A poignantly candid memoir artfully combined with a rigorous critique of institutional religion.
A writer reflects on the solace he sought in seminarian life from childhood trauma, and the ways in which the Roman Catholic Church failed him.
Debut author Ward grew up in a drearily chilly household—his mother was violently domineering and his father was a depressive alcoholic who eventually committed suicide. The coldness of his home was often punctured by the vicious beatings his parents delivered—the “angry outbursts and surprise attacks” cultivated an environment of cowed fear. As a result, the author was emotionally tortured and suffered a “dark and dismal” existence. He turned to the Catholic Church for “relief from loneliness and a life without purpose.” He knew he wanted to be a priest since he was 8 years old. At first, when he joined the seminary, he experienced it as his “place of serenity” and the world outside of it the mere “domain of survival.” But he was flummoxed by the lack of spiritual seriousness, the dogmatically rigid adherence to doctrine, and a corrosive environment that was a “breeding ground for sexual pathology.” In his memoir, Ward affectingly relates the grim torment he experienced in his youth as well as his “spiritual evolution” from an enthusiastic Catholic to a principled critic of the church. Ultimately, he came to the conclusion that the church’s obsession with institutional hierarchy was an impediment to its devotion to the spirit of Jesus’ teaching: “I was becoming more and more convinced that the core message of Jesus was being directly eclipsed by the needs and purposes of the organization, the bureaucratic Catholic Church.” In elegant and often stirring prose, intellectually thoughtful but always accessible, the author argues for a more personal understanding of spiritual life, shorn of inelastic doctrinal commitments and the demand for blind obedience to clerical officials. While the crux of Ward’s argument traverses very familiar ground, this is not a mere recounting of his preference for personal over institutional theology. He provides a meticulous argument that the inherent demands of any bureaucratic organization will conflict with a satisfying spiritual life.
A poignantly candid memoir artfully combined with a rigorous critique of institutional religion.Pub Date: Feb. 21, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-64492-977-3
Page Count: 236
Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2020
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
An extraordinary true tale of torment, retribution, and loyalty that's irresistibly readable in spite of its intrusively melodramatic prose. Starting out with calculated, movie-ready anecdotes about his boyhood gang, Carcaterra's memoir takes a hairpin turn into horror and then changes tack once more to relate grippingly what must be one of the most outrageous confidence schemes ever perpetrated. Growing up in New York's Hell's Kitchen in the 1960s, former New York Daily News reporter Carcaterra (A Safe Place, 1993) had three close friends with whom he played stickball, bedeviled nuns, and ran errands for the neighborhood Mob boss. All this is recalled through a dripping mist of nostalgia; the streetcorner banter is as stilted and coy as a late Bowery Boys film. But a third of the way in, the story suddenly takes off: In 1967 the four friends seriously injured a man when they more or less unintentionally rolled a hot-dog cart down the steps of a subway entrance. The boys, aged 11 to 14, were packed off to an upstate New York reformatory so brutal it makes Sing Sing sound like Sunnybrook Farm. The guards continually raped and beat them, at one point tossing all of them into solitary confinement, where rats gnawed at their wounds and the menu consisted of oatmeal soaked in urine. Two of Carcaterra's friends were dehumanized by their year upstate, eventually becoming prominent gangsters. In 1980, they happened upon the former guard who had been their principal torturer and shot him dead. The book's stunning denouement concerns the successful plot devised by the author and his third friend, now a Manhattan assistant DA, to free the two killers and to exact revenge against the remaining ex-guards who had scarred their lives so irrevocably. Carcaterra has run a moral and emotional gauntlet, and the resulting book, despite its flaws, is disturbing and hard to forget. (Film rights to Propaganda; author tour)
Pub Date: July 10, 1995
ISBN: 0-345-39606-5
Page Count: 432
Publisher: Ballantine
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 1995
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
The memoir of George Dawson, who learned to read when he was 98, places his life in the context of the entire 20th century in this inspiring, yet ultimately blighted, biography. Dawson begins his story with an emotional bang: his account of witnessing the lynching of a young African-American man falsely accused of rape. America’s racial caste system and his illiteracy emerge as the two biggest obstacles in Dawson’s life, but a full view of the man overcoming the obstacles remains oddly hidden. Travels to Ohio, Canada, and Mexico reveal little beyond Dawson’s restlessness, since nothing much happens to him during these wanderings. Similarly, the diverse activities he finds himself engaging in—bootlegging in St. Louis, breaking horses, attending cockfights—never really advance the reader’s understanding of the man. He calls himself a “ladies’ man” and hints at a score of exciting stories, but then describes only his decorous marriage. Despite the personal nature of this memoir, Dawson remains a strangely aloof figure, never quite inviting the reader to enter his world. In contrast to Dawson’s diffidence, however, Glaubman’s overbearing presence, as he repeatedly parades himself out to converse with Dawson, stifles any momentum the memoir might develop. Almost every chapter begins with Glaubman presenting Dawson with a newspaper clipping or historical fact and asking him to comment on it, despite the fact that Dawson often does not remember or never knew about the event in question. Exasperated readers may wonder whether Dawson’s life and his accomplishments, his passion for learning despite daunting obstacles, is the tale at hand, or whether the real issue is his recollections of Archduke Ferdinand. Dawson’s achievements are impressive and potentially exalting, but the gee-whiz nature of the tale degrades it to the status of yet another bowl of chicken soup for the soul, with a narrative frame as clunky as an old bone.
Pub Date: Feb. 1, 2000
ISBN: 0-375-50396-X
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Random House
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 15, 1999
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