THE BLACK MADONNA AND THE YOUNG SCULPTOR

A woodcarver’s sacred project unites Druids and Christians in artistic communion in this soulful fantasy adventure.

It’s the year 99 C.E., and the Gaulish townsfolk of Carnotum—present-day site of the cathedral of Chartres in France—are suffering under the jackboot of the Roman Empire, which is intent on stamping out worship of their Celtic gods. When the Black Virgin, an ancient wooden statue of a divine mother and child, gets vandalized, the Druidic priest Bryok asks young woodcarver Caradoc to sculpt a replacement. The assignment poses dangers—he’s menaced by Carnotum’s chieftain Turi, who wants to carve the statue himself—and pitches Caradoc into a labyrinth of occult experience. He is supervised by a veiled woman named Lavena, aka Crunarch, “the keeper of the flame,” who provides him with candles, lightning-felled wood, consecrated tools, and a studio in a forest grotto and drives off marauding Romans with her whip. To help him visualize the Black Virgin, Caradoc consults Kailex, a seeress who goes into a trance to narrate a prehistoric Celtic migration out of an Atlantis-like drowned continent, and the bard Érimón, who sings of the baptism of the Black Virgin. With the sculpture in hand, Caradoc learns that Lavena has been captured by the Romans. He rushes to save her from slavery. Müller’s yarn blends Christian legend with pagan mythology to assimilate the Virgin Mary into a tradition of “earth mothers,” from the Greek goddess Artemis to the Egyptian deity Isis. Apart from some scuffles and a vivid, well-drawn scene of a degrading slave auction, the drama here is mainly emotional, religious, and very female centered. The novel’s mystical effusions—“With the blood from the sacred crucible, the blood that is my blood, that is His blood, that is our blood, I dedicate this place to the eternal feminine within all human beings”—sometimes go on too long. But Müller’s workmanlike, slyly lyrical prose—“he picked up a handful of tiny pebbles and threw them indifferently over the lake, listening to them plop, disrupting the water’s flawless surface and sounding like a clutch of elves clapping”—gives an enchanting folkloric sparkle to Caradoc’s world.

A sometimes turgid, sometimes beguiling fantasy of spiritual awakening through creativity.