the seville communion

I worship at the altar of Arturo Perez-Reverte. I've said it before, and I'll say it again now, and probably several times in the days to come, that the man is a genius and totally underappreciated in the States. I hope they treat him like the national treasure he is in Spain. Now I can say that I've read all the major works of fiction translated into English save the latest, and that is a thought of great joy and great despair. I put off reading it til the last because of its obvious religious context: the protagonist and several major characters are Catholic priests. So as expected, there is meat added to the discussion of inappropriate behavior for clerics, the Church of modern times versus its glorious (and not-so-glorious) past, and issues of faith. But there is so very much more and that is what is so exciting and heartbreaking and arresting about the book. (Hell, all of P-R's work is like that, save one, which unfortunately suffered from The Lady from Shanghai syndrome of that other phenomenal genius Mr. Welles.)

It's a beautifully written mystery surrounding a dilapidated church in Seville, Our Lady of the Tears, which happens to be a nexus for women clinging to the past, tormented but forthright priests, and unscrupulous bankers with miscellaneous henchmen. Father Lorenzo Quart reminds me a great deal of Corso (add him to the list, ladies). The most poignant moments are devoted to issues of faith and to the quietly declining nobility:

"We all have a kind of faith," she said at last. And it's something we all very much need, with this century ending so disreputably, don't you think? All those revolutions made and lost. The barricades deserted. The heroes who fought as one are now simply loners clinging to whatever they can find." Her blue eyes eyed him curiously. "Have you never felt like one of those pawns forgotten in a corner of the board, with the sounds of battle fading behind them? They try to stand straight but wonder if they still have a king to serve."

I loved the book. The entire, wonderful, sweeping, intricate thing. When I finally finished it reminded me of when I put down The Flanders Panel, the very first of his novels that I read, and was torn between laughing and crying. Read this if you haven't already. Meanwhile, I'm going to try and calm myself down to rehearse for my job interview tomorrow (fingers crossed).