An award-winning writer delivers a major reckoning with religion, place, and sexuality in the aftermath of 9/11
Hailed in The Washington Post as "one of the most eloquent and probing public intellectuals in America," Richard Rodriguez now considers religious violence worldwide, growing public atheism in the West, and his own mortality.
Rodriguez’s stylish new memoir—the first book in a decade from the Pulitzer Prize finalist—moves from Jerusalem to Silicon Valley, from Moses to Liberace, from Lance Armstrong to Mother Teresa. Rodriguez is a homosexual who writes with love of the religions of the desert that exclude him. He is a passionate, unorthodox Christian who is always mindful of his relationship to Judaism and Islam because of a shared belief in the God who revealed himself within an ecology of emptiness. And at the center of this book is a consideration of women—their importance to Rodriguez’s spiritual formation and their centrality to the future of the desert religions.
Only a mind as elastic and refined as Rodriguez’s could bind these threads together into this wonderfully complex tapestry.
Richard Rodríguez is an American writer who became famous as the author of Hunger of Memory: The Education of Richard Rodríguez (1982). His work has appeared in Harper's, The American Scholar, the Los Ángeles Times Magazine, and The New Republic. Richard's awards include the Frankel Medal from the National Endowment for the Humanities and the International Journalism Award from the World Affairs Council of California. He has been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize in non-fiction; and the National Book Critics' Award.
After reading this book, I spent like two hours looking at Mecca and Jerusalem on Google maps.
I let Richard Rodriguez get away with pretty much anything because he's such a phenomenal writer. You want to cram Judaism, Islam, and Christianity into one little essay? Sure. You want to stick in random paragraphs about your atheist brother's angry blog comments? Sure.
The essays I loved were "Ojala," "Disappointment," "Darling" and "The Three Ecologies of the Desert" in which he doesn't talk about ecology of the desert at all, really.
Somehow he makes it work.
I recommend reading his other books before this one - they flow into one another somehow.
"Darling" is one of the two or three best books I've read in 2013, though, at first, I don't think I was in the mood for it; it sat a while on the nightstand. I've loved some of Richard Rodriguez's essays as much as one can, including "Late Victorians," which I read in an issue of Harper's in 1990 and still remember being blown away by the precision and elegance of his words and thinking. There was another essay, years later, about the whole concept of "the West" that I thought was very good. "Darling" has two pieces that I think are letter-perfect and deeply moving: One is the title essay, "Darling," about femininity and spirituality; the other, which ran in Harper's in 2010 or so, is called "Final Edition," ostensibly about the death of printed media, but really one of the most memorable responses to the modern tech era I've read.
Sometimes he's not being as profound as he might think he's being, but the writing is always beautiful. This book is for thinkers -- believer or atheist, traveler or homebody. "Darling" also helped restore my faith in "creative nonfiction"; like others in that genre, Rodriguez tells us that he's fudged names and details in order to shape something more lovely or meaningful. I don't always have a negative response to that, if it's done this well and this honestly.
Much of this book seems precious and dull, over-detailed and over-written. And then you come across passages, and sometimes entire essays, of extraordinary eloquence and insight. For instance, “Final Edition” starts out as a familiar and somewhat tiresome elegy for bygone San Francisco newspapers, but then turns into a moving analysis of how we are losing a sense of place and the material in a digital world. And the title essay, “Darling”, is a brilliant illustration of how to convincingly make a point—in this case, about the connections between the movements for women’s and gay rights—without simply falling into pro/con argument or debate. I often disagree with Rodriguez, but I learn from following the subtle twists and turns of his thought.
Throughout most of the book I was thinking, "Not as good as Hunger of Memory, which is hardly a criticism, considering how much I love that book." But then I got to the last two chapters and I take it back. They're even better.
A bit of a disappointment from a writer I value very much. Despite the title, Darling is more a collection of essays than a spiritual autobiography. As I read the first chapter--a probing meditation on the relationship between the three Abrahamic religions and the desert in which they took form--I was anticipating an extended engagement with issues of spirituality, emptiness, the evolution of religious institutions. Unfortunately, Rodriguez doesn't place those issues anywhere near the center of the book until the final chapter, which culminates in a fairly prosaic set of thoughts about the role of religion in the modern political world. Although he mentions the place of religion in the Civil Rights Movement, Rodriguez apparently lives in a world where fashionable intellectuals are 97% fashionably atheistic. That's simply not the world I live and work in and I found his choice to close with the duo of Christopher Hitchens and Mother Teresa especially aggravation.
The remainder of the book is a set of essays, some fascinating (his thoughts on Cesar Chavez), some that didn't do much for me (the color brown, the problems of digital culture and the fall of newspapers). It's interesting that he finally openly acknowledges the unkept secret that he's gay, although the essays that touch on sexuality aren't the strongest in the book. The Hunger of Memory and Days of Obligation remain the places to start if you're new to Rodriguez's work.
This was my first foray into the genre of essays and what I like to think of as collections of thought bubbles. But not the kinds of thought bubbles that I ever come up with - no, the thought bubbles above Richard Rodriguez's head would never fit in a two dimensional space. Unaccustomed to this kind of writing as I am, I found myself struggling to find the tie-in themes in a few sections, but overall, the book was a delight. I often found myself setting it down to gaze at the nearest wall or window, reflecting on an idea or phrase and creating more thought bubbles of my own. I adore the lens through which Rodriguez sees women and the faith of the three Abrahamic religions. It's refreshing, it's comforting, it's empowering.
I picked this book up on a whim (I was drawn to the cover and only realized as I finished the book that the photo was taken in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, which I had the fortune of visiting a few years back), and while picking it up wasn't intentional, I'll certainly be seeking out his other books. His writing is lucid and mosaic, and I think he's an absolute dear. Darling, if you will.
I did not think much of this disordered and rambling book, and I believe that those who did have not read authors of the best quality lately. It would be a compliment to call this book a salmagundi; more accurate to call it a case of literary hoarding and deceptive advertising. It bills itself as a "spiritual autobiography," and while there are observations that comport with that category, there are also contemplations about an aged gay man dying of AIDS in Las Vegas, Lance Armstrong's love life, sad boyhood memories, the lamentable decline of American newspapers in general and the San Francisco Chronicle in particular, the politics of the word "darling" . . . and so forth and so on. What was fascinating was Rodriguez's inability to hold to a topic for more than a glancing moment before he flits off to something else. Doubtless, he wants to make of this Attention Deficit Disorder a kind of innovative literary form, but for me it was simply boring and distracted ramblings. He does not know how to travel his eye over a landscape and then select something on which to focus and then dig and dig and dig.
Mexican-American, Catholic, gay - not content with three strikes, add intellectual. A "public intellectual" at that. I'd never heard that phrase before, and wondered who else might hold that title. Maybe Susan Sontag.
Here's the good news: Richard Rodriguez seems to wear his identities lightly, and the first three are the prisms through which he shines his amazing intellect. This is really a book of essays that wind their way around the common theme of identity. The writing is beautifully lucid, and Mr. Rodriguez pulls from a world of sources.
I was particularly taken by his meditations on Jerusalem and the Desert, and the title word, Darling. And I think it's also in Darling that the author meditates on the word "brown" - the subject of his previous book. Darling is not only smart, and beautifully written, but creatively written - in such a way as to see the workings of the author's mind. Fascinating in substance and style.
A book designedly formless and unfocused, but not without intelligence, and Rodriguez’s voice is winning. It’s billed as a spiritual “autobiography” but I’m not sure that’s the right word. It’s more a collection of thematically related essays. The first (“Ojala”) and the last (“The Three Ecologies of the Holy Desert”) are the best. In fact, the latter is a bit sublime.
I found the book too rambly for my tastes even though many of the anecdotes were interesting. But there seemed to be no flow, and that threw me off. I was constantly asking, "What does this have to do with desert religions and specifically their rejection of LGBT people?" I give it 3 stars because the book wasn't boring, but I can't justify any higher.
In a moment of hurry, I pulled this book from the public library shelf and headed home with it.
I was stunned by the beautiful short stories-- poetry really. Sometimes his writing has a stream of consciousness feeling, but then you come upon such a gorgeously crafted paragraph about the spirituality of trees, or their legacy, in an important university library that you really want to go back and read the entire book again. Now. The description of the old wood floor of the library as "plane of honey" had me contemplating that for much of the rest of the day.
I am around Richard's age so I can relate to many of the historical moments he highlights (although I had different experiences in Canada's prairies and our West Coast), and I have a Catholic-y background where I was a convent boarder for three years, and also admire the sisters who taught me during two of those years. In the last 30 years I have been an active member of a conservative Protestant assembly.
As someone who is a little on the edge of being 'involved' with denominational religion at this time, I do relate to his conflation of the Abrahamic religions as being more alike than not. I have to wonder if that is also not a trend among persons of our age and background since I have run into others, particularly Samir Selmanović whose memoir "It’s Really All About God: Reflections of a Muslim Atheist Jewish Christian" spoke to me about my own rather confused religiosity as a Christian who didn't feel the belonging that I had felt for much of my life. When my husband and I had a religio-spiritual crisis together, and he began to explore his "spirituality" apart from the church he had been (over)-active in for many years, I felt some sort of 'permission' to step outside of the traditional understanding of being a Christ-follower myself. The stories in "Darling" were sweetly written, I think a reflection of the nature of Rodriguez himself, and I feel nurtured by his examples of loving individuals-- humanly flawed but highly spiritual-- and their seeking of God.
I plan to re-read the stories in this book and to read his other books.
Picked this up after seeing that The Hunger of Memory has a 40th anniversary edition, mainly to see where the author's life went after school and felt like all the award nominations and positive reviews were a good sign.
Well, like yes and no.
I don't think this book really told me anything about religion that I didn't learn in undergraduate religion classes (UGA) taken around or just before the time was writing this. That's fine. I left religion after I discovered I'm transgender (and gay). I'm fascinated by people whose coming out experience didn't include leaving the church. How do you stand people who can't stand you? Is it an individual difference in tolerance for cognitive dissonance?
I don't think the author ever reacted to 9/11 in the book. I moved West in 2017. Every year, I feel white hot rage at how little people remember 9/11, and I'm from suburban Atlanta! I was hoping maybe for something... No, it just didn't impact people way out here. It was a foreign experience, even to writers.
I do think the book was a little illuminating about the conservative queer experience, which is sort of elusive beyond very public pick-me's and people who are deeply closeted, but also deeply suspect. Openly gay conservative men are relatively rare, so being able to read the thoughts and opinions of one was worthwhile. Like reading the Old Gays with less humor (although TBH, the author is funny).
The ten essays were of variable quality (and length...omg) with some definitely being more interesting than others. Stylistically, either you like his writing or you don't. There's not much room in-between.
Because of the time in my life that I read The Hunger of Memory (17), Rodriguez has taken on this quality of a friend from high school, one who maybe turned out political different from everyone else in a way that's vaguely cringe, but also a little understandable.
Overall, if you didn't read this when it was first released, there's not much point in reading it now, but it isn't as though it's totally unenjoyable or anything.
I want to think I am a better person for having read Richard Rodriguez’s Darling: A Spiritual Autobiography. I was drawn to the book when I saw the word “spiritual,” and seeing that Rodriguez is a gay Catholic only peaked my interest. And thus I began my journey through his book. Rodriguez is a remarkable writer. The book is a collection of essays, many of them about religion specifically, and all of them about spirituality. His brilliance is what makes this such a satisfying read. He peppers his narrative with fascinating stories of famous personages like St. Francis, Mother Theresa, W.H. Auden, and yes, Bugsy Siegel, the famous mobster. All of these tales illustrate and elaborate on the points in his essays. Note: I said earlier “I want to think I am a better person for having read” this book. You see, I think I would have to read it several times to fully understand the author’s message. But oh, the beautiful writing is to revel in even when you get bogged down wondering what he is trying to say. And I am not saying he is disorganized in his writing. What I’m trying to say is that he writes so imaginatively and so vividly that I got bogged down in his message while I was engrossed in his method. I can say this—I rejoice that I found this book if only for the chapter on Las Vegas. Rodriguez tells of his vigil at a friend’s deathbed in Vegas while not only giving us a fascinating look at the history of the city but also pulling in the deaths of such diverse people as Percy Shelley, Herbert Hoover, Elvis Presley, and yes—Bugsy Siegel. This is masterful writing from a man whose mind doesn’t work like most of our minds do. And we are enriched because of that.
I liked it more than I didn't, and for me, I think part of it is to understand the irony of the title -- take 'a spiritual autobiography' as a breathy metaphor, as /autobiography in the sense of the fleeting cataclysmic touches of this & that, here & there, not a concertina of experiences/ and it's closer to the book than if you embrace it literally, if you go in expecting points on a thru-line of a man's spiritual growth.
It still works both ways.
Rodriguez knows well how to turn a phrase, and how to turn a subject or moment on a dime by employing them. Overall this works for me, but sometimes it's too quick and I'm not ready for the pivot.
There are meditations on places I love but know not why, places I love for good reason, and a religiosity that doesn't apologize or quite make sense to me. I think in many ways this is the nature of faith.
Some aching moments, sparks of levity, quickly dashed but impressive allusion, observation of mundane things. To me it's not really quotable because it relies so heavily on existing as a whole, as flowing from one thing to the next, interweaving the essay/chapters even though they aren't directly connected. I still found moments stark or profound, like the technocrats who want the material, the real-world luxury, and sneer that we rest should be happy with the remotely delivered (enriching them as it goes) kind; like emptiness; like the mineral scratch of the desert.
The book is a collection of essays, only occasionally autobiographical, frequently spiritual, but always beautifully written and allusive (I had to have Google close at hand much of the time and still had to allow some of it to swirl enchantingly past.) He dazzles us into seeing, really seeing, spiritual truths often overlooked. Speaking of his brother, the committed atheist: ¨ My brother and I have, after many years, achieved our importance to each other as a difference. Because it is sometimes difficult for my brother to climb the steps to my apartment, he will often come by and we will sit in his car and talk. We quite enjoy one another´s company. My brother is no less a good man for not believing in God; and I am no better a man because I believe. It is simply that religion gives me a sense -- no, not a sense, a reason, no, not exactly a reason, an understanding -- that everyone matters.¨ (p. 224-5)
I really wanted to like this book. I'm a big fan of Rodriguez's other writing and find his thoughtfulness compelling, but the essays in this collection just always felt excessively reaching to me, working very hard at being stylized and deep and thoughtful but without any substantive content in them. This is especially true of the spiritually-laden essays where he is trying to explore the connective tissue of faith and desert that characterize the world's biggest, most contentious faiths. There's a lot of searching there that ends up feeling self-serving, rather than deep and helpful. The essays read like they are about him becoming a better person, which is fair, but doesn't translate to helping us become better people alongside him, which makes such essays feel, to me, like failures. There are absolutely moments of beauty, reflection, and depth in small bits throughout the book. But in large part I came away unimpressed and uninspired.
Brilliant in parts. Clear thinking social commentary. Skimmed quickly through a few parts as I just did not have the background knowledge to follow the point, I think. The pain of betrayal, the emotional discomfort of hospital visiting, newspapers as valuable community contributors...those things I get. His brilliance as a writer and speaker, for me, seems to lie in his ability to pull many things together and look at it sideways from a point of view not yet considered. The historical elements and time line spoke most to me. The spiritual seemed more of a framework or maybe perspective and maybe that is how he meant it to be received. I don't know. I do wish I owned a copy so I could put some sticky notes on the best parts. It is a thoughtful and thought provoking kind of book.
The meandering essays varied in their degree of interest to me. It was the style, however, that I found trying at times. In “The True Cross,” which was largely about his deathbed vigil for someone dear and dear to him, the italicized interjections of others presented difficulties— I found myself counting back, trying to figure out who the speaker was, only to decide it was not one of the several people present, but someone in memory. I found Rodriguez’s more direct narratives, with only his voice, to be the most powerful: “Saint Cesar of Delano,” about Cesar Chavez, “Final Demise,” about the demise of newsprint and of the individual identities of cities, and”the three ecologies of the holy desert,” invoking Mountain, Desert (desert floor), and Cave.
Despite the title, this really isn’t a spiritual biography but a series of essays. Most of these essays touch on the author’s faith, sometimes it’s the central focus but most times it’s just in relation to other subjects. I thought his essay on watching a friend die in a hospice was particularly powerful. And his essay on the “New Atheists” who have become so publicly prominent in the wake of 9/11 was spot on. The author is a progressive gay man who remains catholic despite all the challenges that entails. He is well worth reading, especially for those of us who sometimes struggle to maintain our faith.
I read this for the faculty Catholic Intellectual Traditions book club. It sounded interesting - a Latinx, queer, catholic guy grapples with the church, his family, etc. However, it was SO metaphorical and abstract. I did not like it at all.
It just seemed like a bunch of rambling without any solid form. It’s very descriptive but some parts just lost me. The author just relentlessly rambles with no sense of purpose it seems like.
really didn't enjoy this one, but the person giving the presentation in class was so excited about it...and her enthusiasm didn't make me any happier with the book.
Although Rodriguez is a great writer, this book was more stream of consciousness than a coherent work. There are moments of brilliance and moments that are out of place. Overall an OK book.
Richard Rodriquez first entered my consciousness as a PBS Newshour California-based correspondent who commented on issues such as minorities, immigration, and the environment . This is the only one of his five published books that I've read.
In his foreword he notes that all of the chapters, some of which have appeared in periodicals, were written after September 11, 2001, "years of religious extremism throughout the world, years of rising public atheism, years of digital distraction. I write as a Christian, a Roman Catholic. My faith in the desert makes me kin to the Jew and the Muslim."
He might also have added that he writes as an openly gay man, a position that is at odds with with the Roman Catholic Church's position on homosexuality. That also helps explain the title of the book. He points out that "darling" is a term of endearment exchanged between lovers, especially on stage and screen, and during the 50's it was a staple of married life affection. It's often used ironically and self-consciously, and it seems to me that Rodriquez is using the term to indicate his relationship to the Catholic Church, an ambiguous and self-conscious one. To the question of why he stays in the church, he says simply "I stay in the Church because it is mine." It gives him more than it denies him, he writes, so he is defining the church , rather than its official formulations defining him.
This appraisal of the church puts it in the larger context of other religions, specifically the three Abrahamic faiths that all came out of the Middle-East dersert. One of his key chapters suggests what he has gotten from thinking about the desert. For instance, "Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad - each ran afoul of cities: Moses of the court of Egypt, Jesus of Jerusalem, and Muhammad of Mecca." The desert, by emptying them of vanity and egotism, was a period of trial before they emerged as religious leaders.
This notion of emptiness, of getting away from, or at least of putting the urban lives that most of us lead into perspective, lurks in all of the book's ten chapters. Whether it's a bout with cancer that Rodriquez describes (contrasting it with Lance Armstrong's accomplishments), reflections on the city of Las Vegas that emerged from the desert, the failure of Cesar Chavez's vision of united farm workers, or Francis of Assisi embracing lepers, Rodriquez is pointing toward an emptiness that needs to be filled, filled though, with something more than what the world of technological offers.
For lack of a better term, Rodriquez talks about the "word of God," the word that reflects nature and the eternal, a word that comes from the "Holy Desert." The Torah, the Bible, and the Koran are all "irrational," but that does not mean that they lack value. They are themilieu from which we thirst for a promised land, a salvation, a heaven.
It's a thirst not easily quenched, as Rodriquez emphasizes. Humanity is made up of people who believe a multitude of crazy things. "Some among us are smart, some serene, some feeble, poor, practical, guilt-ridden, some are lazy, arrogant, rich, pious prurient, bitter, injured, sad. We gather in belief of one big thing: that we matter, somehow. We all matter. No one can matter unless all matter. We call that which gives matter God."
Rodriquez ends by writing that "we celebrate our passions as the victims of love on earth." Religion emphasizes this celebration best, and for that reason Rodriquez embraces his Catholic faith. It's a poetic, elliptical vision, grounded and modified by his personal experiences, and it's convincing.
nonfiction - these are supposed to be autobiographical essays, but they are more like the author's tangentially connected thoughts splashed across the page in an artful manner. I didn't get a whole lot of out these (maybe if I knew more about Catholicism or the other topics he touches on?) but if you're not looking for cohesiveness, Rodriguez does have a great writing style, and as a gay Catholic American with Hispanic heritage (frequently scrutinized at airports for his darker "Arabic" complexion), he is certainly an interesting person to read about. I suspect he is more brilliant than I could immediately discern (he is definitely a scholar, a thinker, an intelligent dreamer), but I'm not sure it's worth re-reading and studying to find out exactly how brilliant, or in what ways. I would suggest maybe reading his previous books instead.
Richard Rodriquez writes about spirituality in the context of social commentary. In his memoir Darling, Rodriquez addresses issues important today, like the treatment of women and homosexuality. These are tricky subjects, subjects that make outsiders—and insiders—wary of spirituality. Thus far they have been treated without tact in much of religious nonfiction. That’s why Rodriquez’s creative nonfiction is so important. He grounds his opinions in his personal experience and fresh honesty; he is then able to earn the reader’s trust into order to merge current culture with his beliefs. Rodriquez doesn’t shy away from critique. He is apart of the Church but admits old and modern faults openly. He doesn’t like the way women are treated in Christianity and is upfront about it. Perhaps that is why his spirituality is made attainable. For instance, he writes about his encounter with a Dominican nun who is candidly uncertain about why she remains with the church. In response, he says, “I will stay in the Church as long as you do” (104). The camaraderie is simple, yes, but his response is sincere, as is his sharing it with the reader. Rodriquez relates the two issues—the treatment of women and homosexuality—together. He says, “Nevertheless, the desert religions will stand opposed to homosexuality, to homosexual acts, unless the desert religions turn to regard the authority of women. And that will not happen until the desert religions reevaluate the meaning of women”(116). It is a unique approach, this blending of two issues, but it works in the entirety of his argument. It’s an open challenge to current religious belief, a necessary one, and it is a way to talk about spirituality with compassion. The topic of homosexuality is an important one to Rodriquez. The pain Christians have caused him is evident and readers grapple through it with him. He critiques the Church but in a way he also defends it; his decision to remain in the church despite its treatment towards his orientation speaks volumes. He answers his own question: “Why do I stay in the Catholic Church? I stay in the Church because the Church is more than its ignorance; the Church gives more than it denies me. I stay in the Church because it is mine”(117-118). Rodriquez is actually able to promote his spirituality through his critique of the modern Church, just as Norris does in her commentary on current culture in "The Cloister Walk"
DARLING: A SPIRITUAL AUTOBIOGRAPHY by Richard Rodriguez is a book that delivers a major reckoning with religion, place, and sexuality in the after math of 911. He calls us like John the Baptist to think our lives over again--to relook at our lives in the context of our look at success, greed, and spirituality. Nineteen years ago i made the first step in thinking my life over again as I moved to San Francisco. It is not easy--not knowing where my money is going to come from, being in danger at times, dealing with people who hate themselves but turn their hate on you--but for me it has become a time of joy, for in thinking my life over I have found the joy of Jesus of Nazareth and of serving him regardless of the cost. I did not come to California looking to get rich, looking for material success but as a place of service, of of new beginnings and I have found that. Rodriguez basically sums up what I believe--that material wealth, physical looks are not what makes us happy--it is the joy in serving others. Deo Gratgias! Thanks be to God!
VegInspiration There is no way to overstate the magnitude of the collective spiritual transformation that will occur when we shift from food of violent oppression to food of gentleness and compassion. Dr. Will Tuttle