Phil Miller

The Kindle format helped me

The Kindle format helped me decipher many unfamiliar terms which precisely described features of the two settings—one in 287 C.E., the other in 1599-1600 C.E.—both in Rome.

Until I finished the story, I wondered how to sort the fiction from historical facts. Afternotes told me the author intertwined 25 years of research into Saint Cecilia with the history Stefano Maderno, Rome’s greatest sculptor. Indeed, some passages in this book are straightforward quotations or paraphrases from documents of the period.

Even so, much as biblical scholars seek to sort out threads of historical fact from hermeneutical embellishments, Dr. Swick has her sculptor questing after the historical Cecilia amid the legends about early Christian martyrs. For example, Swick portrays two individual martyrs—Sebastian and Maximus –who, in fact, are the same person. Some early monks or priests marked Sebastian’s tomb with the name Maximus to disguise his remains from invading Barbarians. More importantly, the sculptor puzzles over the mystery of the exact cause of Cecilia’s death.

The theme of patriarchy may be the most important value of this novel. The author promotes the importance of women, not only with her focus on Cecilia, but with her sympathetic treatment of other women, especially servants. She describes how Roman men (and women) believed women were to be subservient to their husbands and that their role was to ensure through their chastity the authenticity of the patriarchal line. In the home of Cecilia’s father, “women existed only to serve the needs of the male estate holder.” Moreover, men considered it “vulgar for women to be seen eating or speaking in public.” (P. 39) No wonder Cecilia felt “trapped within a gilded cage of patriarchal oppression.” (p. 304)

Patriarchalism metastasized from the culture of the Empire to the formation of Christianity. In both cultures, men denigrate the importance of women. After Cecilia’s husband Valerian dies, she is left as a young widow. Urban, the bishop of Rome, seeks to appropriate her extensive properties for the church. Unless she signs over her holdings, the state will seize them. With this leverage, then, the early church accumulated large resources from wealthy widows.

For centuries, students of the history of Christianity have learned about the early church fathers, but seldom anything about the female martyrs, such as Cecilia or Agnes. The contributions of women have been overlooked, but with diligent scholarship, they can be brought to light. The church has extolled virginity and women’s celibacy as an expression of betrothal to Christ. However, chastity may also be resistance to patriarchy.

Another fascinating feature of this story is mysticism. Although Stefano the sculptor seems secular, his task of sculpting a statue of St. Cecilia brings him into a deep relationship with the woman whose form he has been commissioned to display. She lived 1300 years before him, but from the day he goes to see her mortal remains, until the day his statue is placed in the church, he is enthralled in a relationship with her. Some days she speaks to him. When she is silent, he is distressed. He depends on her guidance to create her likeness. He takes on an ascetic lifestyle during the months of his project, and when it is over, he returns to the self-indulgence of his earlier life.

On two occasions, I’ve encountered Christian relics. The first was in 1964, when I was on a mission trip and we visited a Cathedral in Mexico City. As a 15-year-old kid from a Protestant family, the macabre relics baffled me. Bones and hair in glass cases that attracted devout worshippers didn’t jibe with my spirituality. The second occasion was in 2024, when I visited churches in Europe, where I saw glass cases in cathedrals for viewing the remains of ancient heroes hidden in a suit of armor. By that time, I realized that people from many cultures outside of Christianity also revere relics to connect with values inherited from previous generations. Nevertheless, the story of Stefano being taken to see the remains of Cecilia and others, while believable, still felt strange.

This novel provides a wealth of thematic material worth discussing, as well as symbols worth exploring. I highly recommend it, especially to those interested in early Christianity, in fine art, and in the role of women in a patriarchal world.

The protagonist is a 17-year-old boy, Connor Hode, who returns home from a hunting trip and finds his parents and sisters dead in bed, overcome by some disease. Suddenly, he’s on his own with the few tools and various lessons he has inherited. He becomes a scout for the colonial army during the French and Indian War.

Connor’s adventures include the challenges of French soldiers, Huron warriors, a British officer with royal ties, and a dangerous brave from a friendly tribe. His sometime benefactor is Benjamin Franklin, who at this stage presides over his Philadelphia library.

Inevitably, it seems, Connor must kill other human beings. After the first time, he says, “I could never feel innocent again.” (p. 87) However, an older soldier, Bob, tells Connor, “Big difference between killin’ and murderin’.” (p. 88) Later, Benjamin Franklin, a Quaker, convinces him that self-defense as well as the defense of an innocent person may justify killing in a way that distinguishes it from murder.

A story such as this one affects me much like an historical drama presented on a stage. I don’t interpret it literally. I may not agree with the justifications for killing. Nevertheless, I can identify with young Connor in his fight for survival and admire his resourcefulness and overall character. I can see how this book might appeal to many young men, in particular.