The Latent Book Club’s latest find takes us to 1930s Mexico, and one of Greene’s most powerful characters in the form of his ‘Whisky Priest’.
In The Power and the Glory, classic ‘GrahamGreenish’ (to borrow a phrase from WH Auden) themes abound: Faith, lapsed Catholicism, pride, and competing notions of good and evil. They coalesce around a compelling dramatic narrative, almost fit for the screen. It really is good. Little wonder The Power and the Glory has been lauded as one of Greene’s best works. Join us as we dissect the novel for this week’s review.
First though, a brief aside: Graham Greene once —briefly— considered becoming a priest. In his early twenties, in preparation for his marriage to his first wife, Vivien, Greene took instruction in Catholicism from a Father Trollope, an interesting character in his own right. Father Trollope had played a villain on the West End Stage for around a decade, and this seems entirely apposite that such a (presumably) smooth talker could almost persuade Greene, the dramatist, to the priesthood. Avoiding this fate, Greene nevertheless became lost in, and in many ways infatuated by Catholicism for the rest of his life.
Father Trollope had played a villain on the West End Stage for around a decade, and this seems entirely apposite that such a (presumably) smooth talker could almost persuade Greene, the dramatist, to the priesthood.
Let’s start with the title. The Power and the Glory is not only a powerful combination of words —it is really such a strong title— but it is, of course, lifted from The Lord’s Prayer. Because it’s Greene, the reader harbours little doubt there will be some grasping with religion inside the novel; but so too they have no doubt that religion features heavily in the billing - Christianity and the workings of the church, is put front and centre, right there on the dust jacket. The title is clever too, as the themes of ‘power,’ and its responsibilities; and ‘glory’, or the lack thereof, are the very things that his Whisky Priest (and indeed the other characters) in this novel must work through.
And what is a Whisky Priest? a failure of the clergy, a Priest with little moral rectitude, one who has turned to drink to comfort him from his own failures. By his own admission, our Priest, following his capture for drunkenness confesses: ‘You have a name for me. Oh, I’ve heard you use it before now. I am a whisky priest. I am in here now because they found a bottle of brandy in my pocket.’
What is a Whisky Priest? a failure of the clergy, a Priest with little moral rectitude, one who has turned to drink to comfort him from his own failures.
The setting is the Tabasco area of Mexico, in the early 1930s. Although it scarcely seems believable today, at this time the Mexican government attempted to abolish the Catholic Church in the country. The unnamed Whisky Priest, the last in his area, is on the run from a Lieutenant of Police, sworn to track him down and kill him for his continued observance of the faith, and his encouragement of others. At the same time the Lieutenant also seeks a wanted ‘Gringo’, an American accused of murder. The style of the novel is plain, and these characters compelling. It engages the reader in the way most novels can’t. Nothing is overwrought, and the action is instant.
The novel commences with a decent amount of throat clearing in which it introduces minor characters which are barely referenced again in the novel, and in a rather humdrum way takes you inside their lives. But this really works, and is extremely clever, because of the varied perspectives it gives you. It sets the scene and the tension instantly. One can really feel Mexico, its heat; its denizens, on the page. And through the use of free indirect discourse it shows that the Priest touches all of their lives in some way.
The Priest is a ‘Whisky Priest’ because he is, by his own admission, a failure, and spends most of his time drunk. He is desperate, frequently without money or shelter, and he wanders from town to town, begging for assistance. During the book it becomes clear he literally has nothing - all his sacred objects are taken, he becomes very ill, and at one point he even loses his clothes. But through vignettes and flashbacks we get the sense of him as a younger man too. And there is no doubt he wielded power over his parishes; but less glory. He became vain, complacent, and arrogant. He was prideful and selfish. And he is now destitute.
As he tries to escape the police, the Priest hides in small peasant villages, administering secret masses and scrounging whatever cash the inhabitants are willing to spare, which he instantly spends on drink. One such return is made to his hometown, where we learn he has fathered a daughter in an affair. While this is not what is expected of a priest by any measure, in many ways his newfound fatherhood role is refreshing - the Priest is proud of his daughter, who is clearly cerebral, and he certainly cares for her.
This encounter with his daughter is in fact the beginning of a turning point for the Priest and his character arc. Before he was only interested in getting drunk, and survival. But this makes him want to live —if only for her— and act in a more moral way, for her sake. Despite his failures, this maturity and contrition do much to engage the reader’s empathy.
However, in the midst of the Priest’s epiphany, things take a dark turn when the Lieutenant, frustrated with the local’s fondness for harbouring the Priest, decides to take one hostage from each town he is suspected of being in. If no-one informs him where the Priest is, the hostage is executed.
Our Whisky Priest is still in his home village, near his daughter, when this unfolds. He expects —possibly even desires— to be given up by the villagers. Although the Priest acknowledges he is a failure, his moral turpitude seemingly knows no bounds when he lies to the Lieutenant about his identity, and sees a hostage get taken from the townsfolk, who will be killed on his behalf. He expects to be betrayed, but is not.
How can a man, a Priest no less, with a moral compass abide this? How can he go on hiding, and not merely give himself up, knowing that in so doing, he condemns others to die for him? This was one of the most difficult scenes in the book, and does leave the reader shocked. The Priest rationalises that it is his job to escape capture - just as it is the villager’s job to betray him. A clear analogy can be drawn with the relationship between Jesus and Judas, which the Priest appears to be invoking. It must be noted, however, that this occurs (irrespective of one’s own religious bent) without Jesus’ moral fortitude. Furthermore, comparing oneself to Jesus inevitably offends even irreligious sensibilities. It does, however, as Greene skilfully demonstrates, give you the measure of the man.
As the novel progresses, the Priest resigns himself to capture and execution. Much as he expected the villagers to betray him, when he encounters a febrile ‘half-caste’ (Greene’s nomenclature is quoted here), he knows the man intends to betray him for the reward that has been advertised for his capture. The pair commence walking through the jungle together, where the Priest abandons the man, who is incredibly ill with Malaria, and is seemingly unconcerned about his fate. This sets up a late stage encounter in the novel, which hammers the ‘Judas/Jesus’ symbolism home.
The third act of the novel involves a narrow escape (The priest is captured, imprisoned, and once more expects betrayal - but doesn’t get it). On his release from jail, he is given five pesos by the very Lieutenant he has been evading the whole novel.
Let us touch momentarily on the character of the Lieutenant. He has a surprising degree of introspection. He is totally given over to his dogma —that of the fanaticist— in the form of extirpating the church. He is willing to sacrifice lives in his quest to do it. But he is, in his own way, not without morality. He comes to recognise the Priest as not a bad man, and laments the lives of those he has sacrificed in order to pursue him. In this way, he is almost the perfect antagonist.
Naturally there has to be a recapture, and a moment of reckoning. This comes, not as a surprise to reader, nor Priest (who willingly walks into the trap). The dying Gringo wants his last rights, and the Priest will see to it they are administered, even if going to perform them seals his fate.
Our Priest is a flawed hero, undoubtedly, but one that serves to teach the many lessons on offer in this book: that hope will spring even in the most dire situations; and that the desperate will to survive will eschew egoism.
As the novel closes we get a glimpse of all the characters introduced in the ‘throat clearing’ section, and how, in their modest way, they have been impacted by the Whisky Priest. As the Priest is taken towards the firing squad, he believes he is going to God empty handed (he is mistaken here) and considers ‘that only one thing counts - to be a Saint’ (the glory). In reality, our Priest is braver than he thinks, although not as brave as he had hoped. His final word? ‘Excuse’; what does this mean? ‘No excuse,’ or an apology? We do not know.
Our Priest is braver than he thinks, although not as brave as he perhaps had hoped.
Ultimately though, the novel is one of acceptance: the Priest comes to accept his fate - he is a failure, but one with contrition. The Lieutenant too questions himself, albeit not with the same tenacity. In a world of morals, and moral failures - The Power and the Glory offers a glimpse at the prospect of redemption; of feet of clay and the power of humility.
Above all, Greene demonstrates the Janus-faced nature of humankind; the duality of man. After all, one can be a saint, or a sinner. Perhaps Greene was not entirely a lapsed Catholic after all.
Before you go…
Check out our Latent Book Club finds:
Patrick Stewart’s stellar autobiography, Making It So
Richard Matheson’s devilishly readable I am Legend
Azar Nafisi’s brave Reading Lolita in Tehran
Ann Tyler’s cosily familial Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant
Jane Austen’s incomparable Pride and Prejudice
Iris Murdoch’s triangular The Bell
Henry James’ Gothic Horror Classic, The Turn of The Screw
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