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Morte D'Urban
Winner of The 1963 National Book Award for Fiction.
The hero of J.F. Powers's comic masterpiece is Father Urban, a man of the cloth who is also a man of the world. Charming, with an expansive vision of the spiritual life and a high tolerance for moral ambiguity, Urban enjoys a national reputation as a speaker on the religious circuit and has big plans for the future. But then the provincial head of his dowdy religious order banishes him to a retreat house in the Minnesota hinterlands. Father Urban soon bounces back, carrying God's word with undaunted enthusiasm through the golf courses, fishing lodges, and backyard barbecues of his new turf. Yet even as he triumphs his tribulations mount, and in the end his greatest success proves a setback from which he cannot recover.
First published in 1962, Morte D'Urban has been praised by writers as various as Gore Vidal, William Gass, Mary Gordon, and Philip Roth. This beautifully observed, often hilarious tale of a most unlikely Knight of Faith is among the finest achievements of an author whose singular vision assures him a permanent place in American literature.
The hero of J.F. Powers's comic masterpiece is Father Urban, a man of the cloth who is also a man of the world. Charming, with an expansive vision of the spiritual life and a high tolerance for moral ambiguity, Urban enjoys a national reputation as a speaker on the religious circuit and has big plans for the future. But then the provincial head of his dowdy religious order banishes him to a retreat house in the Minnesota hinterlands. Father Urban soon bounces back, carrying God's word with undaunted enthusiasm through the golf courses, fishing lodges, and backyard barbecues of his new turf. Yet even as he triumphs his tribulations mount, and in the end his greatest success proves a setback from which he cannot recover.
First published in 1962, Morte D'Urban has been praised by writers as various as Gore Vidal, William Gass, Mary Gordon, and Philip Roth. This beautifully observed, often hilarious tale of a most unlikely Knight of Faith is among the finest achievements of an author whose singular vision assures him a permanent place in American literature.
336 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1962
82 people are currently reading
2759 people want to read
About the author
J.F. Powers
31 books63 followersJames Farl Powers was an American novelist and short-story writer who often drew his inspiration from developments in the Catholic Church, and was known for his studies of Catholic priests in the Midwest. Although not a priest himself, he is known for having captured a "clerical idiom" in postwar North America.
Powers was a conscientious objector during World War II, and went to prison for it. Later he worked as a hospital orderly. His first writing experiment began as a spiritual exercise during a religious retreat. His work has long been admired for its gentle satire and its astonishing ability to recreate with a few words the insular but gradually changing world of post-WWII American Catholicism. Evelyn Waugh, Flannery O'Connor, and Walker Percy praised his work, and Frank O'Connor spoke of him as "among the greatest living storytellers".
Powers was a conscientious objector during World War II, and went to prison for it. Later he worked as a hospital orderly. His first writing experiment began as a spiritual exercise during a religious retreat. His work has long been admired for its gentle satire and its astonishing ability to recreate with a few words the insular but gradually changing world of post-WWII American Catholicism. Evelyn Waugh, Flannery O'Connor, and Walker Percy praised his work, and Frank O'Connor spoke of him as "among the greatest living storytellers".
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 149 reviews
September 16, 2011
If you were brought up Catholic like me [1], you know that—even though you may turn your back on all of it when you finally come to your senses—a lot of it stays with you. And I'm not talking about the beliefs. Those are pure Medievalism, easily dismissible. What I'm talking about is the basic underlying structure of ritualized guilt and repression. You know, the fun stuff. But no matter how much I try to scrub my psyche clean, to expunge the last stubborn residue of Catholicism, I will always to some extent identify myself as Catholic. I'll be honest here. Protestantism is mostly disturbing to me. It's too prosaic, rustic, folksy. Its churches often resemble either barns or airports. The militancy of its more (ahem) passionate adherents (i.e., 'religious nuts') puts most Catholics—often content with passivity and indifference—in the pale. I appreciate the general passionlessness of most Catholics. In my experience, many Catholics understand that religion is just a habit, a custom—something that you do until you don't do it anymore. They are mostly uninterested in shouting out praise to Jesus Christ or embarking upon an undignified religious rapture like some of their Christian peers.
It's funny that the very things that many Protestant sects rebelled against in Catholicism are the very key to its limited appeal (for me): the gothic icons, the melancholia, the cannabilism, and the veneration of the Virgin Mary, just to name a few. Let's face it. Jesus Christ could be either an airy hippie or a lousy humbug at times, and the Virgin Mary is much more endearing. I'd rather talk to her in my prayers any day, and as a child I certainly did. She was the indulgent mother counterposed with the dyspeptic, authoritarian God the Father. We were a 1950s nuclear family—God, Mary, and me—and you can be sure that it was Mary—mild, nurturing Mary, stepping on that fucking serpent—to whom I appealed when I was in trouble.
Now to the point of these ramblings. Morte D'Urban is a book I think I should have loved, and for a while I did, but it was too Catholic even for me. And I don't mean that it shoves Catholic doctrine down your throat or anything—not at all. I mean that it is so riddled with the bureaucratic trappings of Catholicism that it occasionally left me bored or even confused [2].
Now I realize the novel's intention was in fact to illuminate the ways in which the Catholic Church resembles an often inefficient private corporation... mirroring its personal and departmental rivalries, thorny hierarchies, and employee apathy. But sometimes I think J.F. Powers went overboard. A great author does not have to be dull to illustrate dullness. Powers shows he is up to the task at times, as when the protagonist Father Urban (a liberal, charismatic, and motivated priest of the Clementine order) is shuffled off to a rural Minnesota outpost—no doubt a political maneuver by the Father Provincial, who fears Father Urban's popularity. Urban's exchanges with Father Wilfrid, a puttering doofus who runs the Minnesota retreat, are comedy gold. Wilfrid is seemingly only concerned with the maintenance and refurbishment of the retreat house, and as such he enlists Urban in many idiotic do-it-yourself projects. Wilfrid is also preposterously cheap, reluctant even to heat much of the building during the frigid Minnesota winters. I loved the time the novel spent insightfully (and comically) observing these characters at the retreat house.
At other times, I didn't love Morte D'Urban so much. I would say there's about a hundred page stretch in this 340 page book that just kind of drags, concerned as it is on expounding upon the tricky relationships at a nearby parish called St. Monica's and upon Urban's plan to found a golf course adjacent to the retreat center. Powers has a dry, oblique way with his humor that occasionally becomes grating. The narration is third person, but it clearly describes Urban's attitudes and impressions—resulting in a portrait of a slightly arrogant and condescending man. All in all, Urban's not entirely appealing. He's human, sure, but I don't know that he's the best counterposition to the bureaucratic inefficiency and complacency of the Catholic Church. I don't take exception to Urban's self-satisfaction as much as I bristle at his psychological dullness. Sure, next to Father Wilfrid and his ilk, Urban appears lively and colorful, but transposed to St. Monica's and the golf course, he's just another guy. A golfing priest, a Catholic salesman. So what?
[1] When I say 'brought up Catholic' I mean that I went to Catholic grade school, Catholic high school, and a few years of Catholic college. I do not mean that I came from a religious family, however. My parents were indifferent Catholics. We rarely went to Church, and God and religion were never discussed around the house.
[2] I'm not really sure of the distinctions (if there are any) between a monsigneur, a rector, and a priest. Nor do I fully grasp the subtle rivalries between the religious orders. Powers approaches the Catholic bureaucracy as if his audience fully understands its intricacies. Even as a Catholic, I did not.
It's funny that the very things that many Protestant sects rebelled against in Catholicism are the very key to its limited appeal (for me): the gothic icons, the melancholia, the cannabilism, and the veneration of the Virgin Mary, just to name a few. Let's face it. Jesus Christ could be either an airy hippie or a lousy humbug at times, and the Virgin Mary is much more endearing. I'd rather talk to her in my prayers any day, and as a child I certainly did. She was the indulgent mother counterposed with the dyspeptic, authoritarian God the Father. We were a 1950s nuclear family—God, Mary, and me—and you can be sure that it was Mary—mild, nurturing Mary, stepping on that fucking serpent—to whom I appealed when I was in trouble.
Now to the point of these ramblings. Morte D'Urban is a book I think I should have loved, and for a while I did, but it was too Catholic even for me. And I don't mean that it shoves Catholic doctrine down your throat or anything—not at all. I mean that it is so riddled with the bureaucratic trappings of Catholicism that it occasionally left me bored or even confused [2].
Now I realize the novel's intention was in fact to illuminate the ways in which the Catholic Church resembles an often inefficient private corporation... mirroring its personal and departmental rivalries, thorny hierarchies, and employee apathy. But sometimes I think J.F. Powers went overboard. A great author does not have to be dull to illustrate dullness. Powers shows he is up to the task at times, as when the protagonist Father Urban (a liberal, charismatic, and motivated priest of the Clementine order) is shuffled off to a rural Minnesota outpost—no doubt a political maneuver by the Father Provincial, who fears Father Urban's popularity. Urban's exchanges with Father Wilfrid, a puttering doofus who runs the Minnesota retreat, are comedy gold. Wilfrid is seemingly only concerned with the maintenance and refurbishment of the retreat house, and as such he enlists Urban in many idiotic do-it-yourself projects. Wilfrid is also preposterously cheap, reluctant even to heat much of the building during the frigid Minnesota winters. I loved the time the novel spent insightfully (and comically) observing these characters at the retreat house.
At other times, I didn't love Morte D'Urban so much. I would say there's about a hundred page stretch in this 340 page book that just kind of drags, concerned as it is on expounding upon the tricky relationships at a nearby parish called St. Monica's and upon Urban's plan to found a golf course adjacent to the retreat center. Powers has a dry, oblique way with his humor that occasionally becomes grating. The narration is third person, but it clearly describes Urban's attitudes and impressions—resulting in a portrait of a slightly arrogant and condescending man. All in all, Urban's not entirely appealing. He's human, sure, but I don't know that he's the best counterposition to the bureaucratic inefficiency and complacency of the Catholic Church. I don't take exception to Urban's self-satisfaction as much as I bristle at his psychological dullness. Sure, next to Father Wilfrid and his ilk, Urban appears lively and colorful, but transposed to St. Monica's and the golf course, he's just another guy. A golfing priest, a Catholic salesman. So what?
[1] When I say 'brought up Catholic' I mean that I went to Catholic grade school, Catholic high school, and a few years of Catholic college. I do not mean that I came from a religious family, however. My parents were indifferent Catholics. We rarely went to Church, and God and religion were never discussed around the house.
[2] I'm not really sure of the distinctions (if there are any) between a monsigneur, a rector, and a priest. Nor do I fully grasp the subtle rivalries between the religious orders. Powers approaches the Catholic bureaucracy as if his audience fully understands its intricacies. Even as a Catholic, I did not.
January 27, 2015
This 1963 National Book Award winner is about a group of Catholic Priests. An Order of Clementines? Yes, thank you, Marcel. And if you read it at one level, it is about the politics of groups. Power and pettiness. Ability and purpose. I wondered if a similar book could be written about Tibetan monks.
At another level, this book is a character study, in particular of Father Urban. Urban is smooth. Smooooth. Great preacher, and much in demand for that. But he also is great at finding where the money is and turning the rich into benefactors. And while he wants to be 'promoted' he nevertheless is too purposeful to let it show. Instead he follows the maxim that much can be accomplished if it doesn't matter who gets the credit.*
A married woman (soon to be naked except for a pair of high heels), alone with Urban in a lighthouse with a bottle of Scotch, calls him an 'operator' and says he doesn't have a friend in the world. He disputes only the latter charge, but, thinking about it, can't name one.
But it's a defining moment. Because just when you think he's one thing - a Catholic Elmer Gantry perhaps - he becomes another.
We hear often about how writers should show, not tell. And that's fine advice, until you trip over your style book. I thought this book was a perfect example of showing, not telling. Remarkable.
--------- And now, unannounced, and without advertising sponsor, here is your Yantush Passingass Moment of Clarity (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jx4Ev...
_______________________________________________
*There are dozens of people credited with this maxim, including Emerson and Reagan, but the earliest attribution I can find is to a Jesuit priest named Father Strickland, circa 1863. If that matters.
**I'm KIDDDDDIIIIINNNNGGGGGGG!
At another level, this book is a character study, in particular of Father Urban. Urban is smooth. Smooooth. Great preacher, and much in demand for that. But he also is great at finding where the money is and turning the rich into benefactors. And while he wants to be 'promoted' he nevertheless is too purposeful to let it show. Instead he follows the maxim that much can be accomplished if it doesn't matter who gets the credit.*
A married woman (soon to be naked except for a pair of high heels), alone with Urban in a lighthouse with a bottle of Scotch, calls him an 'operator' and says he doesn't have a friend in the world. He disputes only the latter charge, but, thinking about it, can't name one.
But it's a defining moment. Because just when you think he's one thing - a Catholic Elmer Gantry perhaps - he becomes another.
We hear often about how writers should show, not tell. And that's fine advice, until you trip over your style book. I thought this book was a perfect example of showing, not telling. Remarkable.
--------- And now, unannounced, and without advertising sponsor, here is your Yantush Passingass Moment of Clarity (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jx4Ev...
_______________________________________________
*There are dozens of people credited with this maxim, including Emerson and Reagan, but the earliest attribution I can find is to a Jesuit priest named Father Strickland, circa 1863. If that matters.
**I'm KIDDDDDIIIIINNNNGGGGGGG!
December 27, 2024
God And Mammon In The Midwest
This unduly neglected novel won the National Book Award in 1963. It is the story of Father Urban, a Catholic Priest in the little known (and fictitious) religious order of the Clementines. It takes place in Chicago, where Father Urban is headquartered as the "star" and best known speaker in the Order. He is also something of a fund-raiser with a wealthy, arrogant benefactor named Billy. Father Urban is transferred to a remote town in Minnesota, Duesterhaus, shortly after the novel begins as a result of a disagreement with the head of the Order.
This novel operates on many levels. It shows the tenacity of Father Urban in creating a role for himself in the community surrounding Duesterhaus after what was deemed to be his exile there. It is a funny, tightly-written story and the characterizations, of Father Urban's colleagues, of the Catholic hierarchy, and of the townspeople and parishioners are acute. Most important, it is a story of the difficulty of serving both God and Mammon and of the need and nature for compromise in the work of the Catholic Church in a pluralistic, materialistic, and essentially secular America. Father Urban also encounters matters which should not be compromised. The book includes many wonderful descriptions of scenery and people. I particularly enjoyed the discussions of train travel in the Midwest which recall an America vanished not so long ago. The book features a thoughtful introduction by Elizabeth Hardwick who describes the book as a "most valuable and lasting American novel."
This book is for you if you are interested in books about the United States, about religious experience in the United States, or in unjustly neglected American classics.
Robin Friedman
This unduly neglected novel won the National Book Award in 1963. It is the story of Father Urban, a Catholic Priest in the little known (and fictitious) religious order of the Clementines. It takes place in Chicago, where Father Urban is headquartered as the "star" and best known speaker in the Order. He is also something of a fund-raiser with a wealthy, arrogant benefactor named Billy. Father Urban is transferred to a remote town in Minnesota, Duesterhaus, shortly after the novel begins as a result of a disagreement with the head of the Order.
This novel operates on many levels. It shows the tenacity of Father Urban in creating a role for himself in the community surrounding Duesterhaus after what was deemed to be his exile there. It is a funny, tightly-written story and the characterizations, of Father Urban's colleagues, of the Catholic hierarchy, and of the townspeople and parishioners are acute. Most important, it is a story of the difficulty of serving both God and Mammon and of the need and nature for compromise in the work of the Catholic Church in a pluralistic, materialistic, and essentially secular America. Father Urban also encounters matters which should not be compromised. The book includes many wonderful descriptions of scenery and people. I particularly enjoyed the discussions of train travel in the Midwest which recall an America vanished not so long ago. The book features a thoughtful introduction by Elizabeth Hardwick who describes the book as a "most valuable and lasting American novel."
This book is for you if you are interested in books about the United States, about religious experience in the United States, or in unjustly neglected American classics.
Robin Friedman
April 28, 2020
The title is supposed to be a tongue-in-cheek reference to Thomas Malory’s classic Le Morte d'Arthur: King Arthur and the Legends of the Round Table. In the beginning the connection doesn’t make any sense, but by story’s end it is crystal clear.
Fr. Urban is a very urbane priest, suave, sophisticated, worldly. I’ve known a few priests like him, maybe you have too, or if not priests, then ministers or other members of the cloth. Wealthy, high-flying types seem to gravitate to ‘spiritual’ leaders such as this. I have always wondered about their relationships. What are their effects on each other? Conversion, corruption or some combination thereof? This book tells of one possibility. The clash of personalities is fascinating.
If you’ve ever felt like the good ‘guys’ mostly get kicked (but being good is still worth it) this is your book ... very satisfying. Thanks again P for a great recommendation! I already want to read it again soon!
April 17, 2020: Just the right book for now! Thanks P! And be sure to check out his excellent review!
Fr. Urban is a very urbane priest, suave, sophisticated, worldly. I’ve known a few priests like him, maybe you have too, or if not priests, then ministers or other members of the cloth. Wealthy, high-flying types seem to gravitate to ‘spiritual’ leaders such as this. I have always wondered about their relationships. What are their effects on each other? Conversion, corruption or some combination thereof? This book tells of one possibility. The clash of personalities is fascinating.
If you’ve ever felt like the good ‘guys’ mostly get kicked (but being good is still worth it) this is your book ... very satisfying. Thanks again P for a great recommendation! I already want to read it again soon!
April 17, 2020: Just the right book for now! Thanks P! And be sure to check out his excellent review!
April 25, 2022
In 2021 I read The Edge of Sadness by Edwin O’Connor and loved it. That novel focused on the life of a Catholic priest who is struggling with his commitment to the Church and his understanding of what that commitment means in the context of his life. I recently finished Morte D’Urban, another novel about a Catholic priest facing adversity in his “career”, and thought it was fantastic as well. Now I am neither Catholic nor religious, so neither of those factors are relevant. The two novels are very different but they both provided me with insight into a world about which I previously knew little.
I saw one reviewer write that Morte D’Urban reminded them of their job and what their work life was like. I can see that. This novel describes all the grey and the unknown in work environments and work relationships. At the beginning of the novel Father Urban, who is one of the few dynamic go-getters in the Order of St. Clement, is effectively demoted from a very visible, challenging and respected position to the Hill, an operation begun just a year ago that is tripping along on limited funds and limited support from the Church hierarchy. It is not clear why Father Urban has been demoted, but it seems quite clear that he is being punished. He takes on this position with disdain for both his new leader and the operation, but he can’t prevent himself from injecting energy and direction into his new role. Things are hazy with his new boss, Father Wilfrid, as well. Does Father Wilfrid appreciate Father Urban’s contribution given its impact in moving the Hill in the direction Father Wilfrid had imagined, or does his envy of Urban’s abilities, personality and contacts more than offset his appreciation? Likewise, you are never completely sure of where Father Urban stands with some of his supporters, such as Monsignor Renton. What will happen if Father Urban is forced to choose between achieving his goals and doing the right thing?
I thoroughly enjoyed the complexity and at times the lack of clarity in both the situations and relationships. This novel is all about what I feel I have struggled with much of my life. I have always said that I have never been great at reading between the lines. This is exactly what Father Urban must do, but this is a show, not tell, novel. We can only observe Father Urban’s choices and their impact; we don’t get to see what is going on in his head. As a result, we don’t always know everything we desire about why something happened the way it did. This all builds up to what for me was a very appropriate ending, but for other readers might be frustrating.
This novel won the National Book Award in 1963. It was my first novel by J.F. Powers.
I saw one reviewer write that Morte D’Urban reminded them of their job and what their work life was like. I can see that. This novel describes all the grey and the unknown in work environments and work relationships. At the beginning of the novel Father Urban, who is one of the few dynamic go-getters in the Order of St. Clement, is effectively demoted from a very visible, challenging and respected position to the Hill, an operation begun just a year ago that is tripping along on limited funds and limited support from the Church hierarchy. It is not clear why Father Urban has been demoted, but it seems quite clear that he is being punished. He takes on this position with disdain for both his new leader and the operation, but he can’t prevent himself from injecting energy and direction into his new role. Things are hazy with his new boss, Father Wilfrid, as well. Does Father Wilfrid appreciate Father Urban’s contribution given its impact in moving the Hill in the direction Father Wilfrid had imagined, or does his envy of Urban’s abilities, personality and contacts more than offset his appreciation? Likewise, you are never completely sure of where Father Urban stands with some of his supporters, such as Monsignor Renton. What will happen if Father Urban is forced to choose between achieving his goals and doing the right thing?
I thoroughly enjoyed the complexity and at times the lack of clarity in both the situations and relationships. This novel is all about what I feel I have struggled with much of my life. I have always said that I have never been great at reading between the lines. This is exactly what Father Urban must do, but this is a show, not tell, novel. We can only observe Father Urban’s choices and their impact; we don’t get to see what is going on in his head. As a result, we don’t always know everything we desire about why something happened the way it did. This all builds up to what for me was a very appropriate ending, but for other readers might be frustrating.
This novel won the National Book Award in 1963. It was my first novel by J.F. Powers.
October 21, 2009
whoever it was who put the huge b&w early-60s italian-glamour photo of the beautiful woman on the cover of this book was a genius, and i want to thank him for doing it, because otherwise i would never have picked it up, much less read it. seeing how it's yet another very quiet (and quietly funny) realistic portrait of an isolated priest in the midwest. not the usual vein i mine.
i'm not really sure how powers does it. but Wheat That Springeth Green is now firmly in my top 15-20 favorite books of all time. and who knows where this one will end up. the books are so quiet, so non-dramatic... so measured... so lacking in conflict, or at least passionate struggle... i feel like maybe i understand being catholic-- or religious at all-- after reading these books. or at least, somewhat better. not because they engage or discuss theological matters... there's no graham greene-style angst here, no fear for one's soul, as the main character's already completely accepted his path, and never once veers from the course... but because they communicate what i can see now might be the experience of being a true believer and priest. these books are funny in that they are gently satirical. satirical of the world as a whole. but never in a mean-spirited way. in a way that comes from seeing this world as a temporary waystation, a kind of cosmic experiment or proving ground. everything is serious, and you try to do what you can, but on the other hand, all you can do is the best you can. it's a crazy place, and people are crazy, and we just all need to make the best of it. it's all kinda funny, and all kinda sad, but there's a god in heaven, and eternal life, so you take the hits and move on and try not to complain.
i am probably not expressing it very well, but there really is something one-of-a-kind about the way powers sees and writes. the closest thing i can compare him to would be p.g. wodehouse, if you slowed him way down and then tried to make him act like everything was Very Important. that kind of clarity of vision and drama, that kind of appreciation for language and detail, and, really, that kind of humor, just minus the madcap pace and irreverence.
well, anyway, i give up. i am sad that he only wrote two novels. luckily there are still all The Stories of J.F. Powers to go.
i'm not really sure how powers does it. but Wheat That Springeth Green is now firmly in my top 15-20 favorite books of all time. and who knows where this one will end up. the books are so quiet, so non-dramatic... so measured... so lacking in conflict, or at least passionate struggle... i feel like maybe i understand being catholic-- or religious at all-- after reading these books. or at least, somewhat better. not because they engage or discuss theological matters... there's no graham greene-style angst here, no fear for one's soul, as the main character's already completely accepted his path, and never once veers from the course... but because they communicate what i can see now might be the experience of being a true believer and priest. these books are funny in that they are gently satirical. satirical of the world as a whole. but never in a mean-spirited way. in a way that comes from seeing this world as a temporary waystation, a kind of cosmic experiment or proving ground. everything is serious, and you try to do what you can, but on the other hand, all you can do is the best you can. it's a crazy place, and people are crazy, and we just all need to make the best of it. it's all kinda funny, and all kinda sad, but there's a god in heaven, and eternal life, so you take the hits and move on and try not to complain.
i am probably not expressing it very well, but there really is something one-of-a-kind about the way powers sees and writes. the closest thing i can compare him to would be p.g. wodehouse, if you slowed him way down and then tried to make him act like everything was Very Important. that kind of clarity of vision and drama, that kind of appreciation for language and detail, and, really, that kind of humor, just minus the madcap pace and irreverence.
well, anyway, i give up. i am sad that he only wrote two novels. luckily there are still all The Stories of J.F. Powers to go.
July 12, 2008
If you want to take this novel literally and say it is a book about the adventures of an ambitious priest (not unlike a Catholic Elmer Gantry of sorts) who was exiled to the middle of nowhere, be my guest, but it doesn't take long before you realize there is something else going on here and it begins to dawn on you that is all sounds ... remotely ... like your job!
Congratulations, my friend, you've reached the AHA moment.
It's a difficult book to find (I think it's out of print but your library may have a copy), but if you feel a little frustrated about your current job, it's worth picking up. You'll even get a good laugh or two out of it.
Congratulations, my friend, you've reached the AHA moment.
It's a difficult book to find (I think it's out of print but your library may have a copy), but if you feel a little frustrated about your current job, it's worth picking up. You'll even get a good laugh or two out of it.
January 23, 2008
The book to show the world what a sentimental sap Garrison Keiller really is. Morte D'Urban, won the National Book Award in 1961, is set, as is Lake Woebegone, in Sterns County, Minnesota. Both use Holdingford, a small farm town where my grandfather owned the hardware store, and its inhabitants as fodder for their fictions.
Powers has one of the best ears in vernacular fiction, sufficiently so for Evelyn Waugh to cite him as his favorite American writer. He may be mine, given my familiarity with his vernacular gives him an unfair advantage over the pack contending for my favor. His characters are my family, even more so in The Wheat That Springeth Green, which might be a biography of my father save for his becoming a suicide instead of a priest.
After the tragedy, I reread Powers and it was a great consolation.
Keiller makes minstrelsy out of the same material.
Powers has one of the best ears in vernacular fiction, sufficiently so for Evelyn Waugh to cite him as his favorite American writer. He may be mine, given my familiarity with his vernacular gives him an unfair advantage over the pack contending for my favor. His characters are my family, even more so in The Wheat That Springeth Green, which might be a biography of my father save for his becoming a suicide instead of a priest.
After the tragedy, I reread Powers and it was a great consolation.
Keiller makes minstrelsy out of the same material.
February 20, 2020
Powers' first novel is definitely the weakest of the three works of his I've read. This one is a lesser work than Wheat That Springeth Green, and the works are somewhat similar. Both deal with slightly disaffected Catholic priests in the Upper MidWest. Here the titular Father Urban, a charming, smooth-talking, ace fundraiser gets bounced into rural Minnesota by his vengeful betters. But Urban keeps up his art of knowing people in and out and makes the best of his lake country exile.
This is not a bad book by any means, but I found it less uproarious than Powers' other novel or his short stories. I love this niche: Catholicism in out-of-the-way places in America, where a good golf course does as much for the soul as a good sermon. Father Urban understands that. But the novel itself is a little drier and a little more bemusing than amusing, which is where Powers shines.
This is not a bad book by any means, but I found it less uproarious than Powers' other novel or his short stories. I love this niche: Catholicism in out-of-the-way places in America, where a good golf course does as much for the soul as a good sermon. Father Urban understands that. But the novel itself is a little drier and a little more bemusing than amusing, which is where Powers shines.
Read
August 8, 2020Catholicism was the central theme of J. F. Powers’ corpus, an American writer who lived by his faith and although he was never a priest, concentrated his fiction in the mundane conflicts and lives of Parish priests in the Midwest. Mainly a short-story writer, Morte d’Urban was his first novel and in 1963 won the National Book Award, against Nabokov’s Pale Fire and Updike’s Pigeon Feathers. A remarkable achievement indeed. Over the years, the consummate craftsmanship of Powers has been praised by such writers as Philip Roth, Gore Vidal and Annie Proulx.
In my opinion, what is at the core of this novel is Powers’ magnificent style, meticulously arranged and masterfully present in every sentence, paragraph and chapter. He is restrained and unpretentious, providing only the necessary elements to his prose: the less there is, the more it resonates. Here, there is no flamboyant use of language, but only the absolute minimum needed; we are far from Dickensian descriptions and colorful metaphorical images. In certain sections, it is worth mentioning the presence of the American vernacular, which Powers knows and uses quite efficiently. Lastly, it is only fair and reasonable to conclude, that it takes a great deal of restraint and command to achieve all this.
Powers struggled throughout his adult life to make a living. He was married to Betty Wahl, a writer as well. Originally from Illinois, the couple had five children and moved to Minnesota after a thirteen year stay in Ireland. Perhaps the state of almost abandon in which his works have fallen over the years is due to the lack of spirituality in today’s world, and more specifically the decline of priesthood vocation. It is certainly difficult to establish the habitudes and patterns that conform the literary taste of a generation. Praise should be given to the great recent editions of his works by the New York Review of Books in three volumes: his two novels and collected stories.
Powers' style is fully represented in the themes chosen, as if the religious ideas of self-denial and restraint, of spiritual life and isolated nature, were transferred to the writing: each word deprived of its protective shell and used in its simpler form, representing the brick without which the wall would never exist, and at the end, the solidity of the construction reflecting the quality of the craftsmanship to its smallest detail. The care with which he builds his prose brings him closer to the lonely monk confined to his chamber, rigidly and spiritually devoted to his art.
Farther Urban, whose real name is Harvey Roche, a charismatic priest in the Order of St Clement, is particularly gifted with words as reflected in his notorious sermons during mass, which parishioners fervently revere every Sunday at church. It was after one celebrated homily that Urban met Bill Cosgrove, who would become a champion and benefactor to the Order. The story centers in the religious community in Duesterhaus, Minnesota, where Father Urban is transferred, and follows the hierarchal structure of the Order and the disputes and conflicts that arise in everyday life.
Priests that play golf, drink beer, smoke Cuban cigars and drive sports cars (“the little snub-nosed Barracuda was five months old, had wire wheels, leather upholstery, and so on, and it certainly made a man feel good to drive it”) are not what one may think of when imagining the austere life of clergy. Here, however, there is a more realistic portrayal of priesthood in the radical-liberal Catholicism of the time (1940’s and 50’s). The Church seen more as an organized enterprise, built on a scheme of ranks and particularly directed into fund raising, with the aim of expanding, as any business would.
“For the life of him, Father Urban couldn’t see how the Catholic Church (among large corporations) could be rated second only to Standard Oil in efficiency, as Time had reported a few years back.”
There is mention of Le Morte d’Arthur, which Father John prepares for a scholarly children’s edition, that would be published as a series of books by the Order, a project in which Father Urban is involved as well. There is indeed a hint that the present novel is based in Thomas Malory’s fifteenth Century work on the Knights of the Round Table. In the last chapter, there are references to the story of Lancelot and a mention that Father John regarded Sir Galahad as the real hero of the book. The question of Sir Lancelot’s guilt or innocence as he came into Guenever’s chamber is simply explained by Malory by stating that “love that time was not as is nowadays”. Father Urban reflects on these matters in the last part of the novel, perhaps as an indication of his own acts and their consequences.
“For when they say Sir Lancelot endure such penance, in prayers, and fasting, they took no force what pain they endured, for to see the noblest knight of the world take such abstinence that he waxed full lean.”
Father Urban as Knight is probably the best description of this unique, uncommon and captivating priest. In Morte d’Urban we find a writer at the height of his art, voicing reverence to his own beliefs with conviction and assurance, and finding in religion a provider of consolation. Most certainly, a novel to be discovered during the strange and difficult times we’re living.
___
In my opinion, what is at the core of this novel is Powers’ magnificent style, meticulously arranged and masterfully present in every sentence, paragraph and chapter. He is restrained and unpretentious, providing only the necessary elements to his prose: the less there is, the more it resonates. Here, there is no flamboyant use of language, but only the absolute minimum needed; we are far from Dickensian descriptions and colorful metaphorical images. In certain sections, it is worth mentioning the presence of the American vernacular, which Powers knows and uses quite efficiently. Lastly, it is only fair and reasonable to conclude, that it takes a great deal of restraint and command to achieve all this.
Powers struggled throughout his adult life to make a living. He was married to Betty Wahl, a writer as well. Originally from Illinois, the couple had five children and moved to Minnesota after a thirteen year stay in Ireland. Perhaps the state of almost abandon in which his works have fallen over the years is due to the lack of spirituality in today’s world, and more specifically the decline of priesthood vocation. It is certainly difficult to establish the habitudes and patterns that conform the literary taste of a generation. Praise should be given to the great recent editions of his works by the New York Review of Books in three volumes: his two novels and collected stories.
Powers' style is fully represented in the themes chosen, as if the religious ideas of self-denial and restraint, of spiritual life and isolated nature, were transferred to the writing: each word deprived of its protective shell and used in its simpler form, representing the brick without which the wall would never exist, and at the end, the solidity of the construction reflecting the quality of the craftsmanship to its smallest detail. The care with which he builds his prose brings him closer to the lonely monk confined to his chamber, rigidly and spiritually devoted to his art.
Farther Urban, whose real name is Harvey Roche, a charismatic priest in the Order of St Clement, is particularly gifted with words as reflected in his notorious sermons during mass, which parishioners fervently revere every Sunday at church. It was after one celebrated homily that Urban met Bill Cosgrove, who would become a champion and benefactor to the Order. The story centers in the religious community in Duesterhaus, Minnesota, where Father Urban is transferred, and follows the hierarchal structure of the Order and the disputes and conflicts that arise in everyday life.
Priests that play golf, drink beer, smoke Cuban cigars and drive sports cars (“the little snub-nosed Barracuda was five months old, had wire wheels, leather upholstery, and so on, and it certainly made a man feel good to drive it”) are not what one may think of when imagining the austere life of clergy. Here, however, there is a more realistic portrayal of priesthood in the radical-liberal Catholicism of the time (1940’s and 50’s). The Church seen more as an organized enterprise, built on a scheme of ranks and particularly directed into fund raising, with the aim of expanding, as any business would.
“For the life of him, Father Urban couldn’t see how the Catholic Church (among large corporations) could be rated second only to Standard Oil in efficiency, as Time had reported a few years back.”
There is mention of Le Morte d’Arthur, which Father John prepares for a scholarly children’s edition, that would be published as a series of books by the Order, a project in which Father Urban is involved as well. There is indeed a hint that the present novel is based in Thomas Malory’s fifteenth Century work on the Knights of the Round Table. In the last chapter, there are references to the story of Lancelot and a mention that Father John regarded Sir Galahad as the real hero of the book. The question of Sir Lancelot’s guilt or innocence as he came into Guenever’s chamber is simply explained by Malory by stating that “love that time was not as is nowadays”. Father Urban reflects on these matters in the last part of the novel, perhaps as an indication of his own acts and their consequences.
“For when they say Sir Lancelot endure such penance, in prayers, and fasting, they took no force what pain they endured, for to see the noblest knight of the world take such abstinence that he waxed full lean.”
Father Urban as Knight is probably the best description of this unique, uncommon and captivating priest. In Morte d’Urban we find a writer at the height of his art, voicing reverence to his own beliefs with conviction and assurance, and finding in religion a provider of consolation. Most certainly, a novel to be discovered during the strange and difficult times we’re living.
___
July 13, 2025
A story that doesn’t know what to make of itself. Or possibly one that’s beyond me.
There’s no fault in the writing or the characters. The prose is smooth, occasionally uninspired but often very witty. And calm. I’ve never read a novel so calm. The characters are both varied and universally normal. You’ve met all of them, and they all feel like themselves. (Vatican II will hit most of them like a truck, one way or another, in three years)
Knowing the title and inciting incident, I had imagined it would be a psychological, probably spiritual novel, roughly about the fall following pride and worldliness, and likely a resurrection. It’s actually the story of a self-satisfied, mercenary man building himself up again through the power of networking. It’s well told, and unique. But why does it exist? My best guess is it wants to be just an arc of an interesting guy’s life. No authorial judgment - we’re deep in Urban’s head, seeing through his clever, status-loving, judgmental eyes.
But they feel like authorial judgments. It feels like an authorial voice that looks cynically at everyone except its darling Urban, who wins and wins and wins. There are a sudden series of incidents in the last seventh of the book, and while they’re all well executed except the last, mystifying twist, the overall effect reminded me of what I’ve heard about Hays Code gangster movies that end in a abrupt failure purely for compliance purposes. It’s an original story, whatever else it is, and it’ll certainly remind you that you should be networking.
There’s no fault in the writing or the characters. The prose is smooth, occasionally uninspired but often very witty. And calm. I’ve never read a novel so calm. The characters are both varied and universally normal. You’ve met all of them, and they all feel like themselves. (Vatican II will hit most of them like a truck, one way or another, in three years)
Knowing the title and inciting incident, I had imagined it would be a psychological, probably spiritual novel, roughly about the fall following pride and worldliness, and likely a resurrection. It’s actually the story of a self-satisfied, mercenary man building himself up again through the power of networking. It’s well told, and unique. But why does it exist? My best guess is it wants to be just an arc of an interesting guy’s life. No authorial judgment - we’re deep in Urban’s head, seeing through his clever, status-loving, judgmental eyes.
But they feel like authorial judgments. It feels like an authorial voice that looks cynically at everyone except its darling Urban, who wins and wins and wins. There are a sudden series of incidents in the last seventh of the book, and while they’re all well executed except the last, mystifying twist, the overall effect reminded me of what I’ve heard about Hays Code gangster movies that end in a abrupt failure purely for compliance purposes. It’s an original story, whatever else it is, and it’ll certainly remind you that you should be networking.
August 22, 2017
I had not heard of this author before. I read the novel because it won the National Book Award in 1963. This award was created in 1950 and I have read all the winning books from then up through 1963. Many were great; some challenged my idea of what I consider a great novel. Morte D'Urban, the third novel concerning priests from my 1963 list, was a stand out.
Father Urban is quite a character. I am a bit hazy on how he became a priest. It was well explained in the novel but I just don't remember it that clearly. In any case, it was a rash decision that left him conflicted for the rest of his life, but he did his best to perform the role despite the lowly status of the religious order to which he belonged.
His intelligence, his grasp of worldly matters and his genuine love of people are what got him through. One of his duties is fund raising which entails plenty of humorous moments. The author, who wrote only Catholic fiction, seems to have been unusually clear eyed regarding the challenges of living a dedicated religious life in our materialist culture.
Now that I think about it, this conflict between the world and the priest is almost always a theme in any religious fiction I have read so apparently it is a known issue.
Morte D'Urban has a sorrowful ending and I could see it coming as I read. A sign of good fiction for me is that I become deeply invested in the protagonist's plight. That happened for me in this smartly perceptive novel about the life of a priest in mid 20th century America.
It was the best of the three novels about priests in 1963, The Shoes of the Fisherman and Grandmother and the Priests being the other two.
I have now finished the Award Winners section of my 1963 list and am moving into the part of that list curated by me.
Here are the prize winners I read:
1. PULITZER: The Reivers, Faulkner
2. NEWBERY: A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L’Engle
3. CALDECOTT: The Snowy Day, Ezra Jack Keats
4. NBA: Morte D’Urban, J F Powers
5. HUGO: The Man in the High Castle, Philip K Dick-
6. EDGAR: Death and the Joyful Woman, Ellis Peters
Father Urban is quite a character. I am a bit hazy on how he became a priest. It was well explained in the novel but I just don't remember it that clearly. In any case, it was a rash decision that left him conflicted for the rest of his life, but he did his best to perform the role despite the lowly status of the religious order to which he belonged.
His intelligence, his grasp of worldly matters and his genuine love of people are what got him through. One of his duties is fund raising which entails plenty of humorous moments. The author, who wrote only Catholic fiction, seems to have been unusually clear eyed regarding the challenges of living a dedicated religious life in our materialist culture.
Now that I think about it, this conflict between the world and the priest is almost always a theme in any religious fiction I have read so apparently it is a known issue.
Morte D'Urban has a sorrowful ending and I could see it coming as I read. A sign of good fiction for me is that I become deeply invested in the protagonist's plight. That happened for me in this smartly perceptive novel about the life of a priest in mid 20th century America.
It was the best of the three novels about priests in 1963, The Shoes of the Fisherman and Grandmother and the Priests being the other two.
I have now finished the Award Winners section of my 1963 list and am moving into the part of that list curated by me.
Here are the prize winners I read:
1. PULITZER: The Reivers, Faulkner
2. NEWBERY: A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L’Engle
3. CALDECOTT: The Snowy Day, Ezra Jack Keats
4. NBA: Morte D’Urban, J F Powers
5. HUGO: The Man in the High Castle, Philip K Dick-
6. EDGAR: Death and the Joyful Woman, Ellis Peters
July 2, 2020
Prose can be poetic but I think at its "purest" prose is inherently dull, or at least interested in dullness. This is not to say that prose has to or should be pure. Probably it shouldn't. But if you're looking for pure - meaning fascinating, gripping, and deeply, dare I say *spiritually* mundane - prose, Powers is your man. God how I love him. Somewhere, in some literary afterlife or alternate dimension, the spirit of Flaubert has gotten its hands on an advance copy of Morte D'Urban and sat down to weep at the genius of, not just the conceit, but the execution. That genius, of course, is priests, but the Powers difference is to write so artfully about the daily round of his heroic servitors that at a certain, mysterious point the words themselves begin to thicken, making you feel a little like a non-Catholic receiving the eucharist. Is this a cracker? More than a cracker? What is this? The effect has something to do with space, I think, in the same way that the blandness of said cracker is one of the things that allows and has allowed a great segment of humanity to believe that they are ingesting Jesus when they eat it. In both cases, you've got to both leave room and make the imagination of the audience feel completely and utterly right. And this is what Powers does.
On a technical note, this is clearly a short story writer's novel, meaning a bunch of reworked short stories about the same character and series of events. Certain aspects of the carpentry are visible (Billy's early introduction, the late-novel "seduction" in the castle). And yet in a weird way I didn't mind this - maybe because the architecture as a whole convinced me that these decisions had arisen from the prose's central, astounding engagement.
On a technical note, this is clearly a short story writer's novel, meaning a bunch of reworked short stories about the same character and series of events. Certain aspects of the carpentry are visible (Billy's early introduction, the late-novel "seduction" in the castle). And yet in a weird way I didn't mind this - maybe because the architecture as a whole convinced me that these decisions had arisen from the prose's central, astounding engagement.
April 15, 2013
Very low key... something about a golf course
November 6, 2024
An interesting, sometimes amusing novel about Father Urban and the conflict between the true religious spirit and a not exactly religious commercial practice. Father Urban is a traveling preacher in the struggling Order of St. Clement. He is social, a well received good preacher, and an astute businessman. He is transferred from a rich parish to an area where he is required to do manual labor in an old country house, which the Order is aiming to turn into a retreat. Father Urban organizes for the establishment of a golf course to attract people to the Order.
There are some humorous incidents such as bringing out a series of children’s classics, with a Catholic twist. For example, Sir Lancelot (from King Arthur), lays aside his sword and becomes a priest, or that Maid Marian (from Robin Hood), ended her days in a nunnery.
I particularly enjoyed the first two thirds of the novel.
This book was the 1963 National Book Award winner for fiction.
There are some humorous incidents such as bringing out a series of children’s classics, with a Catholic twist. For example, Sir Lancelot (from King Arthur), lays aside his sword and becomes a priest, or that Maid Marian (from Robin Hood), ended her days in a nunnery.
I particularly enjoyed the first two thirds of the novel.
This book was the 1963 National Book Award winner for fiction.
January 29, 2021
Fr. Urban (of the fictional order of St. Clement) is not a perfect man though he is sympathetic despite his failings. He walks a fine line in his dealings with the World, but he doesn't realize quite soon enough just how limited his powers are.
JF Powers sets believable, sometimes unsettlingly so, characters onto the pages here. Foremost is William "Billy" Cosgrove, who resembles a surly, over-the-hill Chicagoan Sean Connery. As a success in business with not much else to his name, he's seeking redemption of a sort by spending money on the Church. He believes, but in a way that's compartmentalized away from the rest of his life. He's got a bit of Rex Mottram in him - in the way Rex is described as being half a person. Billy doesn't usually speak in more than a few monosyllables at a time and is defined by always having his way, often with a cruel streak. The assumption is that his great generosity and reverence towards all things Catholic will forgive all of his wretched business practices and general way of treating his fellowman. Billy isn't in the book a whole lot, just popping up now and again, but his presence is felt strongly enough, as one suspects Fr. Urban has some unadmitted jealousy of the man.
Fr. Urban's foil Fr. Wilf is one of the most fleshed out characters, as he's present in the book more or less from beginning to end. An epitome of the mediocrity the Clementine order is unofficially known for, he constantly frustrates Fr. Urban with his penny-pinching and lack of vision. The interactions between the two men can really be hilarious at times thanks to Powers' skill with writing dialogue.
In general its neat to see how parish life is described in the late 50's - how things were changing and how things stay the same. Some of JF Powers' hippy instincts bleed through his story (pooh-poohing fear of Communism and the suffering of Catholics under the Iron Curtain, dismissing the honest concerns of faithful Catholics that unfortunately result in periodicals with a tendency to crankery) but to his credit everything dovetails into place.
Fr. Urban is a good American right-liberal, of the kind that were already ushering in the problems that were soon to erupt in the 60's. He's a little too comfortable being a friend to all and not giving offense. You can imagine him, like many other priests, just going along with radical liturgical directives from their bishops, because the liturgy doesn't seem to matter much at all to him. The strangest thing about an admittedly comic novel about a priest is how the liturgy is rarely brought up. He hears confessions, prays before the Blessed Sacrament, says his office, but the Mass is absent from this story except as something that happens four times on Sunday morning at busy parishes. Golf is more of a liturgy to Fr. Urban and given the intensity and feeling which Powers' devotes to describing the sport one almost wonders if he felt the same way.
Whether he intended it or not Powers' MORTE D'URBAN paints the picture of a Catholic Church finally at home and thriving in America, yet with an emptiness at the heart of it. For Catholics today, the temptation remains to seek acceptance by Western Liberal society but securing the Liberty of Holy Mother Church must remain our primary goal as laypeople in the world. This is the mission Vatican II entrusted to us - not lectoring at Mass or profaning the Eucharist with unconsecrated hands.
Anyway, pray for our priests!
JF Powers sets believable, sometimes unsettlingly so, characters onto the pages here. Foremost is William "Billy" Cosgrove, who resembles a surly, over-the-hill Chicagoan Sean Connery. As a success in business with not much else to his name, he's seeking redemption of a sort by spending money on the Church. He believes, but in a way that's compartmentalized away from the rest of his life. He's got a bit of Rex Mottram in him - in the way Rex is described as being half a person. Billy doesn't usually speak in more than a few monosyllables at a time and is defined by always having his way, often with a cruel streak. The assumption is that his great generosity and reverence towards all things Catholic will forgive all of his wretched business practices and general way of treating his fellowman. Billy isn't in the book a whole lot, just popping up now and again, but his presence is felt strongly enough, as one suspects Fr. Urban has some unadmitted jealousy of the man.
Fr. Urban's foil Fr. Wilf is one of the most fleshed out characters, as he's present in the book more or less from beginning to end. An epitome of the mediocrity the Clementine order is unofficially known for, he constantly frustrates Fr. Urban with his penny-pinching and lack of vision. The interactions between the two men can really be hilarious at times thanks to Powers' skill with writing dialogue.
In general its neat to see how parish life is described in the late 50's - how things were changing and how things stay the same. Some of JF Powers' hippy instincts bleed through his story (pooh-poohing fear of Communism and the suffering of Catholics under the Iron Curtain, dismissing the honest concerns of faithful Catholics that unfortunately result in periodicals with a tendency to crankery) but to his credit everything dovetails into place.
Fr. Urban is a good American right-liberal, of the kind that were already ushering in the problems that were soon to erupt in the 60's. He's a little too comfortable being a friend to all and not giving offense. You can imagine him, like many other priests, just going along with radical liturgical directives from their bishops, because the liturgy doesn't seem to matter much at all to him. The strangest thing about an admittedly comic novel about a priest is how the liturgy is rarely brought up. He hears confessions, prays before the Blessed Sacrament, says his office, but the Mass is absent from this story except as something that happens four times on Sunday morning at busy parishes. Golf is more of a liturgy to Fr. Urban and given the intensity and feeling which Powers' devotes to describing the sport one almost wonders if he felt the same way.
Whether he intended it or not Powers' MORTE D'URBAN paints the picture of a Catholic Church finally at home and thriving in America, yet with an emptiness at the heart of it. For Catholics today, the temptation remains to seek acceptance by Western Liberal society but securing the Liberty of Holy Mother Church must remain our primary goal as laypeople in the world. This is the mission Vatican II entrusted to us - not lectoring at Mass or profaning the Eucharist with unconsecrated hands.
Anyway, pray for our priests!
July 15, 2016
A Subtle, Deceptively Simple Book
J. F. Powers' Morte d'Urban, the winner of the National Book Award for 1963, has featured among the favorite books of several other writers and one can see why. This gentle comedy about a Catholic priest in the fifties is a descendant of works like Sinclair Lewis' Babbitt or Elmer Gantry, but is told in the much quieter Midwestern manner of John Williams' Stoner, another sleeper of a novel that has gradually acquired an admiring readership. It is a book to read slowly, though unfortunately my circumstances forced me to go faster than I should have liked, so this is a less detailed review than most.
Father Urban is a priest in his early fifties, working out of Chicago as an itinerant preacher, going out to communities throughout the Plains States to stir up their congregations in five-day missions. Pragmatic, ambitious, and instinctively good with people, he is a perfect example of that energetic secularism one sometimes encounters among Catholic clergy, and he definitely loves the good things in life; my comparison to George F. Babbitt is not irrelevant. By courting wealthy donors, he manages to bring a good deal of money into the Clementine Order (a fictitious group "unique only in that they were noted for nothing at all"). But the Father Provincial sends him to a broken-down retreat center at Duesterhaus in Minnesota (another joke: "duester" is the German for "gloomy"). There, he is subject to the petty concerns of his penny-pinching superior, Father Wilf, who is concerned only with redecorating the building in depressing colors and issuing recruiting pamphlets of such banality that it is a wonder they attract anybody. Urban manages a few achievements even here, including temporary work at a local parish and attracting funding for an addition that would attract a better class of retreatant. But though Powers comic accumulation of small detail is amusing throughout, it began to seem just a matter of watching Urban's trajectory sink towards the death implied by the title, accompanied by the gradual loss of his original energy. When I finished, I would have given the book three stars.
But then the discussion in our book club pointed out another side that I had largely missed. Counterbalancing this decline of Urban's secular drive, there is a rise in his spiritual awareness: he begins as a go-getter; he ends as a true priest. This is subtly handled; the novel is not written as a religious tract. Nonetheless, once you start reading it in this way, you can see all kinds of symbolism (analogies with the three temptations of Christ, for instance) that support this view of its intent. Powers' success came from writing partly for audiences that would applaud all that was un-priestly in Father Urban. A bit like Graham Greene, in effect. But, also like Greene, he nonetheless managed to testify quietly to those qualities that count most in making a good man.
Elizabeth Hardwick's otherwise fine introduction should be read as only an Afterword.
J. F. Powers' Morte d'Urban, the winner of the National Book Award for 1963, has featured among the favorite books of several other writers and one can see why. This gentle comedy about a Catholic priest in the fifties is a descendant of works like Sinclair Lewis' Babbitt or Elmer Gantry, but is told in the much quieter Midwestern manner of John Williams' Stoner, another sleeper of a novel that has gradually acquired an admiring readership. It is a book to read slowly, though unfortunately my circumstances forced me to go faster than I should have liked, so this is a less detailed review than most.
Father Urban is a priest in his early fifties, working out of Chicago as an itinerant preacher, going out to communities throughout the Plains States to stir up their congregations in five-day missions. Pragmatic, ambitious, and instinctively good with people, he is a perfect example of that energetic secularism one sometimes encounters among Catholic clergy, and he definitely loves the good things in life; my comparison to George F. Babbitt is not irrelevant. By courting wealthy donors, he manages to bring a good deal of money into the Clementine Order (a fictitious group "unique only in that they were noted for nothing at all"). But the Father Provincial sends him to a broken-down retreat center at Duesterhaus in Minnesota (another joke: "duester" is the German for "gloomy"). There, he is subject to the petty concerns of his penny-pinching superior, Father Wilf, who is concerned only with redecorating the building in depressing colors and issuing recruiting pamphlets of such banality that it is a wonder they attract anybody. Urban manages a few achievements even here, including temporary work at a local parish and attracting funding for an addition that would attract a better class of retreatant. But though Powers comic accumulation of small detail is amusing throughout, it began to seem just a matter of watching Urban's trajectory sink towards the death implied by the title, accompanied by the gradual loss of his original energy. When I finished, I would have given the book three stars.
But then the discussion in our book club pointed out another side that I had largely missed. Counterbalancing this decline of Urban's secular drive, there is a rise in his spiritual awareness: he begins as a go-getter; he ends as a true priest. This is subtly handled; the novel is not written as a religious tract. Nonetheless, once you start reading it in this way, you can see all kinds of symbolism (analogies with the three temptations of Christ, for instance) that support this view of its intent. Powers' success came from writing partly for audiences that would applaud all that was un-priestly in Father Urban. A bit like Graham Greene, in effect. But, also like Greene, he nonetheless managed to testify quietly to those qualities that count most in making a good man.
Elizabeth Hardwick's otherwise fine introduction should be read as only an Afterword.
March 10, 2019
J. F. Powers satirizes a Catholic priest who, tempted by the worldly rewards of popular preaching, nevertheless remains “true to his vow of poverty — to the spirit, though, rather than the letter.” His priests dramatize the man of God whose spiritual vocation has disappeared into fundraising and “pastoral” work--social visits with aging congregants. Nowhere does Power display the contrast more powerfully than in Morte D’Urban. The main character, “fifty-four, tall and handsome but a trifle loose in the jowls and red of eye,” belongs to the Order of St. Clement (a religious order founded by J. F. Powers):
The novel begins with a fundraising appeal. “For nineteen cents a day, my friends, you can clothe, feed, and educate a young man for the priesthood,” Father Urban says. “For nineteen cents a day, my friends. Tax deductible. By the way, should you want them later, you’ll find pledge cards and pencils in the pew beside you.” He is afraid that Rome is about to begin a “re-evaluation of religious orders, a culling of the herd.” The Clementines exert little influence. Without a “new approach,” Father Urban fears they will be among the first to go. The rest of the novel is the chronicle of his attempts, increasingly hilarious, increasingly baffled, to prod his order closer to “the fast-changing world of today.”
A profound truth, profoundly understated: the novelist carries out his responsibility, recreates his image of man, in how it all ends. By the end of the novel, Father Urban has become Father Provincial (a Jesuit term, which Powers borrows for rather different purposes), the head of the Clementines’ Midwest territory. Debilitated by headaches that leave him disoriented and mute, he takes to opening his breviary and closing his eyes between the waves of the attacks. “Thus he tried to disguise his condition from others,” Powers says, “and thus, without wishing to, he gained a reputation for piety he hadn’t had before, which, however, was not entirely unwarranted now.” This sentence, with its most important content, tucked away in an afterthought, is characteristic of his style — as is Powers’s disinclination to say anything more about Father Urban’s newfound piety. The message is pretty clear, though. In the end, Father Urban abandons “the fast-changing world of today” for the presence of grace. The mysteries of the sacraments prove to be his vocation and the Church’s true reality.
Powers’s prose is not loud and insistent. The social institution of the American priesthood in the 21C is gone for good. Yet readers still manage to stumble across Morte D’Urban, 50 years after its publication (thanks to NYRB Classics, it remains in print).
Father Urban’s job is to improve their shape, if only financially: He “stumped the country, preaching retreats and parish missions, and did the work of a dozen men.”
In Europe, the Clementines hadn’t (it was always said) recovered from the French Revolution. It was certain that they hadn’t even really got going in the New World. Their history revealed little to brag about — one saint (the Holy Founder [Powers’s private joke]) and a few bishops of missionary see, no theologians worthy of the name, no original thinkers, not even a scientist. The Clementines were unique in that they were noted for nothing at all. They were in bad shape all over the world.
The novel begins with a fundraising appeal. “For nineteen cents a day, my friends, you can clothe, feed, and educate a young man for the priesthood,” Father Urban says. “For nineteen cents a day, my friends. Tax deductible. By the way, should you want them later, you’ll find pledge cards and pencils in the pew beside you.” He is afraid that Rome is about to begin a “re-evaluation of religious orders, a culling of the herd.” The Clementines exert little influence. Without a “new approach,” Father Urban fears they will be among the first to go. The rest of the novel is the chronicle of his attempts, increasingly hilarious, increasingly baffled, to prod his order closer to “the fast-changing world of today.”
A profound truth, profoundly understated: the novelist carries out his responsibility, recreates his image of man, in how it all ends. By the end of the novel, Father Urban has become Father Provincial (a Jesuit term, which Powers borrows for rather different purposes), the head of the Clementines’ Midwest territory. Debilitated by headaches that leave him disoriented and mute, he takes to opening his breviary and closing his eyes between the waves of the attacks. “Thus he tried to disguise his condition from others,” Powers says, “and thus, without wishing to, he gained a reputation for piety he hadn’t had before, which, however, was not entirely unwarranted now.” This sentence, with its most important content, tucked away in an afterthought, is characteristic of his style — as is Powers’s disinclination to say anything more about Father Urban’s newfound piety. The message is pretty clear, though. In the end, Father Urban abandons “the fast-changing world of today” for the presence of grace. The mysteries of the sacraments prove to be his vocation and the Church’s true reality.
Powers’s prose is not loud and insistent. The social institution of the American priesthood in the 21C is gone for good. Yet readers still manage to stumble across Morte D’Urban, 50 years after its publication (thanks to NYRB Classics, it remains in print).
January 3, 2023
This book won the 1963 National book award for fiction. It is the story of Father Urban, a man in the church but also a man of the world; a man just as comfortable in a five star hotel as a camp site. But he is also a man of ambition. He believes he should be leading the Clementines, and when at the General meeting, the current leader of the order retains his position, Urban is vanquished to the order's outpost in rural Minnesota. Powers has created a novel that is considered a classic in American literature, yet in many ways it is atypical.
The novel focuses around a factious religious order, the Clementines and a man in that order that is great at interacting with the world, but maybe not so religious. The Clementines are a mediocre order at best, and they know it. They went through a few years of success and growth, but things have been on a down turn. Men with vocations want an order with a history, like the Jesuits or Benedictines. Urban, our hero, feels the order needs to be more relevant, and as he is relegated to the sidelines in Minnesota, he does his best to turn that situation around and to make a comeback.
The greatest strength of Powers' writings, and this book in particular, are the characters. The people in this book seem real, hard, hardened and human, not lofty and overly good, not demons. Just humans trying to make their way in the world, humans full of faults and flaws. Another strength is the timeless nature of the story. Set before Vatican Council II, the story reads as if it is happening in Rural America today. The greatest weakness of the story is how Father Urban, a worldly man, a very bright, maybe even brilliant man can make so many mistakes when reading and interacting with people. An example is letting himself be trapped on an island with a young naked single woman in the chapter Belleisle.
Powers was a master with the pen. This novel, his first, was really a collection of continuous short stories, some previously published and some not. What Powers excelled at was his characters, and maybe because he wrote short stories, the characters needed to be complete. There are not a lot of extraneous descriptions in the novel. What drives it is the characters and the dialogue. There is a modern movement in literature called minimalism. Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club, is considered the master of the style and creator of the format - books that read more like screen plays and cut from story to story or segment to segment. That is the style that Powers has in this book long before there was a name for it. Any maybe that is the best way to sum up this novel. It is a collection of stories set in and around Chicago, the home of the Clementines, or rural Minnesota and their mission outpost there. But it is also a collection of segments in Urban's life, each vignette ending with a poignant reflection on Urban or the world he lived in.
(First written for RS398 - The Religious Fiction of J.F. Powers.)
Note: This book is part of a series of reviews: 2021 Catholic Reading Plan!
The novel focuses around a factious religious order, the Clementines and a man in that order that is great at interacting with the world, but maybe not so religious. The Clementines are a mediocre order at best, and they know it. They went through a few years of success and growth, but things have been on a down turn. Men with vocations want an order with a history, like the Jesuits or Benedictines. Urban, our hero, feels the order needs to be more relevant, and as he is relegated to the sidelines in Minnesota, he does his best to turn that situation around and to make a comeback.
The greatest strength of Powers' writings, and this book in particular, are the characters. The people in this book seem real, hard, hardened and human, not lofty and overly good, not demons. Just humans trying to make their way in the world, humans full of faults and flaws. Another strength is the timeless nature of the story. Set before Vatican Council II, the story reads as if it is happening in Rural America today. The greatest weakness of the story is how Father Urban, a worldly man, a very bright, maybe even brilliant man can make so many mistakes when reading and interacting with people. An example is letting himself be trapped on an island with a young naked single woman in the chapter Belleisle.
Powers was a master with the pen. This novel, his first, was really a collection of continuous short stories, some previously published and some not. What Powers excelled at was his characters, and maybe because he wrote short stories, the characters needed to be complete. There are not a lot of extraneous descriptions in the novel. What drives it is the characters and the dialogue. There is a modern movement in literature called minimalism. Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club, is considered the master of the style and creator of the format - books that read more like screen plays and cut from story to story or segment to segment. That is the style that Powers has in this book long before there was a name for it. Any maybe that is the best way to sum up this novel. It is a collection of stories set in and around Chicago, the home of the Clementines, or rural Minnesota and their mission outpost there. But it is also a collection of segments in Urban's life, each vignette ending with a poignant reflection on Urban or the world he lived in.
(First written for RS398 - The Religious Fiction of J.F. Powers.)
Note: This book is part of a series of reviews: 2021 Catholic Reading Plan!
May 14, 2013
So this whole book is about the secular and political concerns of the Order of Clementine. I was not actually aware of the hierarchy (yeah, I knew there were bishops and archbishops, etc) and the political relationships between the orders.
Urban is a great anti-hero. In the beginning we are led to believe that he is so charismatic and charming that he is capable of converting all he encounters and (more importantly) convincing them to make lots of donations. Certainly, through the course of the novel we see Urban succeed, but ultimately he can only succeed while he is not in power. As soon as he is responsible (or feels responsible), things start to fall apart; he loses Billy, he is unsuccessful at rescuing Katie, he angers Sally (and Sylvia). Finally, at the height of his failure he is promoted to Provincial. The irony here is applaudable.
There were several great quips throughout:
"Londoners caught in the blitz--taxi drivers, young lovers, old drunks, old tea drinkers, nurses, surgeons, everybody--went right on with whatever they happened to be doing, and each time there was an explosion, they seemed to have the best of it, to have the last word, by saying nothing." and "He knew what he had to do--nothing. He had Wilf where he wanted him. As long as the situation remained unchanged, each passing moment would redound to one man's credit and to the other's shame." I love this sentiment. Frequently, I tell my children that I can't wait until the moment that one of them responds to the pestering of the other with "whatever" rather than getting upset and engaging in the fight.
I also loved "only great saints and little children lived each moment for all it was worth." because I am always striving to just enjoy each moment as it comes.
Overall it has a few funny moments and it was certainly enlightening because I didn't know a whole lot about the structure of the internal workings of the Catholic church.
Urban is a great anti-hero. In the beginning we are led to believe that he is so charismatic and charming that he is capable of converting all he encounters and (more importantly) convincing them to make lots of donations. Certainly, through the course of the novel we see Urban succeed, but ultimately he can only succeed while he is not in power. As soon as he is responsible (or feels responsible), things start to fall apart; he loses Billy, he is unsuccessful at rescuing Katie, he angers Sally (and Sylvia). Finally, at the height of his failure he is promoted to Provincial. The irony here is applaudable.
There were several great quips throughout:
"Londoners caught in the blitz--taxi drivers, young lovers, old drunks, old tea drinkers, nurses, surgeons, everybody--went right on with whatever they happened to be doing, and each time there was an explosion, they seemed to have the best of it, to have the last word, by saying nothing." and "He knew what he had to do--nothing. He had Wilf where he wanted him. As long as the situation remained unchanged, each passing moment would redound to one man's credit and to the other's shame." I love this sentiment. Frequently, I tell my children that I can't wait until the moment that one of them responds to the pestering of the other with "whatever" rather than getting upset and engaging in the fight.
I also loved "only great saints and little children lived each moment for all it was worth." because I am always striving to just enjoy each moment as it comes.
Overall it has a few funny moments and it was certainly enlightening because I didn't know a whole lot about the structure of the internal workings of the Catholic church.
December 12, 2008
It's a little difficult to get into a book following a brother of the order of St. Clement through dioscesan politics and secular fundraising in the midwest of the late 50s/early 60s. For one thing, the tone of the book, especially the dialogue, really makes me picture every character both looking and sounding like Harry Truman. Give Harry Truman a Roman collar, put him in the passenger seat of a huge bucketous Cadillac, and we can call it a day.
For another, the church depicted here doesn't really exist any more. As an entirely secular person, I can't imagine a roomful of people being inspired by a rousing spiritual speech. The idea of Catholic fundraising is extremely strange, especially as here it really focuses on social relations with individuals.
Yet I still found this a very well done and thought-provoking book. The characterization of the main character, Father Urban, is convincing, even if his midcentury verbal mannerisms ring in my ears. "Say!" "Not a-tall, not a-tall." The thing is, the mannerisms are flawless. It's hard to believe that priests or Chicago were ever like this, but in the present, Chicago and priests retain some vestige of these descriptions. There's a sense of bluster, overlaid with ad-era charm, that is totally convincing.
Synopsis: Father Urban is one of the stars of his order, constantly traveling around the midwest to make speeches, build relationships, and eventually take donations from anyone who wants to tithe. When he is transferred from Chicago to a tiny chapter house in Minnesota, he is surprised and nonplussed. However, as an energetic and outgoing priest, he continues his work, and for a while it seems that all will be well. But as he transforms his new home, it becomes clear that the very people who financially support the church are spiritually poorer than he ever knew.
For another, the church depicted here doesn't really exist any more. As an entirely secular person, I can't imagine a roomful of people being inspired by a rousing spiritual speech. The idea of Catholic fundraising is extremely strange, especially as here it really focuses on social relations with individuals.
Yet I still found this a very well done and thought-provoking book. The characterization of the main character, Father Urban, is convincing, even if his midcentury verbal mannerisms ring in my ears. "Say!" "Not a-tall, not a-tall." The thing is, the mannerisms are flawless. It's hard to believe that priests or Chicago were ever like this, but in the present, Chicago and priests retain some vestige of these descriptions. There's a sense of bluster, overlaid with ad-era charm, that is totally convincing.
Synopsis: Father Urban is one of the stars of his order, constantly traveling around the midwest to make speeches, build relationships, and eventually take donations from anyone who wants to tithe. When he is transferred from Chicago to a tiny chapter house in Minnesota, he is surprised and nonplussed. However, as an energetic and outgoing priest, he continues his work, and for a while it seems that all will be well. But as he transforms his new home, it becomes clear that the very people who financially support the church are spiritually poorer than he ever knew.
January 9, 2018
It would be tough to imagine a more boring book. "Comic masterpiece?" I never even chortled. An unusual stinker in an interesting collection, this one proves that some books should stay forgotten.
None of the stories tend in any direction and the self-satisfaction of the bloated narrator, full with Sunday dinner and a nice brandy and cigar was a bit too much to take.
I'd take Graham Greene's exaggerated but real prose any day of the week over this lifeless, bland thing.
It was interesting seeing a Catholic priest be nothing more than a disgruntled employee. All the way until he started being good at his job. Then this turned into a handbook for the proper administration of a diocese. As an lover of the boring, this was instructive in seeing how much art is involved in making boredom lovely...through negative relief.
None of the stories tend in any direction and the self-satisfaction of the bloated narrator, full with Sunday dinner and a nice brandy and cigar was a bit too much to take.
I'd take Graham Greene's exaggerated but real prose any day of the week over this lifeless, bland thing.
It was interesting seeing a Catholic priest be nothing more than a disgruntled employee. All the way until he started being good at his job. Then this turned into a handbook for the proper administration of a diocese. As an lover of the boring, this was instructive in seeing how much art is involved in making boredom lovely...through negative relief.
March 20, 2018
J.F. Powers is less obscure than the previous long out of print author I reviewed, but nonetheless, unless someone was really into either Midwestern literature or American Catholic writers, you'd probably never know him, despite the fact this novel won the American Book Award back in 1963 and his fans included such great writers as Evelyn Waugh and Flannery O'Connor. He wasn't prolific, having a perfectionist streak and a contrarian personality. His two novels and much of his short fiction dwells on the lives of Catholic priests, mostly on the worldly aspects of the politics and the economic nuts and bolts of working with a large somewhat dysfunctional bureaucracy and dealing with parishioners, whom one must serve as spiritual adviser... even if they're nasty people you'd rather not spend time with if they weren't huge financial patrons. The spiritual message of this particular novel is buried underneath all the secular aspects, I actually had to read the last two chapters and epilogue over again to really get at the nut of what was a crisis of faith and it's resolution that is never spoken of directly, and instead is presented as an outward tragedy.
Set in the time when American Catholicism had come into it's own, between its practical origin as a religion of ethnic immigrants and their descendants, and its current social irrelevance despite remaining the largest Christian denomination in the nation, the novel is about a Catholic Church that I only saw remnants of growing up, in the elderly but often sophisticated and intelligent priests. Those Fathers are almost all gone now, and the institutions they served and operated are run-down, sclerotic and often half-empty. The 1940s-1960s were the golden age of the Church, when it was an American institution. This novel is a sardonic look at that institution, but while it casts a jaundiced eye on it, it's not so much criticizing it, as recognizing that it is composed of humans, who are far from perfect.
Father Urban Roche is an effective and charismatic priest in a rather small and undistinguished religious order. His popularity, administrative skill and most importantly, his barely concealed aspirations towards leadership makes him a target for the regional head of the order, who de facto exiles him to a decrepit retreat house in the countryside of Minnesota, where his father superior is a thick, stubborn cheapskate. Much of the humor is derived from the refined and “urban” Father Urban dealing with the realities of rural life in Minnesota. With finesse and hard-work, Urban applies his skills in cultivating rich patrons, winning over parishes with guest sermons and making business deals in order to recreate the successful life he had in Chicago. He succeeds in all his aspirations regarding this world, but at the cost of his physical and spiritual health, and realizes that in certain respects, he failed to make true bonds of the spirit with his peers in the order and the people he shepherded.
Powers does a great job in creating characters who are flawed, but likeable. Father Urban is vain, fond of worldly comforts like cigars, sports cars and good whisky, and often more concerned about the loss of face giving into his temptation for women would entail rather than the spiritual damage. That said, he is devoted to his job, loyal to his vows and respects and obeys his superiors, even if he thinks they're idiotic or petty. What he does is for the greater glory of his order, his church and his God, even if he bends the rules on the vows of poverty and bites his tongue when a patron acts very badly.
Like a lot of other reviewers here have noticed, it sounds like one of those “Rise and Fall of a Businessman” tropes so popular in the 20th Century. It really is. It deals with the church as an institution that exists in this world and thus needs to find ways to pay the bills. It's workers have to deal with annoying coworkers and customers just as much as the rest of us do at work. That said, I do find a deeper spiritual message underneath all that and what people here are calling the “downer” ending.
Yes, for all intents and purposes, Urban ends the novel as a broken man who no longer has the will, energy and ability to be an “operator”. His laurels are hollow, and he is in pain, lonely and miserable. But if you think that he has lost everything, read the final chapter and epilogue again carefully. Think back to earlier in the book and read between the lines of what goes on. Urban has earned a spiritual redemption that he doesn't even realize since he never had the eyes for it. Granted, it's probably hard for those not really steeped in the historical and thematic mores of Apostolic Christianity to really suss out, but it's there.
The book isn't perfect. It shows it's age in it's dialogue and details, which might make it a bit hard for those who don't really know Catholicism or mid-20th century Midwestern America all that well. It's also a bit overpolished. You can see the meticulous outlining the author did in regards to thematic arcs because he honed the descriptive language and plot situations so starkly, it stands out a bit much and tends to drag rather than move the plot along, hence me reading the ending too quickly the first time around. I got too used to scanning parts.
Still, this is a must read for anyone who likes Catholic novels. Much like O'Connor's Southern Gothic and Waugh's British aristocrat mien, this novel delivers the church's message with a soft-spoken, dry, midwestern reserve.
4.5 out of 5 stars.
Set in the time when American Catholicism had come into it's own, between its practical origin as a religion of ethnic immigrants and their descendants, and its current social irrelevance despite remaining the largest Christian denomination in the nation, the novel is about a Catholic Church that I only saw remnants of growing up, in the elderly but often sophisticated and intelligent priests. Those Fathers are almost all gone now, and the institutions they served and operated are run-down, sclerotic and often half-empty. The 1940s-1960s were the golden age of the Church, when it was an American institution. This novel is a sardonic look at that institution, but while it casts a jaundiced eye on it, it's not so much criticizing it, as recognizing that it is composed of humans, who are far from perfect.
Father Urban Roche is an effective and charismatic priest in a rather small and undistinguished religious order. His popularity, administrative skill and most importantly, his barely concealed aspirations towards leadership makes him a target for the regional head of the order, who de facto exiles him to a decrepit retreat house in the countryside of Minnesota, where his father superior is a thick, stubborn cheapskate. Much of the humor is derived from the refined and “urban” Father Urban dealing with the realities of rural life in Minnesota. With finesse and hard-work, Urban applies his skills in cultivating rich patrons, winning over parishes with guest sermons and making business deals in order to recreate the successful life he had in Chicago. He succeeds in all his aspirations regarding this world, but at the cost of his physical and spiritual health, and realizes that in certain respects, he failed to make true bonds of the spirit with his peers in the order and the people he shepherded.
Powers does a great job in creating characters who are flawed, but likeable. Father Urban is vain, fond of worldly comforts like cigars, sports cars and good whisky, and often more concerned about the loss of face giving into his temptation for women would entail rather than the spiritual damage. That said, he is devoted to his job, loyal to his vows and respects and obeys his superiors, even if he thinks they're idiotic or petty. What he does is for the greater glory of his order, his church and his God, even if he bends the rules on the vows of poverty and bites his tongue when a patron acts very badly.
Like a lot of other reviewers here have noticed, it sounds like one of those “Rise and Fall of a Businessman” tropes so popular in the 20th Century. It really is. It deals with the church as an institution that exists in this world and thus needs to find ways to pay the bills. It's workers have to deal with annoying coworkers and customers just as much as the rest of us do at work. That said, I do find a deeper spiritual message underneath all that and what people here are calling the “downer” ending.
Yes, for all intents and purposes, Urban ends the novel as a broken man who no longer has the will, energy and ability to be an “operator”. His laurels are hollow, and he is in pain, lonely and miserable. But if you think that he has lost everything, read the final chapter and epilogue again carefully. Think back to earlier in the book and read between the lines of what goes on. Urban has earned a spiritual redemption that he doesn't even realize since he never had the eyes for it. Granted, it's probably hard for those not really steeped in the historical and thematic mores of Apostolic Christianity to really suss out, but it's there.
The book isn't perfect. It shows it's age in it's dialogue and details, which might make it a bit hard for those who don't really know Catholicism or mid-20th century Midwestern America all that well. It's also a bit overpolished. You can see the meticulous outlining the author did in regards to thematic arcs because he honed the descriptive language and plot situations so starkly, it stands out a bit much and tends to drag rather than move the plot along, hence me reading the ending too quickly the first time around. I got too used to scanning parts.
Still, this is a must read for anyone who likes Catholic novels. Much like O'Connor's Southern Gothic and Waugh's British aristocrat mien, this novel delivers the church's message with a soft-spoken, dry, midwestern reserve.
4.5 out of 5 stars.
November 5, 2024
Sometimes you try to finish a book because you can't believe how bad it is, and you want to make good use of your time invested in it so that your review reflects how poor the book in question is. I believe this is called a "hate-read." I didn't finish this book because I hated it, though. I finished it because, though I found the plot very humdrum and not that interesting, I did enjoy the writer's style. This is my first experience reading the works of J.F. Powers, and it won't be my last.
"Morte D'Urban" tells the story of a Catholic priest who is equally at home in the wider world as he is in the cloistered, insular world of his profession and order. Father Urban is a dynamic speaker who works out of the Order's headquarters in Chicago, but his superiors send him to the wilds of frozen Minnesota to work at a retreat there. Here he encounters some bizarre Midwestern folks and tries to hold his own against a wealthy benefactor who may end up corrupting his soul.
All that being said, I found the plot a bit hard to follow at times, and the "comic masterpiece" that the book is touted as on the back cover didn't strike me as amusing except on a few occasions. I think it's trying to show the hypocrisy in Catholic politics, the positioning and posturing of men who, while Church leaders, are still just ordinary men when you come right down to it. But as a novel, it's not terribly compelling, at least on this initial read. As someone who doesn't consider himself religious in the slightest, I might not be qualified to comment on the novel's religious nature, but I think that the failings of the plot do little to distract from Powers' obvious gift for characterization. Urban, Wilf, Billy Cosgrove, Sally Hopwood, and many more characters from this novel feel like real people, caught between the world and their faith. I just wish that they were in a better book.
I purchased "The Complete Stories of J.F. Powers" (also a NYRB Classics edition) prior to this book, and while I can't say that "Morte D'Urban" was my cup of tea, it does make me more inclined to read the stories. Whatever failings the novel has, to me, it tells me that J.F. Powers is an author I'd like to become more familiar with. Not every negative review has to lead to a swearing-off of any further reading from that author.
"Morte D'Urban" tells the story of a Catholic priest who is equally at home in the wider world as he is in the cloistered, insular world of his profession and order. Father Urban is a dynamic speaker who works out of the Order's headquarters in Chicago, but his superiors send him to the wilds of frozen Minnesota to work at a retreat there. Here he encounters some bizarre Midwestern folks and tries to hold his own against a wealthy benefactor who may end up corrupting his soul.
All that being said, I found the plot a bit hard to follow at times, and the "comic masterpiece" that the book is touted as on the back cover didn't strike me as amusing except on a few occasions. I think it's trying to show the hypocrisy in Catholic politics, the positioning and posturing of men who, while Church leaders, are still just ordinary men when you come right down to it. But as a novel, it's not terribly compelling, at least on this initial read. As someone who doesn't consider himself religious in the slightest, I might not be qualified to comment on the novel's religious nature, but I think that the failings of the plot do little to distract from Powers' obvious gift for characterization. Urban, Wilf, Billy Cosgrove, Sally Hopwood, and many more characters from this novel feel like real people, caught between the world and their faith. I just wish that they were in a better book.
I purchased "The Complete Stories of J.F. Powers" (also a NYRB Classics edition) prior to this book, and while I can't say that "Morte D'Urban" was my cup of tea, it does make me more inclined to read the stories. Whatever failings the novel has, to me, it tells me that J.F. Powers is an author I'd like to become more familiar with. Not every negative review has to lead to a swearing-off of any further reading from that author.
December 12, 2024
Father Urban is exactly that—urbane. He is not too strict, he preaches entertaining sermons, and he knows exactly how to schmooze the laity. He is a people's priest. Inexplicably, however, the provincial of his order, the Clementines, has not rewarded him with a promotion but has sent him from Chicago to a rural outpost in Minnesota to help two brothers to start a retreat-house. The town is called Duesterhaus ("dark house" in German—a fitting description of his new appointment), the retreat-house is barely heated, and he has to suffer the mild foibles of its midwestern Catholics—a bureaucratic prior, an alcoholic curate, a jealous bishop, and many viperous priests vying for the cushiest churches. It's a comedy of manners: Fr Urban obsessively notes the small-town gaucherie and minor slights around him, nitpicking over promotional brochures, noting an incorrect title, commenting on the Italian light fixtures in an old church, observing the bishop's petty rages. It's also slapstick comedy: Fr Urban is lobbed on the head with a golf ball, thrown into a lake after protesting a deer drowning, and loses his car. It's like an American version of a Barbara Pym novel.
It'a a droll comedy, beige Catholicism rather than lace Catholicism, the church mercantile instead of the church militant. Fr Urban is a savvy priest who understands that while martyrdom and mysticism are central to sainthood, a good pastor has to be, most of all, personable, worldly and money-minded. His sermons are humorous and conversational rather than sanctimonious—he is a popular, charming crowd-pleaser who puts down the catechism. When sent to the retreat-house, he knows exactly how to work the place—ingratiate the bishop, endear oneself to the wealthy benefactor, build a golf course, even attract the wealthier protestants. Fr Urban is a pragmatist who knows when spiritual principles must cede to practical finances. Shepherds have sheep, priests have parishes, but Fr Urban knows that his order needs clients. And yet, he is through-and-through a pious Catholic, and while he might be a slick operator, always looking for new cashflows and useful connections, this is all a sacrifice. All his hard work—preaching, fundraising, hobnobbing—hollows him out. His cross to bear is simply the daily grind of clerical life.
Humorous in parts but, as one might say of Barbara Pym, these kinds of "vicar tales" feel antiquated nowadays.
It'a a droll comedy, beige Catholicism rather than lace Catholicism, the church mercantile instead of the church militant. Fr Urban is a savvy priest who understands that while martyrdom and mysticism are central to sainthood, a good pastor has to be, most of all, personable, worldly and money-minded. His sermons are humorous and conversational rather than sanctimonious—he is a popular, charming crowd-pleaser who puts down the catechism. When sent to the retreat-house, he knows exactly how to work the place—ingratiate the bishop, endear oneself to the wealthy benefactor, build a golf course, even attract the wealthier protestants. Fr Urban is a pragmatist who knows when spiritual principles must cede to practical finances. Shepherds have sheep, priests have parishes, but Fr Urban knows that his order needs clients. And yet, he is through-and-through a pious Catholic, and while he might be a slick operator, always looking for new cashflows and useful connections, this is all a sacrifice. All his hard work—preaching, fundraising, hobnobbing—hollows him out. His cross to bear is simply the daily grind of clerical life.
Humorous in parts but, as one might say of Barbara Pym, these kinds of "vicar tales" feel antiquated nowadays.
March 26, 2020
Part of my quest to read all books that won the National Book Award for Fiction. This was one of the more enjoyable ones, a combination of Sinclair Lewis and Graham Greene, and an unexpected delight.
August 9, 2024
As a fan of the solid, contemplative character study, such that this should be right in my wheelhouse: maybe the most boring book I have ever read.
April 10, 2011
It took me a while to get into Powers' short stories, but after I finished the first volume of them I couldn't put them down. So I was primed for this, and it didn't disappoint. In fact, the larger canvas seems to suit him more in some ways. Granted, it suffers a little bit from the same kind of disjointed narrative track that Cheever Wapshot Chronicle suffers from, but to nowhere near the same degree. But that's this novel's only flaw (unless you count 'being about a priest' as a flaw, which I don't, but some might): it's beautifully written, quietly hilarious in an Evelyn Waugh kind of way, and extraordinarily subtle in its depiction of the unbridgeable gap between the best and worst aspects of modern human beings. Powers has an incredible ability to vary the distance between the narrative voice and main character (sometimes they're practically identical, sometimes much fun is had at Urban's expense), and to elicit both ironic scorn & joyful admiration for all of the characters, all in perfectly clear prose. My only complaint (occasional disjointed narrative aside) is that he only wrote two novels.
February 26, 2008
Morte D'Urban, like Catcher in the Rye, explores phonyness in post-war U.S. Compared to Salinger's classic, though, Morte D'Urban adopts a more adult if slightly more compromised view. Taking as its subject the business of operating the Catholic church, Morte D'Urban does a fantastically funny job describing the uncomfortable grooming of unsavory donors by the more worldly priests who understand the Church's need of them. Brilliantly, this book spells out the toll this mercenary relationship takes on the spiritual sincerity of the church's most dedicated servants.
September 5, 2017
A satire of the Catholic Church featuring Father Urban a priest from the fictitious religious order of the Clementines, a mediocre order with no distinctions to its credit. The story illustrates the all too real fact of the all too humanness of the priests with all of the same faults as any layperson. My only criticism is that the author, at times, stretched to far to be funny and the joke fell flat.
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