categorized led him to be dismissed as irrelevant or ignored by many pundits.

If de Jouvenel had such a perceptive mind, then why is he a peripheral figure in today’s intellectual discourse? Mahoney suggests that at pivotal moments in his career, de Jouvenel was his own worst enemy. As a young man, de Jouvenel was just starting out as a journalist and tried to gain fame by interviewing some of the leading political figures of his day. His interviews with Winston Churchill and Neville Chamberlain advanced his reputation considerably, but he made a mistake with lifelong career reverberations when he interviewed Hitler in 1936. At the time he considered the article a triumph of investigative journalism, but despite the fact that he had no sympathy for Nazism and worked for the French Resistance during WWII, the interview forever stigmatized de Jouvenel.

De Jouvenel’s lack of fame is due to more than an ill-fated article from early in his career. Mahoney occasionally berates de Jouvenel for his “lack of character,” a charge that seems to blame de Jouvenel for not being omnipotent. Additionally, de Jouvenel is often castigated for his attempts to “reinvent himself.” Late in his life, de Jouvenel partially moved away from some (but not all) of the “conservative liberal” views that made him an intellectual force to be reckoned with and instead moved towards some leftist groups, even going so far as to express some empathy with socialist and communist causes. Mahoney is not enthusiastic about the alterations in de Jouvenel’s public image, but he believes that such attitude changes should be interpreted as a mild identity crisis, not as a repudiation of the scholar’s earlier work.

The critical stance de Jouvenel takes towards modernism is based on his criticism of twentieth-century politics. Those who attended the 2004 Chesterton Conference will likely remember a debate between Dale Ahlquist and Mark Pilon on the merits and shortcomings of the French Revolution. Since then, the debate has occasionally reemerged onto the pages of Gilbert Magazine. Mahoney enters the debate swinging both fists, coming down squarely on the side of those who see the French Revolution as a tragic mistake. Mahoney uses de Jouvenel’s musings to argue that the French Revolution helped to perpetuate the great crises of the twentieth century by glorifying institutionalized violence, mob rule, and irreligion, thereby inspiring the world wars and totalitarian systems that besieged Europe. It is insinuated that the aforementioned plagues are an integral part of the modern political system, and that a preference to listen to inflammatory demagogues rather than reasonable and reflective political scholars like de Jouvenel.

Chesterton and his views on distributism are mentioned briefly in a section describing de Jouvenel’s views on economics and calls for redistribution of property. Mahoney thinks highly of Chesterton, but argues that distributism never became widely popular in twentieth century Europe despite widespread calls for economic change because it was insufficiently radical. Distributism does not appeal to people who “demand the revolutionary creation of a new man.” People were more interested in a utopian future than an idyllic past, and therefore turned to ideologies like socialism or communism in order to satisfy their desire for a complete restructuring of the societal structure.

This book focuses mostly on de Jouvenel’s work, Mahoney’s personal critique of his writings, and the opinions of other scholars of de Jouvenel’s work. There are a lot of unexplained technical references that will only be understood by experts. By focusing almost entirely on the man’s ideas and providing a relative paucity of biographical information, the book does an excellent job of explaining the intricacies of his philosophy and outlining his role in twentieth century intellectual discourse, but it only supplies a glimpse into the psyche that formulated impressive political musings.

 

This is not so much a book about a man as it is a book about a voice crying out in the wilderness. Mahoney predicts that because he was a “great defender of European liberty,” de Jouvenel “will be read long after Sartre, Althusser, Bourdieu, and Foucault have been relegated to the realm of ideological criticism.” This may be so, but this book will appeal mainly to people interested in ideological criticism and comparative political theory.

–Chris Chan

This review first appeared in Gilbert!

Gosnell: The Untold Story of America’s Most Prolific Serial Killer

Gosnell: The Untold Story of America’s Most Prolific Serial Killer, by Ann McElhinney and Phelim McAleer.  Regnery Publishing, 2017.  256 pages.  Hardcover, $27.99.

 

This is not an easy book to read. According to Ann McElhinney’s preface, it was even harder to write. She describes the process of creating the book, saying that, “Reading the testimony and sifting through the evidence in the case in the research for this book and for writing the script of the movie has been brutal. I have wept at my computer. I have said the Our Father sitting at my desk. I am no holy roller– I hadn’t prayed in years– but at times when I was confronted with the worst of this story I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

I am not sure how to recommend reading this book.  It might be too much to take all in one sitting, but if someone were to start reading and set it aside, it might be too difficult to start reading again.  And it does need to be read in its entirety, because it is one of the more powerful and disturbing books that I have read recently. The tone is just right– another writer might have poured on the outrage at the expense of the quality of the narrative. An emotionally powered, angry book might have backfired and created a less gripping story, and while the central character is enigmatic in many ways, it soon becomes absolutely evident that he has no shame or remorse over what he did.

 

Dr. Kermit Gosnell ran an infamous abortion clinic in Philadelphia for many years. As described in the book, it was as close to being a hell on earth as humanly possible. The conditions were so unsanitary that merely reading the descriptions make one wish to spray one’s eyes with Lysol. Animals, waste matter, and fetal remains filled the building, many babies were born alive and killed soon afterwards in grisly manners, and some of Gosnell’s patients died due to complications from botched abortions. In addition, some members of the staff were inadequately trained, and an illegal drug prescription business proliferated.

 

A simple description of the filth and squalor is enough to make one seriously ill. The descriptions of the various forces that kept this clinic going are even more unsettling. Politicians and government employees failed in their duties to regulate Gosnell’s business, and members of the press who pride themselves on their investigative skills and revealing cover-ups simply sat on their hands and refused to provide coverage of what was going on at the clinic. The book provides a double gut punch. The reader is left nauseated by what happened, and enraged that those who swore to protect society failed in their duties.

 

In his introduction, Alan Robertson writes, “Page after page of this book shows how many people whose job it was to protect women and children instead failed them miserably.  It started with a greedy Dr. Gosnell and his untrained and severely flawed staff.  Dr. Gosnell’s wife, Pearl, became his willing accomplice instead of his ultimate accountability.  The Pennsylvania Department of Health and other higher government officials, including a Republican governor, failed to protect and do their jobs. They ignored truth, looked the other way, and did not enforce the law.  The local and national media did nothing to shine light on this story and even when shamed to cover the trial did the minimum in terms of reporting.”

 

There are some flashes of light in this gruesome narrative. Probably the nicest pages of the book are those devoted to Detective Jim Wood and his work. Known as “Woody,” the detective was instrumental in bringing down Gosnell and revealing what happened behind the clinic doors.  Wood has not had an easy life– several grueling family tragedies he endured are recounted in the book– but nothing seems to have blunted his determination to do good in the world.

 

If Wood represents human decency in this book, several of the other characters, mostly clinic workers, embody the most disturbing ethical lapses and moral colorblindness to which people can fall prey. Various members of the clinic staff are profiled, and reading how they started working there and what they did is like watching a fifty-car pileup on the freeway happen in slow motion. Most memorable and unsettling of all is the portrayal of Gosnell himself. Gosnell is interviewed towards the end of the book, and his cool, confident in his own eventual exoneration persona is haunting.

 

Disturbing, difficult, and ultimately heartbreaking, Gosnell is well worth the effort that goes into reading it.

–Chris Chan

This review first appeared in Gilbert!

The Blood Red Crescent

 The Blood Red Crescent, by Henry Garnett.  Manchester, New Hampshire: Sophia Institute Press, 2007.  176 pages, Softcover, $14.95

Growing up, I always loved adventure stories about young people in turbulent historical times, embarking on all sorts of escapades, ranging from locating hidden treasure to saving the world. Mind you, I never had any patience with poorly written or lowbrow novels, which only served to mar the memory of those who lived in the past by portraying their lives as frothy, pointless mixtures of pap and soap opera. Happily, Henry Garnett’s work respects his audience. The Blood Red Crescent is a fine example of the “adventurous youth helps save the world” genre, focusing on one young man’s growth towards maturity and his participation in the battle of Lepanto.

The Blood Red Crescent takes its name from a threat that the Ottoman Sultan made during his invasions of Europe. The Sultan declared that his Islamic forces would conquer all of Europe, and that he would place a gigantic pennant above the dome of St. Peter’s, marked with a crimson moon painted with Christian blood. The central character is the teenaged Guido Callatta, who in 1570 is shaken from his world of comfortable Venetian privilege as the Turkish forces threaten his life and the lives of those he loves. Guido and his family are forced to flee, and Guido gains military experience and life advice from an eclectic assortment of individuals, both real and fictional, culminating in his participation in helping Don John of Austria triumph against the Ottomans.

Blood Red Crescent is written at a level suitable for intelligent teenage children, although certain violent scenes might require parental discussion. This is not a novel that should be read simply on its own. It needs to be put in historical context, with the far-reaching repercussions of the victory– which cannot be integrated into the context of the novel– made clear, illustrating in specific ways just how critical the victory truly was. The novel is an excellent introduction to learning more about the history of Lepanto. Read in tandem with Chesterton’s Lepanto (perhaps in the recently published edition that includes historical background), it is an entertaining and richly informative way to learn more about a critical historical event that is largely overlooked today. 

The general plot of the book focuses on Guido’s training to become a soldier and how he gains training from a variety of different sources, ranging from sailors to soldiers to cranks to the clergy. In an atmosphere where members of religious orders are commonly depicted as base caricatures, it is rather refreshing to find a book where the clergy are shown to possess perception, wisdom, and honor. It is disturbingly commonplace to see a highly Christianized Europe regarded dismissively as a repressive, backwards place. In Garnett’s novel, Christian culture is liberating, ennobling, and joyous, a society that deserves defending. 

An interesting aspect of Guido’s training is the fact that while he is being trained as a deadly archer, he is constantly coached to maintain his sense of honor and decency. He is trained to be a skillful soldier, but his mentors urge him to take no pleasure in destruction, and to always treat his enemy fairly, never forgetting his opponent’s humanity. Furthermore, Guido is also coached to consider what kind of life he should seek after the warfare ends, since after he puts away his weapons he will need to live a life that benefits his society and serves God.

The main reason why I cannot rave wholeheartedly about Garnett’s book is not because of any inherent flaws in the work, but because the good aspects of the book could conceivably have been a great deal better. In a book that caters to a youthful audience, it is important to keep the tension high and to frequently pepper the novel with humor or horror, preferably both.  Unfortunately, several stretches of the book contain precious little action, and real laughs and genuine cringes are hard to find. More time ought to have been spent describing the actual battle of Lepanto. Such a dramatic culmination to the book deserves the biggest payoff possible.

Despite the shortcomings, The Blood Red Crescent is well worth reading, especially as a book that parents and their older children can explore together. Ultimately, this book is not about a physical adventure as it is about a spiritualadventure. The battle scenes, daring rescue attempts, and tension-packed chases only provide a limited amount of the novel’s true action. The real action lies within young Guido’s mind and soul as he learns what it means to be a good, Christian man and a defender of his world.

–Chris Chan 

This review first appeared in Gilbert!

The Dean Died Over Winter Break: The First Chronicle of Brother Thomas

The Dean Died Over Winter Break: The First Chronicle of Brother Thomas, by Christopher Lansdown. CreateSpace and Silver Empire, 2018. 202 pages. Softcover, $9.99. Kindle e-book $4.99.

 

The investigator at the heart of The Dean Died Over Winter Break is a high-concept figure: a member of the F.B.I. Not the government agency, the Franciscan Brothers of Investigation. When a university dean is killed on-campus, and the official authorities are at a dead end, Brother Thomas of the F.B.I. is called in to solve the case before the undergraduates come back.

 

It’s a fun whodunit, with some intriguing characters and twists, and the crux of the investigation comes from Brother Thomas’ studies of human psychology and behavior. It’s a traditional mystery, with none of the gloom and heavy-handed darkness that mars so much of today’s detective fiction.

 

Readers with opinions and tastes like mine will enjoy the reflections on religion, philosophy, and G.K. Chesterton. Those with differing literary palates may not be so pleased.

 

In his author’s note, Lansdown writes, “I apologize that it wasn’t longer—in stories that we like, we come to care about the characters, and they have life more or less in proportion to page count. On the other hand their quality of life is defined by the quality of those pages, which in large part forms the practical limitation that keeps novels from being millions of pages long... If you wanted more, so did I, and you have my sympathy.” I certainly do want more, though not for this specific mystery.

 

The idea of an abbey filled with detectives is a great initial premise, but it leads to the fact that more backstory is needed. Like many first entries in a series, The Dead Died Over Winter Break suffers a little bit from what I call “expositionitis”– the fact that the need to provide plenty of backstory to describe the setting and characters tends to lead to choppy narratives and lots of explanation. This is often unavoidable, though much of this could have be assisted with an “Episode Zero,” an introductory narrative explaining how the order of the F.B.I. was founded, how various men joined the order, and quick mini-mysteries outlining their investigative training and the development of their reputation.

 

I hope that The Dean Died Over Winter Break is the start of a series of novels featuring Brother Thomas and his fellow investigators.

 

 

 

Lessons Learned from Star Trek, by Nicholas H. Kovacs. Lulu.com, 2018. 420 pages. Kindle e-book, $6.99.

 

This book is a fan’s tribute to the ways that a favorite science fiction franchise has influenced his life, and describing the various morals than can be derived from the various shows and movies. The affection for the topic is evident on every page, and the encyclopedic knowledge of the Star Trek universe is similarly obvious with each paragraph.

 

Kovacs explains in his Introduction how Star Trek has influenced his life in a heartfelt passage:

 

“For me personally, Star Trek has become one of my great passions in life. I remember being introduced to Star Trek by my father in the late 1980s, when I was in the second grade. At this time, I was a big fan of the “He-Man: The Masters of the Universe” cartoon series. My dad started to feel that I was getting too old for cartoons, believing I needed a hobby that was more appropriate for my age, and introduced me to the world of Star Trek. I can’t remember the title of the first Star Trek episode I ever watched, but I do remember it was from “The Original Series”. After watching a couple adventures of Captain Kirk, I began to develop a deep enjoyment of the Star Trek universe. Seeing all the cures for diseases and advanced technology in the Star Trek universe, made me want to command the USS Enterprise, and hope that one day the Star Trek universe would come true. Having since birth a genetic disability (Spinal Muscular Atrophy) that has confined me to a wheelchair, made me wish as I was growing up, to live in the fictional universe of Star Trek. I still have this wish today as an adult. In some ways, the fictional universe of Star Trek has become a reality, such as the development of voice recognition for computers. With my disability, I have found voice recognition programs for computers to be really helpful.”

 

This is a very useful book, but it is not for the novice to Star Trek, or even the casual fan. There are simply too many details about aliens, culture, and background information about decades of details connected to a major franchise to for the individual who doesn’t know the difference between a Romulan and a Vulcan to pick up the book and read it clearly. Indeed, the analytical narrative is filled with plenty of spoilers for major episodes, and therefore, the book is best for people with a similarly thorough knowledge of at least three of the Star Trek television series.  

 

Longtime fans will find much to discuss about one of their favorite franchises.  This is a labor of love, and those who care about Star Trek as much as Kovacs will be inspired by the work of a kindred spirit.

This review first appeared in Gilbert!

The Myth of Hitler’s Pope: How Pope Pius XII Rescued Jews from the Nazis

 The Myth of Hitler’s Pope: How Pope Pius XII Rescued Jews from the Nazis, by Rabbi David G. Dalin. Washington, DC: Regnery Publishing, Inc., 2005. 209 pages, Hardcover, $27.95.

 

Rabbi Dalin’s The Myth of Hitler’s Pope is far from the first book to clear the name of Pope Pius XII, but it is certainly an admirable defense and a welcome addition to the growing scholarship on the subject. The charges leveled against Pius XII are widely known: during the Second World War, the Pope was allegedly responsible for the deportations and eventual deaths of thousands of Jews. In this narrative, at best, Pius XII simply remained aloof and silent as the Holocaust steamrolled Europe; at worst, the Pope was an active Nazi collaborator, enthusiastically purging Jews from central Italy. In this portrait, Pius XII was cold and cruel, driven by a sociopath’s sadism and a centuries-old tradition of anti-Semitism.

It is probably accurate to say that this is the prevailing view of the pontiff’s legacy today, and the image appears in numerous forms. It is no coincidence that in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the Minister of Magic who is cursed into collaborating with the Death Eaters bears the Christian name Pius. John Cornwell’s Hitler’s Pope captured the popular imagination. Using a slew of secondary sources, Cornwell’s book condemned Pius XII for his complicity in the Holocaust. Cornwell became a media darling, and countless people who never read his book still took the title (which summed up Cornwell’s thesis in only two words) to heart.

The chief flaw in this papal portrait is that it is patently false. As Dalin illustrates, the widely held caricature of Pius XII’s career is more than just a distortion of the true historical record, it is a flat-out lie. Far from being an enthusiastic Nazi supporter, the Pope was actually one of Hitler’s staunchest enemies. Pius XII actually saved the lives of thousands of Jews, leading an effort to protect the Jewish population. Nuns sheltered Jews in their convents, the Vatican funded food drives to help the Jews, and Pius XII even turned his summer residence into a sanctuary for Jewish refugees. The Pope’s position as a statesman required him to maintain a certain level of civility with enemy authorities, and papal denunciations tended to exacerbate already difficult situations, so he was forced to temper his public criticisms in order to avoid potentially disastrous repercussions from Hitler’s or Mussolini’s armies. Pius XII developed a firm friendship with Israel Zolli, the Chief Rabbi of Rome. Zolli gained such a powerful respect for Pius XII that he eventually converted to Catholicism.

One might think that the Pope’s actions would have earned him a reputation as one of the great heroes of World War Two, but unfortunately, the opposite has proven to be the case. Other European leaders were shamed by the Pope’s defense of the Jews, and they minimized his contributions in order to distract from their own inaction. Pius XII did little to self-promote his own good works, but prominent Jews ranging from Albert Einstein to Golda Meier all praised the Pope for his accomplishments. It was not until the left-wing playwright Rolf Hochhuth, backed by communist officials desperate to discredit the Catholic Church, released the play The Deputy in 1964, that the world’s perception of Pius XII changed. Though Hochhuth’s work is in fact an utter inversion of reality, the image of Pius XII as a Jew-loathing bureaucrat with liquid nitrogen in his veins lodged itself into the public mindset and refused to be shaken, like some monstrously gigantic kidney stone. The Deputy won a Tony Award for Best Producer when it came to Broadway, and Hochhuth swiftly gained numerous fans. The fictional play permeated the historical record, despite the fact that the evidence proved the opposite conclusions.

Books clearing Pius XII are often dismissed out of hand as the scribblings of overzealous Catholics desperate to whitewash their religion’s guilty past, so it is fortunate that the good rabbi has taken it upon himself to defend the honor of the man who did more to thwart the Holocaust than any other world leader. The book opens with a history of how the slanders started, and moves on to describing the papacy’s long tradition of defending Jews (although the teachings of the popes were often ignored by the broader culture– some things never change).  Pius XII’s career and legacy are next evaluated, the recalcitrance of the liberal media to accept his exoneration follows, the enduring effects of Muslim anti-Semitism come next, and the book concludes with Pope John Paul II’s work at improving Christian/Jewish relations.

Dalin has created a highly readable and interesting book, but this is not the definitive exoneration of Pius XII. There are many other studies, some of which dig far deeper into the KGB’s attempts to slander the Catholic Church through the dissemination of false history, or provide much more extensive refutations of the “scholarship” condemning the Pope, but anyone interested in the subject ought to turn to Dalin for a brief but thorough introduction.

One question Dalin never answers is what it will take to smother the anti-Pius XII slanders for once and for all. Evan though Cornwell renounced his own work once dedicated scholars disproved all of the central claims of Hitler’s Pope, mainstream intellectual currents have thoroughly ignored the truth. Dalin suggests that individuals who wish to advance an antireligious agenda, as well as Catholics who want to reshape the Church into something radically altered from its current state, perpetuate the false image of the frosty, bigoted Pope in order to score political points. The mass media has shown no interest in setting the record straight, and Pius XII’s defenders are often tarred with the charges of anti-Semitism themselves. 

The miscomprehensions started with a play; perhaps another play is the answer to rehabilitating Pius XII’s image. I have an idea for a trilogy of plays revolving around Pius XII’s life and legacy. The first play would be a refutation of The Deputy, depicting Pius XII’s true actions and character during the Holocaust. The second play would be based on the production of The Deputy, fueled by the KGB’s propaganda wing. The final piece of the trilogy would revolved around a group of present-day scholars and how a university would try to suppress pro-Pius XII scholarship in the name of political correctness. It might work, but given the tendency to believe the worst of other people in order to cushion one’s own prejudices, I’m pessimistic about the effectiveness of such a project.

–Chris Chan

This review first appeared in Gilbert!

The Metaphysical Mysteries of G.K. Chesterton

The Metaphysical Mysteries of G.K. Chesterton: A Critical Study of the Father Brown Stories and Other Detective Fiction, by Laird R. Blackwell.  McFarland, 2017.  188 pages.  Softcover, $49.95.

 

 

The Metaphysical Mysteries of G.K. Chesterton is a collection of short reviews and recaps of most of Chesterton’s novels and short stories that feature crimes. Father Brown tales make up the vast majority of the miniature essays, but novels like Manalive, and short story collections like The Paradoxes of Mr. Pond and The Club of Queer Trades are featured.

 

Blackwell introduces himself as a longtime fan of Chesterton’s detective fiction, and his appreciation for Chesterton’s most brilliant twists and crime situations reveal a deep appreciation for the great man’s writing skills. However, Blackwell falls into the subcategory of critics who balks at the overt religiosity of Chesterton’s works, and this leads to some critical judgements on Blackwell’s part that may chafe many members of the The Society of Gilbert Keith Chesterton, myself included.

 

Throughout the book, Blackwell complains about Father Brown’s sermonizing, and the introduction of moral themes into the detective stories. This is a common complaint in many circles, but I find it rather unfair that Father Brown is attacked for being a priest who takes pride in his job and is good at it.  It seems as if critics like Blackwell are insisting that religion has to be relegated so deeply into the private sphere, that not even fictional priests are allowed to discuss it. 

 

On multiple occasions, Blackwell accuses Father Brown of “religious chauvinism” simply for defending the Catholic faith and for arguing in favor of Catholic moral principles and worldviews. (Blackwell tends to repeat his criticisms over and over again, using the same language most times.) The critics may rail against preachiness, but to me it seems like an attempt to drive certain viewpoints out of the public eye. I have yet to find a prominent reviewer demand that acclaimed postmodern novelists delete long passages about nihilism and moral relativism from their books on the grounds of preaching an unwelcome perspective, and I see no reason why Father Brown should be told to shut up when the prophets of despair are allowed free rein.

 

Personally, I have always seen Father Brown’s sermons as a means of explaining how the human mind and soul can go dreadfully wrong, causing people to commit all sorts of crimes. To me, Father Brown’s reflections are comparable to the summations in psychological crime novels that explain the mental processes behind a violent killer’s psyche. Studying the spiritual rot and shortcomings that may lead someone to crime seem just as important to me as the psychological, cultural, and socio-economic stimuli that cause lawbreaking and destruction.

 

Blackwell includes a list of what he considers to be Chesterton’s best detective stories, though I personally was stunned to discover that the tale I believe to be the best Father Brown story of all, “The Chief Mourner of Marne,” didn’t make the cut.

 

This book’s primary value comes from Blackwell adding his personal insights and perspectives on Chesterton’s mysteries and occasional insights on his plotting skills. However, fans of Chesterton’s work will find little that they don’t already know. People who have already read Chesterton’s fiction extensively will already know the details of the stories, and the short summaries (many of which are less than a page and a half long), have been carefully tailored to avoid spoilers, though many of the summaries are so vague as to provide few details about the short stories whatsoever. After reading The Metaphysical Mysteries of G.K. Chesterton, I felt like I was getting a nice insight into why one scholar enjoyed Chesterton’s work, but I did not learn anything original, or even come across any criticisms that I hadn’t seen many times in the past.

 

This is the first critical study of Chesterton’s crime writing to be nominated for the Mystery Writers of America’s Edgar Award for Best Critical/Autobiographical Work (the award is still pending as of this writing).  It’s nice to see Chestertonian studies finally getting more recognition, but given the plethora of fine books on Chesterton and his writings, it’s disappointing that some of the other, more informative and insightful works about Chesterton haven’t made it onto similar award lists in the past.

 

–Chris Chan

This review first appeared in Gilbert!