Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Bless me, Father. I ate a lizard.


I just finished A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller, Jr., yet another in my recent string of post-apocalyptic novels (not sure that says healthy things about where my mind is these days?). In three acts, the book covers almost one thousand years of "history" after an all-out nuclear (or, as our President would say, "nukular") war almost wipes out humanity. On its surface, the book follows the canonization of Saint Leibowitz, a pre-war scientist whose work to preserve knowledge becomes increasingly mythologized over the centuries, leading to his eventual sainthood. On a deeper level, I think this book is about the seemingly inevitable, cyclical nature of humanity, both in its ability to grow and destroy itself, and I also think this book is about how the distance of time can create Gods from regular people.

That latter theme is one I wrestled with for a long time. When I was growing up, I got into regular arguments with my father about attending his church, an institution that was preaching absolute faith in what could, to my mind, at best be described as allegorical stories and fables. I remember asking him if, a thousand years from now and under the right circumstances, people will be worshipping the Lorax, and if entire holidays will be built around where you can and cannot eat green eggs and ham? Looking back, maybe that wasn't a very fair question, but I was thirteen, and fairness (to others) wasn't very high on my to-do list.

This book was slow at times, but the payoff was worth it. I have decided not to read the "sequel," as I worry it would only detract from my enjoyment of this novel and my respect for the author. Solid A.

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