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The Edge of Sadness
In this moving novel, Father Hugh Kennedy, a recovering alcoholic, returns to Boston to repair his damaged priesthood. There he is drawn into the unruly world of the Carmodys, a sprawling, prosperous Irish family teeming with passion and riddled with secrets. The story of this entanglement is a beautifully rendered tale of grace and renewal, of friendship and longing, of loneliness and spiritual aridity giving way to hope.
400 pages, Paperback
First published June 1, 1961
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8460 people want to read
About the author
Edwin O'Connor
31 books38 followersEdwin O'Connor was an American journalist, novelist, and radio commentator who won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1962 for his novel The Edge of Sadness (1961). His ancestry was Irish, and his novels concerned the Irish-American experience and often dealt with the lives of politicians and priests.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 208 reviews
August 12, 2021
Much to my surprise, this turned out to be a magnificent novel. I say surprising because for 3/4 of this long tale, I was impatient with the long conversations that seemed to go nowhere, day to day life in a Catholic parish that seemed to go nowhere, characters who never changed in their irritating mannerisms or lifelong dispicability or spiraling into depression and despair. Had I not been in a bit of a reading slump and just too lazy to put this aside to start something new, I would not have finished, despite other 5 star reviews and the fact that this won the 1961 Pulitzer Prize. I just wasn't feeling it.
Until, all of a sudden, I was. I got into the skin and heads of all these people who irritated me so. I began to see the why and the how of what we all make of what life throws at us. Aren't we all on the edge of sadness every day, and don't we do what we can not to give in to it?
So my laziness and inertia served me well here. I kept reading and ended up with a beautiful experience and understanding of what make us human. I will think about this book for a while.
Special thanks to Father Danowski the curate, and Roy the church caretaker, characters who provided much needed comic relief, and a few lessons of their own.
Until, all of a sudden, I was. I got into the skin and heads of all these people who irritated me so. I began to see the why and the how of what we all make of what life throws at us. Aren't we all on the edge of sadness every day, and don't we do what we can not to give in to it?
So my laziness and inertia served me well here. I kept reading and ended up with a beautiful experience and understanding of what make us human. I will think about this book for a while.
Special thanks to Father Danowski the curate, and Roy the church caretaker, characters who provided much needed comic relief, and a few lessons of their own.
September 18, 2014
My first thought when I read the initial chapters of “The Edge of Sadness” was why I was laughing so much. I was anticipating long hours stewing in a miry bog of despair. I did not expect the generous dose of humor that was evident throughout the novel whose core theme was sadness. I enjoyed the vivid use of metaphor and similes that conjured up the hilarity of a human face or a social situation. One of the earliest mental pictures was that of a priest preaching to a layer cake. Father Hugh Kennedy likened his congregation to “an incredible layer cake of intellect and imagination”. The challenges of priesthood became obvious: “How do you talk about God Almighty to a layer cake?”
The Edge of Sadness is a somber story about a failing middle-aged priest in an unnamed New England port city and his relationship with members of the prominent Carmody family. The story began with Father Hugh Kennedy being invited to Charlie Carmody’s 82nd birthday party. Charlie was a mean spirited, wily old capitalist fox and a destructive parent. The motivation for Charlie’s sudden and superfluous social overtures toward Father Hugh was the object of speculation. It was at this party that Father Hugh, newly rehabilitated from alcoholism, became reconnected with his childhood friend, Father John Carmody (priest of the posh St Raymond’s parish), Helen Carmody (a love interest from his youthful days), and old friends of the Carmody and Kennedy families (e.g., the funnily cantankerous Bucky whose tag line when criticizing his friends was “I mention no names.”).
Good books have an unmistakable touch of realism. All the characters went about their daily existence trying to find contentment in their current stations in life and no one was ostensibly sad. Is it not familiar that sadness hovers on the periphery of our existence and takes us by surprise? Father Hugh said it well, “...this queer, causeless sadness, is not a regular thing with me – it comes very seldom, really, but when it does it comes with leaping unexpectedness, from nowhere with the speed of light: the blizzard from the blue sky on a day in early May.”
The edge of sadness came in many guises and cut people up deeply. For Charlie Carmody, it was ironic that his birthday party should be the occasion he let on that he “was happy but lonesome”. For Helen, who had seemingly married well, sadness was not finding what she had hoped to find in her marriage. For many, sadness as in the case of Father Hugh’s dad was a private sorrow that could not be shared with anyone. And for all of us, the edge of sadness could well be the sudden realization that "we are moved steadily, day by day, to the once distant world of the old" and toward the certainty of death. Charlie's lament when he summoned Father Hugh to his death bed was heartbreaking, "I hate to go. I hate it like the devil... There's no such thing as dyin' happy."
The most salient thing that struck me was the one small way in which “The Edge of Sadness” reminded me of “The Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad. Like Kurtz, Charlie encountered “The horror! The horror!” Father Hugh's reply to Charlie’s pressing question while he lay dying took me back to Marlow's reply to Kurtz's fianceé about Kurtz's last words. Father Hugh’s response was perfectly understandable, "And what could I say? I said the only thing that it was possible to say and still remain a human being."
Thus, the novel plumbed the depths of human concerns and unraveled the inscrutable. Yet the treatment was by no means moralistic or sentimental. Edwin O’ Connor was honest and sincere in the way he portrayed the unsavory manner in which his characters thought and conducted themselves. Quite frequently, Father Hugh admitted unabashedly how he had felt or was stupefied by a turn of conversation for which no decent response was possible ("And this was so unexpected that I had nothing to say."). Sometimes, there are indeed no answers to the quandaries in which we find ourselves.
The Edge of Sadness, winner of the 1962 Putlizer Prize for Fiction, is unreservedly worthy of five bright stars.
August 13, 2015
Even the title should warn you that this book is not for everyone. But if you are the type of reader who enjoys psychological mysteries, then you will find Edwin O'Connor's study of the priesthood in The Edge of Sadness fascinating.
The Edge of Sadness is 646 pages of mostly thought and dialogue which spans the relatively brief time span of six months, occasionally taking retrospective forays back into the lifetime friendship of two middle-aged priests who grew up together.
The main character, Father Hugh Kennedy, a recovering alcoholic, is the pastor of the down-and-out—and going nowhere—Old St. Paul's, a conglomerate parish which has seen better days and probably won't see them again. Father John Carmody, son of the infamous Charlie Carmody, one of the most hated Irish business shysters of his generation is the type-A pastor of a type-A parish, St. Raymond's, a place which functioned much like a hospital emergency room—as did many a big Eastern city Catholic parish of the 1960's era—that is, always running, often at top speed, and never closing its doors.
But the parishes only provide a backdrop for the story which really centers on Father Hugh and his relationship with the Carmody family: Charlie, the formidable patriarch; Hugh's best friend, John; Helen, his married sister and her family; Dan, the other brother who never could get his act together and Mary, Charlie’s caretaker and housekeeper.
The overarching mystery of the novel is why does Charlie—who never does anything to no avail—suddenly decide to start calling on Father Hugh, reminiscing about his so-called friendship with Hugh's long-dead father, who in fact knew Charlie for exactly what he was, a shrewd and self-motivated businessman who never did an unselfish act in his life? What is Charlie's game now? Even his own children are at a loss to explain his seemingly motiveless nostalgia. But as the story unfolds and we go deeper and deeper into the Carmody family, we sense the damage old Charlie has been wreaking, not only on his four adult children but on ‘friends’, clients, business associates and the city as a whole.
Not that I did it, but if you’re one of those who do, even reading the last page and/or chapter won’t solve the mystery, although it is solved, I promise. For all its length and leisurely pace, The Edge of Sadness is one of the most satisfying books I have read in a long time, also one of the most insightful and thought-provoking. The vocation of the priesthood is viewed from the inside, without glamour or sentiment but as Real Life, sometimes happy and enjoyable, other times as living on ‘the edge of sadness’. But then what life isn’t?
The Edge of Sadness is 646 pages of mostly thought and dialogue which spans the relatively brief time span of six months, occasionally taking retrospective forays back into the lifetime friendship of two middle-aged priests who grew up together.
The main character, Father Hugh Kennedy, a recovering alcoholic, is the pastor of the down-and-out—and going nowhere—Old St. Paul's, a conglomerate parish which has seen better days and probably won't see them again. Father John Carmody, son of the infamous Charlie Carmody, one of the most hated Irish business shysters of his generation is the type-A pastor of a type-A parish, St. Raymond's, a place which functioned much like a hospital emergency room—as did many a big Eastern city Catholic parish of the 1960's era—that is, always running, often at top speed, and never closing its doors.
But the parishes only provide a backdrop for the story which really centers on Father Hugh and his relationship with the Carmody family: Charlie, the formidable patriarch; Hugh's best friend, John; Helen, his married sister and her family; Dan, the other brother who never could get his act together and Mary, Charlie’s caretaker and housekeeper.
The overarching mystery of the novel is why does Charlie—who never does anything to no avail—suddenly decide to start calling on Father Hugh, reminiscing about his so-called friendship with Hugh's long-dead father, who in fact knew Charlie for exactly what he was, a shrewd and self-motivated businessman who never did an unselfish act in his life? What is Charlie's game now? Even his own children are at a loss to explain his seemingly motiveless nostalgia. But as the story unfolds and we go deeper and deeper into the Carmody family, we sense the damage old Charlie has been wreaking, not only on his four adult children but on ‘friends’, clients, business associates and the city as a whole.
Not that I did it, but if you’re one of those who do, even reading the last page and/or chapter won’t solve the mystery, although it is solved, I promise. For all its length and leisurely pace, The Edge of Sadness is one of the most satisfying books I have read in a long time, also one of the most insightful and thought-provoking. The vocation of the priesthood is viewed from the inside, without glamour or sentiment but as Real Life, sometimes happy and enjoyable, other times as living on ‘the edge of sadness’. But then what life isn’t?
September 20, 2021
I read this book as part of my ambition to read all of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction award winners. That's probably too ambitious, but I am certainly glad I got to this one. It is a magnificent novel, beautifully written and incredibly moving. Some may consider it to be about a time that is now irrelevant. In a way it is, I grew up and was well into my late teenage years in the pre-Vatican II Catholic Church. This novel describes parish life in those times very accurately, and for better or for worse (depending on your viewpoint) that type of parish life no longer exists. However what does continue to exist is the human condition including faith, hope, despair and relationships among friends and family. This novel captures all of those timeless issues perfectly. Highly recommended and goes on my favorites list.
June 7, 2021
Father Hugh Kennedy, a recovering alcoholic, has returned to his hometown and his parish duties after spending time in the west getting control over his drinking and addressing its underlying causes. Father Kennedy is assigned a poor parish that is the only assignment at that time available, and which is far different from his previous parish. Father Kennedy seems both strong and fragile at the same time. Charlie Carmody, the father of his childhood friends John and Helen, for unknown reasons invites Hugh to his birthday party, and so begins the process of Father Kennedy reconnecting with parts of his old life and especially with the Carmody family.
This is one of those “quiet” novels with which I often fall in love. Mostly dialogue and interior thought, relatively little actually happens in this novel. Thinking of it brings to mind Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day and John Williams’ Stoner, as my favorite novels of this type. The characters are rich in depth without being overwrought. The story is about Father Kennedy, but it could have been about Charlie Carmody, John Carmody or Helen Carmody; I found myself intrigued with each of their lives. This is a world of much pretense: some of the characters take elaborate measures to protect themselves from having to acknowledge or reveal their true natures. In hiding themselves from others, they are hiding from themselves. It is a sad place to be, and it would be difficult to read if it were not for Edwin O’Connor’s ability to inject his dry wit into most every page; you find yourself laughing while wanting to cry.
One of the things reading is for me is the ability to explore a world I will never experience myself. This novel provided great insight into a Roman Catholic priest’s personal and day-to-day life, something I will never experience myself and might never have had the opportunity to learn about from someone who has had that direct experience. While this novel will not be for everyone and might be terribly boring to some, it has so many strong qualities that I highly recommend it to anyone who thinks they might find it interesting.
This is one of those “quiet” novels with which I often fall in love. Mostly dialogue and interior thought, relatively little actually happens in this novel. Thinking of it brings to mind Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day and John Williams’ Stoner, as my favorite novels of this type. The characters are rich in depth without being overwrought. The story is about Father Kennedy, but it could have been about Charlie Carmody, John Carmody or Helen Carmody; I found myself intrigued with each of their lives. This is a world of much pretense: some of the characters take elaborate measures to protect themselves from having to acknowledge or reveal their true natures. In hiding themselves from others, they are hiding from themselves. It is a sad place to be, and it would be difficult to read if it were not for Edwin O’Connor’s ability to inject his dry wit into most every page; you find yourself laughing while wanting to cry.
One of the things reading is for me is the ability to explore a world I will never experience myself. This novel provided great insight into a Roman Catholic priest’s personal and day-to-day life, something I will never experience myself and might never have had the opportunity to learn about from someone who has had that direct experience. While this novel will not be for everyone and might be terribly boring to some, it has so many strong qualities that I highly recommend it to anyone who thinks they might find it interesting.
August 29, 2015
I love, love, love this book. It's like legitimately my favourite book of all time and I have no idea why. Normally when people ask me what my favourite book is I say Moby Dick (which I love also) because it is just too difficult to explain the depth of affection I have for this obscure little book. I'm not a Catholic or even religious in anyway, but somehow this book just resonated with me. I read it first as a teenager and even though the title is sucky in the extreme, I found the idea of holding an edge of sadness around a powerful and relevant one.
The writing is in the style of that beautiful, over the top prose that I adore. It's beautiful, it made me cry and laugh and just feel all the feels. Something about it is so genuine and so perfect and real- just a great exploration of the difficulties and trials of living in "comfortable" surburbia. It's not something that I would recommend, however, as I doubt many would feel the same way I do about it.
“For what is really dreadful, what I find genuinely frightening, is this spreading, endless despair, hanging low like a blanket, never lifting, the fatal slow smog of the spirit.”
The writing is in the style of that beautiful, over the top prose that I adore. It's beautiful, it made me cry and laugh and just feel all the feels. Something about it is so genuine and so perfect and real- just a great exploration of the difficulties and trials of living in "comfortable" surburbia. It's not something that I would recommend, however, as I doubt many would feel the same way I do about it.
“For what is really dreadful, what I find genuinely frightening, is this spreading, endless despair, hanging low like a blanket, never lifting, the fatal slow smog of the spirit.”
September 5, 2011
While I do like to think that I have a decent sense of humor, I've never been one to laugh out loud much.
This book is probably the first book I've ever read that had me constantly cracking up. However, I doubt anyone else would have the same experience.
The book is basically about a priest who is very close to his father. When his dad dies, he ends up going off the deep end and getting wasted all the time. Eventually the Cardinal sends him to a rehab-for-Priests place in Arizona. After 4 or so years there, he finally gets a Parish back.
The Parish he gets though, is not the one he would have wanted. It's a Parish for non-English speakers, poor folks and those who are just looking for a place to eat. His church was once the most beautiful around, but now most of its rooms are boarded up and not used. If it weren't for the Cardinal's personal love for the church (he attended it as a child), there's no way that this Parish would continue to exist.
Throughout the course of the book, the Priest begins to get in touch with people from his past, who know about his drinking problem. The book is full of colorful and hilarious characters. I'd never really considered what a Priest thinks about on a day to day basis, but it was pretty funny reading his reactions to these goofy people and his insane Parishiners.
My favorite character though, is the Priest's young protege. After reading a few pages of his dialouge and inane ramblings, I realized that he's a dead ringer for Dwight from The Office.
In summation : If you're me and you want to laugh for like 10,000 hours, you should read this hilarious and ridiculous book.
P.S. I should really explain a thing or two more in regard to why other people wouldn't find this funny. It's mostly really serious and sad. However, the reason it's my jam is that all of the humor is extremely dry and subtle. Seriously, if anyone actually read this book with this review in mind, it would lead to massive confusion. Also, explosions!
This book is probably the first book I've ever read that had me constantly cracking up. However, I doubt anyone else would have the same experience.
The book is basically about a priest who is very close to his father. When his dad dies, he ends up going off the deep end and getting wasted all the time. Eventually the Cardinal sends him to a rehab-for-Priests place in Arizona. After 4 or so years there, he finally gets a Parish back.
The Parish he gets though, is not the one he would have wanted. It's a Parish for non-English speakers, poor folks and those who are just looking for a place to eat. His church was once the most beautiful around, but now most of its rooms are boarded up and not used. If it weren't for the Cardinal's personal love for the church (he attended it as a child), there's no way that this Parish would continue to exist.
Throughout the course of the book, the Priest begins to get in touch with people from his past, who know about his drinking problem. The book is full of colorful and hilarious characters. I'd never really considered what a Priest thinks about on a day to day basis, but it was pretty funny reading his reactions to these goofy people and his insane Parishiners.
My favorite character though, is the Priest's young protege. After reading a few pages of his dialouge and inane ramblings, I realized that he's a dead ringer for Dwight from The Office.
In summation : If you're me and you want to laugh for like 10,000 hours, you should read this hilarious and ridiculous book.
P.S. I should really explain a thing or two more in regard to why other people wouldn't find this funny. It's mostly really serious and sad. However, the reason it's my jam is that all of the humor is extremely dry and subtle. Seriously, if anyone actually read this book with this review in mind, it would lead to massive confusion. Also, explosions!
September 8, 2021
4.5 Stars
Edwin O"Connor's novel The Edge of Sadness is nominally the story of a Catholic priest and his relationship with the Carmody family. What made it the Pulitzer Prize winner for 1962 is that it's also the story about the search for purpose, the temptation to slide into isolation, and the yearning to be truly seen.
The following passage can apply to everyone of us, any failure to nourish a long-term relationship.
"The telltale thread wound its way through all: the slow neglect of the nourishment of the spirit, the failure to realize that unless this is daily deepened and enriched, then, when the fervor and the drive of the young priest fade--as they must--there will be no replacement by a living, ever-growing love, and then, when the aging priest going through the years meets the inevitable disappointments, crises, or sometimes just the sudden burden of his loneliness, he may meet them with an emptiness where fullness should be, and the result of that will not be a happy one. Because if a priest has not this continuing current of love, he has nothing. He can turn to no one; his marriage is to God, and if he fails in that, his strength is gone, his very purpose is gone."
And if you do wake up and realize that you need to make a change in your life:
" 'So what does a man do? Does he change? How? That ain't so easy, Father. People get used to you the way you are. How do you change without makin' a clown of yourself? And without givin' up everythin' you worked hard to get? And what do you change to?' "
I completely understand what Charlie is saying here. Once you are in a pattern of behavior it's hard to change it. Our youngest and I had a bumpy time through her adolescence. Once I recognized my part of the pattern (with much input from my beloved), I had to make consistent and persistent changes in my reactions to our daughter. Then she had to trust that these changes were permanent. It was easy to be discouraged while waiting for the whole pattern to change.
" . . . never once saw them for what they were--and that being so, did all the rest matter at all . . .?"
And seeing, and accepting her, for who she truly was, not my idea of who she was, was an element to this change. Don't we all long to be seen and deeply known by those closest to us? I am blessed that my life partner knows me in this way and holds me in love despite my darker side.
These are just a few examples of O'Connor's writing that crept into my soul. This is a quiet, insightful novel. And though melancholy underlies much of the novel, there is humor, especially from the characters Father Danowski and Ray the custodian.
Don't let the book blurb telling you this is a story of a Roman Catholic priest scare you away from this beautifully written look into the human heart.
Thank you to my GR friend Jenn for recommending this book to me.
Edwin O"Connor's novel The Edge of Sadness is nominally the story of a Catholic priest and his relationship with the Carmody family. What made it the Pulitzer Prize winner for 1962 is that it's also the story about the search for purpose, the temptation to slide into isolation, and the yearning to be truly seen.
The following passage can apply to everyone of us, any failure to nourish a long-term relationship.
"The telltale thread wound its way through all: the slow neglect of the nourishment of the spirit, the failure to realize that unless this is daily deepened and enriched, then, when the fervor and the drive of the young priest fade--as they must--there will be no replacement by a living, ever-growing love, and then, when the aging priest going through the years meets the inevitable disappointments, crises, or sometimes just the sudden burden of his loneliness, he may meet them with an emptiness where fullness should be, and the result of that will not be a happy one. Because if a priest has not this continuing current of love, he has nothing. He can turn to no one; his marriage is to God, and if he fails in that, his strength is gone, his very purpose is gone."
And if you do wake up and realize that you need to make a change in your life:
" 'So what does a man do? Does he change? How? That ain't so easy, Father. People get used to you the way you are. How do you change without makin' a clown of yourself? And without givin' up everythin' you worked hard to get? And what do you change to?' "
I completely understand what Charlie is saying here. Once you are in a pattern of behavior it's hard to change it. Our youngest and I had a bumpy time through her adolescence. Once I recognized my part of the pattern (with much input from my beloved), I had to make consistent and persistent changes in my reactions to our daughter. Then she had to trust that these changes were permanent. It was easy to be discouraged while waiting for the whole pattern to change.
" . . . never once saw them for what they were--and that being so, did all the rest matter at all . . .?"
And seeing, and accepting her, for who she truly was, not my idea of who she was, was an element to this change. Don't we all long to be seen and deeply known by those closest to us? I am blessed that my life partner knows me in this way and holds me in love despite my darker side.
These are just a few examples of O'Connor's writing that crept into my soul. This is a quiet, insightful novel. And though melancholy underlies much of the novel, there is humor, especially from the characters Father Danowski and Ray the custodian.
Don't let the book blurb telling you this is a story of a Roman Catholic priest scare you away from this beautifully written look into the human heart.
Thank you to my GR friend Jenn for recommending this book to me.
February 24, 2016
Pulitzer Prize Winner 1962. You know how I always rant about the non-literary quality of christian fiction? Well.... Rant over. I found the novel I've always been wanting to read.
The book tells the story of a fallen Catholic Priest, fallen into alcoholism after his father died. This is his story of recovery and ministry, an exploration of how he fell into sin, and a journey of how he came back. It is also the story of his childhood family friends, the Carmodys. The Carmodys are a sprawling, Irish-Catholic family living in Boston with quirky temperaments and sometimes strange behaviors.
The novel has a true literary nature, with philosophical moments, beautiful descriptions, and lengthy sentences. It's beautiful.
Several people have asked me if the book is sad. Not really. The first 500 pages are not really sad-- thought-provoking, but not really sad. The ending of the book is sad and hopeful at the same time.
The themes explore the dangers of isolation, of being busy for the sake of busyness, of hating your fellow man. Sometimes, what's right for us is not what we want. When you are talking about Christian ministry this takes on another dimension all on its own.
The book tells the story of a fallen Catholic Priest, fallen into alcoholism after his father died. This is his story of recovery and ministry, an exploration of how he fell into sin, and a journey of how he came back. It is also the story of his childhood family friends, the Carmodys. The Carmodys are a sprawling, Irish-Catholic family living in Boston with quirky temperaments and sometimes strange behaviors.
The novel has a true literary nature, with philosophical moments, beautiful descriptions, and lengthy sentences. It's beautiful.
Several people have asked me if the book is sad. Not really. The first 500 pages are not really sad-- thought-provoking, but not really sad. The ending of the book is sad and hopeful at the same time.
The themes explore the dangers of isolation, of being busy for the sake of busyness, of hating your fellow man. Sometimes, what's right for us is not what we want. When you are talking about Christian ministry this takes on another dimension all on its own.
January 29, 2018
I came upon this treasure by following some goodreads threads, and was initially daunted by the sheer length as it’s over six hundred pages. However, after I began there was no doubt it was a keeper! Perhaps my Catholic faith contributed to the enchantment, but that wasn’t the only draw. The writing was exquisite in a quiet way. This tale of a priest in his middle years had a haunting quality, although melancholia certainly didn’t prevail. In fact, I found myself laughing out loud more than once. The author has marvelous powers of description as well as a keen eye for eccentricities, both subtle and otherwise! Dear to his heart are the Irish parishioners, of course, whom he portrays with a gentle accuracy. Here he reflects on the chatter going on around him in the church hall:
‘The conversation continued for some moments………., and as I listened to it, with amusement and delight and nostalgia, it was so familiar to me that it almost seemed as if I’d never been away from it – and this in spite of the fact that I hadn’t heard it for years. But it was the same talk with which I’d grown up, the talk that belonged, really, to another era, and that now must have been close to disappearing, the talk of old men and old women for whom the simple business of talking had always been the one great recreation. .And so the result was the long, winding, old-fashioned parade of extraordinary reminiscence and anecdote and parochial prejudice and crotchety improbable behavior.’
The varied supporting characters lend both color and depth to this very moving story. There’s Father Hugh Kennedy’s assistant, Father Danowski, an earnest, newly ordained priest of Polish extraction, who has a clumsiness about him, and yet is most endearing. Also, colorful Charlie Carmody, from his father’s generation, who revels in flawed reminiscences:
‘…it was never hard for me to watch and listen as this little, incredibly lively old man bounded about the rectory reception room, bubbling out his exuberant monologues, each one a virtuoso’s grab bag of gossip, extravagant self-praise, spurious compliments to me, crocodile tears, unlikely reports of kindly deeds performed, and - above all – eloquent recollections of the vital, parochial, picturesque, and vanished world in which he and my father had been young…’
How poignantly he captures a feeling, touches a nerve; Here O’Connor mentions a moment which will undoubtedly come to most of us:
‘An old priest who was dying, one of the saintliest men I have ever known, one of those who had the greatest reason to expect God’s favor, many years ago surprised me, by telling me with a little smile, that now that he was going, he wanted desperately to stay. A single memory can do it, he said. And I suppose he was right. The memory of an instant – of a smile, of leaf smoke on a sharp fall day, of a golden streak across a rain-washed morning, of a small boy seated alone on the seashore, solemnly building his medieval castles – just this one, single, final flash of memory can be enough to make us want to stay forever….. '
I’m so happy that I discovered this one, which won the Pulizer prize in 1962. It was difficult to resist repeated quotes, so rich was the writing!
‘The conversation continued for some moments………., and as I listened to it, with amusement and delight and nostalgia, it was so familiar to me that it almost seemed as if I’d never been away from it – and this in spite of the fact that I hadn’t heard it for years. But it was the same talk with which I’d grown up, the talk that belonged, really, to another era, and that now must have been close to disappearing, the talk of old men and old women for whom the simple business of talking had always been the one great recreation. .And so the result was the long, winding, old-fashioned parade of extraordinary reminiscence and anecdote and parochial prejudice and crotchety improbable behavior.’
The varied supporting characters lend both color and depth to this very moving story. There’s Father Hugh Kennedy’s assistant, Father Danowski, an earnest, newly ordained priest of Polish extraction, who has a clumsiness about him, and yet is most endearing. Also, colorful Charlie Carmody, from his father’s generation, who revels in flawed reminiscences:
‘…it was never hard for me to watch and listen as this little, incredibly lively old man bounded about the rectory reception room, bubbling out his exuberant monologues, each one a virtuoso’s grab bag of gossip, extravagant self-praise, spurious compliments to me, crocodile tears, unlikely reports of kindly deeds performed, and - above all – eloquent recollections of the vital, parochial, picturesque, and vanished world in which he and my father had been young…’
How poignantly he captures a feeling, touches a nerve; Here O’Connor mentions a moment which will undoubtedly come to most of us:
‘An old priest who was dying, one of the saintliest men I have ever known, one of those who had the greatest reason to expect God’s favor, many years ago surprised me, by telling me with a little smile, that now that he was going, he wanted desperately to stay. A single memory can do it, he said. And I suppose he was right. The memory of an instant – of a smile, of leaf smoke on a sharp fall day, of a golden streak across a rain-washed morning, of a small boy seated alone on the seashore, solemnly building his medieval castles – just this one, single, final flash of memory can be enough to make us want to stay forever….. '
I’m so happy that I discovered this one, which won the Pulizer prize in 1962. It was difficult to resist repeated quotes, so rich was the writing!
June 17, 2022
The story of a recovering alcoholic priest would seem a strange topic for a Pulitzer-winning novel, but O'Connor's book does an extraordinary job. Our protagonist is a castaway in many respects trying to return to respectability, and he struggles with his faith, his fate, and his own back story over the length of this novel which transpires over a relatively short time period. It is one of the most Catholic stories that won a Pulitzer (with The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder) and an engaging and thought-provoking read, sort of in the lineage of the Rabbit books by Updike or the books by Russo.
One typical quote:
"I've often thought that among all the afflicting sights of the world, none can be much more so than this one short walk along three city blocks, where night after night its possible to see- indeed, its impossible not to see- these faces from which hope and joy and dignity and light have been draining so steadily and for so long that now there is nothing left, but this assortment of indifferent, damaged masks. They belong to human beings who, after a lifetime of struggling to become one thing or another, have succeeded only in becoming the rough sketches of their species, recognizable but empty, the bruised and wretched bodies and souls of the saddest people on earth: the people who no longer care. This is an awful situation about which you know you can do little, but about which you have to do something-because of course you are implicated. As a human being. And, more, as a human being who happens to be a priest. And when, moreover, that priest happens to be someone like myself, someone who but for the favor of God's good grace might not now be discussing this problem with such an easy objectivity, why then, the responsibility, the implication, is rather heavily underlined. Yet how to exercise that responsibility in this situation is one of the great questions. At least it is for me." (p. 156)
My list of all the Pulitzer winners here: https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/1...
One typical quote:
"I've often thought that among all the afflicting sights of the world, none can be much more so than this one short walk along three city blocks, where night after night its possible to see- indeed, its impossible not to see- these faces from which hope and joy and dignity and light have been draining so steadily and for so long that now there is nothing left, but this assortment of indifferent, damaged masks. They belong to human beings who, after a lifetime of struggling to become one thing or another, have succeeded only in becoming the rough sketches of their species, recognizable but empty, the bruised and wretched bodies and souls of the saddest people on earth: the people who no longer care. This is an awful situation about which you know you can do little, but about which you have to do something-because of course you are implicated. As a human being. And, more, as a human being who happens to be a priest. And when, moreover, that priest happens to be someone like myself, someone who but for the favor of God's good grace might not now be discussing this problem with such an easy objectivity, why then, the responsibility, the implication, is rather heavily underlined. Yet how to exercise that responsibility in this situation is one of the great questions. At least it is for me." (p. 156)
My list of all the Pulitzer winners here: https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/1...
October 14, 2025
This is a achingly beautiful book. It is hard to describe because not much external "action" occurs but the movement of the heart is remarkable. The story of Father Hugh Kennedy, a recovering alcoholic, and his reconnecting with the Carmodys is wonderfully told. O'Connor has a gift of understanding prayer, loneliness, despair, hope, faith. I am not doing this book justice. It is so beautiful. It will stick with me for a long time.
March 13, 2022
This is not a book I would normally have chosen to read but when the host of a book discussion group of 30+ years & whose members take turns hosting, chooses a book, the other members follow suit with an attempt to find a copy & to do their best to capture the spirit of chosen book, as was the case with The Edge of Sadness by Edwin O'Connor, a long-ago bestseller that won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1962.
I had seen the film version of the author's book about a legendary Boston-Irish mayor, The Last Hurrah but that experience was long ago & far away within the outer reaches of memory. Listed at 600+ pages but only 414 in my version of the novel, it was rather slow-moving but still a captivating tale of a priest who battles alcoholism following the death of his father, someone who endeavors to find his true calling rather late in life & after a 4 year period of rehabilitation at a center in the Southwest.
Thankfully, Fr. Hugh Kennedy is not a stereotype, neither as a Boston Irishman nor as an alcoholic priest and the story is cast in a more innocent time-frame when priests & cops where much more likely to be role models than to be involved in child abuse cases or racial profiling, though one guesses that such things did occur even then.
The Edge of Sadness focuses much more on the inner workings of a family and on an iconic man who sat at the head of the table, a larger than life character named Charlie Carmody, a self-made businessman with a large holding in real-estate & who it was echoed was "as fine a man as ever robbed the helpless."
Charlie's family seem to reside in his accepted glow of his prosperity but also suffer in his shadow of his self-centered attitudes about life, a perhaps familiar story of children not being able or even permitted to measure up to their prosperous father, including a son named John, lifelong friend of Hugh Kennedy, who also decides to be a priest but who is never able to be a caring figure to his parishioners. Late in the novel, Fr. Carmody asks: "Can a priest be a misanthrope and still function?"
This is a book about Boston-Irish Catholics just prior to the changes unleashed by Vatican II who seem involved in a generic human struggle rather than merely a Roman-Catholic one. And, this is not a book that offers any easy answers, as there are a lot of characters who question their worth & wonder if they have made choices that befuddle their very existence but who in almost every case, seem to persevere in search of greater meaning.
The beauty of the novel is in the words used to tell a tale that on the surface may seem rather ordinary. Fr. Hugh Kennedy reads & contemplates the works of John Henry Cardinal Newman about the "terrible aboriginal calamity where every day in every man there is a warfare of the parts".
However, mostly, the characters muddle through to what Fr. Kennedy believes to be "the long succession of small, redemptive instants, just as much as in the magnificence of heroes, where the meaning and the glory of man is revealed..."
After his lengthy period of rehab, Fr. Kennedy is exiled in a way, offered "Old Saint Paul's", a declining parish "whose best days are obviously over" in a once middle class but now seedy part of town. As he walks about the parish boundaries...
Beyond the parishioners, there are memorable passages of Fr. Kennedy just wandering about the creaky old church late at night, pausing to listen to the sound of wind coursing through a broken window & very often struggling in his attempts to pray in a meaningful manner.
Ultimately, this is a novel full of wonderful turns of phrase like "ecclesiastical gymnasium", countless well-developed passages, small touches well-rendered, including many about the unexpected ways in which one finds & nurtures grace.
*1st review photo=of author Edwin O'Connor; 2nd=interior of an old neighborhood church in Boston struggling to stay alive as the area around it changes, perhaps similar to where Fr. Kennedy may have ended up after his period of rehab.
I had seen the film version of the author's book about a legendary Boston-Irish mayor, The Last Hurrah but that experience was long ago & far away within the outer reaches of memory. Listed at 600+ pages but only 414 in my version of the novel, it was rather slow-moving but still a captivating tale of a priest who battles alcoholism following the death of his father, someone who endeavors to find his true calling rather late in life & after a 4 year period of rehabilitation at a center in the Southwest.
Thankfully, Fr. Hugh Kennedy is not a stereotype, neither as a Boston Irishman nor as an alcoholic priest and the story is cast in a more innocent time-frame when priests & cops where much more likely to be role models than to be involved in child abuse cases or racial profiling, though one guesses that such things did occur even then.
The Edge of Sadness focuses much more on the inner workings of a family and on an iconic man who sat at the head of the table, a larger than life character named Charlie Carmody, a self-made businessman with a large holding in real-estate & who it was echoed was "as fine a man as ever robbed the helpless."
Charlie's family seem to reside in his accepted glow of his prosperity but also suffer in his shadow of his self-centered attitudes about life, a perhaps familiar story of children not being able or even permitted to measure up to their prosperous father, including a son named John, lifelong friend of Hugh Kennedy, who also decides to be a priest but who is never able to be a caring figure to his parishioners. Late in the novel, Fr. Carmody asks: "Can a priest be a misanthrope and still function?"
This is a book about Boston-Irish Catholics just prior to the changes unleashed by Vatican II who seem involved in a generic human struggle rather than merely a Roman-Catholic one. And, this is not a book that offers any easy answers, as there are a lot of characters who question their worth & wonder if they have made choices that befuddle their very existence but who in almost every case, seem to persevere in search of greater meaning.
The beauty of the novel is in the words used to tell a tale that on the surface may seem rather ordinary. Fr. Hugh Kennedy reads & contemplates the works of John Henry Cardinal Newman about the "terrible aboriginal calamity where every day in every man there is a warfare of the parts".
However, mostly, the characters muddle through to what Fr. Kennedy believes to be "the long succession of small, redemptive instants, just as much as in the magnificence of heroes, where the meaning and the glory of man is revealed..."
After his lengthy period of rehab, Fr. Kennedy is exiled in a way, offered "Old Saint Paul's", a declining parish "whose best days are obviously over" in a once middle class but now seedy part of town. As he walks about the parish boundaries...
Through the shadows one can see the tottering of drunks, the faded streetwalker, the few sharp-eyed hoodlums. And then the priest appeared: an erect man with a steady stride. He was obviously a familiar & impressive neighborhood figure who was recognized at once, the recognition producing a chain reaction of edifying behavior.There are many wonderful descriptions of Fr. Kennedy at old St. Paul's, dealing with his exceedingly optimistic junior cleric, with an unreliable handyman with a considerable imagination and with the small collection of Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Syrian & Chinese worshipers who remain in the parish, an "always shifting balance" of recent immigrants & those too old or too indigent to move.
The drunks managed to straighten themselves up & tug respectfully at their hats; the streetwalker suddenly ashamed, turned away, pointedly fingering the medal at her throat; the hoodlums vanished; the cop on the beat relaxed for the first time & hummed a few bars of "The Minstrel Boy".
The "padre" was passing by & the district was the more wholesome for his presence. As for the "padre" himself, he continued to walk forward as strongly as ever, something about him managing to suggest that he was in a dream--a muscular dream. His smile was compassionate but powerful: one had the feeling that here was a mystic from some ecclesiastical gymnasium, a combination of Tarzan and St. John of the Cross. A saint, but all man...
Beyond the parishioners, there are memorable passages of Fr. Kennedy just wandering about the creaky old church late at night, pausing to listen to the sound of wind coursing through a broken window & very often struggling in his attempts to pray in a meaningful manner.
Ultimately, this is a novel full of wonderful turns of phrase like "ecclesiastical gymnasium", countless well-developed passages, small touches well-rendered, including many about the unexpected ways in which one finds & nurtures grace.
*1st review photo=of author Edwin O'Connor; 2nd=interior of an old neighborhood church in Boston struggling to stay alive as the area around it changes, perhaps similar to where Fr. Kennedy may have ended up after his period of rehab.
Read
February 11, 2023We follow the life of an urban New England Catholic priest, Father Hugh Kennedy, through this unremarkable novel, though remarkable enough to capture the attention of the esteemed 1962 Pulitzer Prize Board. Following a long bout with the devil’s brew, Father Kennedy is offered redemption, a path he willingly follows. Rid of his addiction, he lands at Old St. Paul’s, a decayed church not far from his prior posting that now offers a comforting and permanent solace.
Mr. O’Connor focused Father Kennedy’s attention on the wealthy Carmody family. Father Kennedy has known this family his entire life. The aged patriarch, the tight real estate owner Charlie Carmody, is “as fine a man as ever robbed the helpless.” Charlie and his offspring harbor the usual unresolved inter-family animosities, which each character in turn manages to share with our narrator. While Mr. O’Connor dwelt on themes of career, family, death, and the egoism that can be associated with financial success, he left alone commentary for two dead elephants lying before the altar. Perhaps I should be kind and ignore those carcasses, to let this work just stand for what it is, however, doing so is difficult given my understanding of history. This title, incidentally, refers to the unfulfilled quest for happiness and the touch of regret some experience on their journeys.
Mr. O’Connor focused Father Kennedy’s attention on the wealthy Carmody family. Father Kennedy has known this family his entire life. The aged patriarch, the tight real estate owner Charlie Carmody, is “as fine a man as ever robbed the helpless.” Charlie and his offspring harbor the usual unresolved inter-family animosities, which each character in turn manages to share with our narrator. While Mr. O’Connor dwelt on themes of career, family, death, and the egoism that can be associated with financial success, he left alone commentary for two dead elephants lying before the altar. Perhaps I should be kind and ignore those carcasses, to let this work just stand for what it is, however, doing so is difficult given my understanding of history. This title, incidentally, refers to the unfulfilled quest for happiness and the touch of regret some experience on their journeys.
January 13, 2022
PULITZER PRIZE WINNER: 1962
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4.5 rounded down
This book... really took me by surprise. Frankly, the summary didn't sound too interesting, and the fact that it was over 450 pages didn't bode well. And it's a novel in which not a whole lot happens, but somehow it just really worked for me! I thought the writing was brilliant and the characters here were so wonderfully, beautifully rendered. None of them are without their faults--sometimes a lot of them--but they're shown as full complete people, partially because the narrator is clearly such a good man, even with his own struggles. Simple, but moving, and a story that I think will stay with me.
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4.5 rounded down
This book... really took me by surprise. Frankly, the summary didn't sound too interesting, and the fact that it was over 450 pages didn't bode well. And it's a novel in which not a whole lot happens, but somehow it just really worked for me! I thought the writing was brilliant and the characters here were so wonderfully, beautifully rendered. None of them are without their faults--sometimes a lot of them--but they're shown as full complete people, partially because the narrator is clearly such a good man, even with his own struggles. Simple, but moving, and a story that I think will stay with me.
August 1, 2025
Rereading this today, sixty years after having first read and appreciated it, I'm faced with the reality that our world has changed a great deal over that time span; and that my own stores of patience and tolerance are greatly diminished. Anyone endeavoring to construct a novel that is so deeply focused on personalities rather than events had better trim his sails close to the wind, move things along more quickly, and above all endeavor to make his primary characters a lot more interesting than O'Connor managed to do. As is the case with a great many of the books I rather liked in the 1960s, this one has not aged well.
One might argue that at least old Charlie Carmody is a colorful fellow. But being colorful is hardly sufficient for literary purposes; he's crafty and domineering enough to be annoying, but not malevolent enough to function as a villain. As was the case with the rest of Charlie's sprawling, noisy, Irish-American clan, along with Hugh Kennedy, the narrator priest in this saga, I found myself unable to care very much about any of them. And the slow pace of the narrative left me with so much time to notice the flaws that otherwise I might have overlooked.
On a positive note, I found the work to be refreshingly honest in its portrayal of the life of a priest in an inner-city parish where the old family connections and social networks are largely gone, while in a neighboring parish, the "old guard" tries valiantly to cling to their former dominance. O'Connor shares with us the priest's dilemma in ministering to a congregation he scarcely knows, delivering weekly sermons where many of those present have little or no notion of what he's talking about; he accepts the fact that the sermon couldn't matter less—that it's only the ritual that matters. His audience merely seeks reassurance that they're in the right crowd; that their beliefs and life choices are valid and that they may live in peace with themselves, placidly facing the future, even their own demise, without fear.
Regrettably, while that discussion may serve well as the topic of an essay, it cannot carry the freight for a novel.
One might argue that at least old Charlie Carmody is a colorful fellow. But being colorful is hardly sufficient for literary purposes; he's crafty and domineering enough to be annoying, but not malevolent enough to function as a villain. As was the case with the rest of Charlie's sprawling, noisy, Irish-American clan, along with Hugh Kennedy, the narrator priest in this saga, I found myself unable to care very much about any of them. And the slow pace of the narrative left me with so much time to notice the flaws that otherwise I might have overlooked.
On a positive note, I found the work to be refreshingly honest in its portrayal of the life of a priest in an inner-city parish where the old family connections and social networks are largely gone, while in a neighboring parish, the "old guard" tries valiantly to cling to their former dominance. O'Connor shares with us the priest's dilemma in ministering to a congregation he scarcely knows, delivering weekly sermons where many of those present have little or no notion of what he's talking about; he accepts the fact that the sermon couldn't matter less—that it's only the ritual that matters. His audience merely seeks reassurance that they're in the right crowd; that their beliefs and life choices are valid and that they may live in peace with themselves, placidly facing the future, even their own demise, without fear.
Regrettably, while that discussion may serve well as the topic of an essay, it cannot carry the freight for a novel.
February 11, 2016
One of the best novels I've ever read. (It didn't win the 1961 Pulitzer Prize for nothing!) Boston priest Fr. Hugh Kennedy's reflection on how his world is so different from that of his immigrant-born father's era, and from that of his twenty-five-year-old curate, is perhaps the best meditation I've ever encountered on the subject of how difficult it is to communicate across the generations. Yet for all the differences between one age and the next, some things never change in the Church: this tired pastor of a dying parish, his misanthropic and cynical best friend, and his bright-eyed young curate are all people I've met! The novel's depiction of how each of its characters struggles with depression (whence the title) makes this a worthwhile read even for those not already intrigued by the other subject matter. I can think of no one to whom I would not recommend this book.
August 22, 2010
I seem to like books with really upbeat titles. This is the story of an alcoholic priest who returns home after being away for years drying out. There is nothing spectacular that happens here — no car chases, not illicit affairs. Just the simple story of man getting his bearings once again among the people he used to know. It is one of the few book I've read in the past few years that I truly loved.
June 14, 2015
A soft and slow-to-unfold story. A gentle, drowsy novel with great character description, comprised primarily of well-written dialogue that made characters vivid. I'm not sure I like this book, but I'm glad to have read it.
May 13, 2016
It won the Pulitzer in 1962. It sold well for a while and then, like so many great novels, it faded into the murk until quietly going out of print in 1991.
The disinterest in the novel might be related to its pre-Vatican II setting. If so, that's a shame because it suggests that far too many readers adopt a literal as opposed to "close reading" stance in their approach to the novel. The story is so much richer than the story of a priest, shamed by his alcoholism in a declining New England parish. Allow me to try and explain.
"I did my work, time went by..." is Father Kennedy's take on his existence. It is detached, drained of meaning and passion, achingly sad and reflective of the thoughts so many of us have when we think of our own lives. It is the spoken expression of malaise.
At a closer glance, however, the novel's central character is vibrant with insight that still manages to smack of truth all these decades later. The truths within the book aren't for the Polly Annas of this world. Each are discovered by penetrating and peering deep within the human heart where we learn that traits and paths are immutable and, try as we might, destiny is fixed. This is a strange position for a Catholic novelist to assume but over and over, when presented with opportunity to change, opportunity is abnegated by the novel's characters and status quo prevails.
The novel is also one of the most remarkable and insightful studies on loneliness I have ever come across. It places its finger on the push-pull aspect of loneliness. On the one hand, we know we should accept the dinner invitation to an old friend's home but we are lured by the comforts of solitude where there will be no surprises as we know exactly what to expect. So to home we go with are minds as lone companions - companions that all too often poke, prod and inflict pain. The passages on loneliness are perhaps the strongest parts of the novel in my opinion.
Did I mention that amidst the doom and gloom, the novel is also quite funny? It is. Balancing sad with funny is not an easy trick to pull off and yet O'Connor manages it with aplomb.
This is one of the finest novels I've read this year and for sure it will be on my top to read list for 2016. Finally, I'm happy that the renewed interest in "The Edge of Sadness" has inspired renewed interest in some of O'Connor's other works.
I am always amazed after reading a novel like "The Edge of Sadness" just how much great fiction there is waiting to be rediscovered. The offerings are plentiful but our lives are short. I highly recommend cutting to the chase and giving this novel a whirl.
The disinterest in the novel might be related to its pre-Vatican II setting. If so, that's a shame because it suggests that far too many readers adopt a literal as opposed to "close reading" stance in their approach to the novel. The story is so much richer than the story of a priest, shamed by his alcoholism in a declining New England parish. Allow me to try and explain.
"I did my work, time went by..." is Father Kennedy's take on his existence. It is detached, drained of meaning and passion, achingly sad and reflective of the thoughts so many of us have when we think of our own lives. It is the spoken expression of malaise.
At a closer glance, however, the novel's central character is vibrant with insight that still manages to smack of truth all these decades later. The truths within the book aren't for the Polly Annas of this world. Each are discovered by penetrating and peering deep within the human heart where we learn that traits and paths are immutable and, try as we might, destiny is fixed. This is a strange position for a Catholic novelist to assume but over and over, when presented with opportunity to change, opportunity is abnegated by the novel's characters and status quo prevails.
The novel is also one of the most remarkable and insightful studies on loneliness I have ever come across. It places its finger on the push-pull aspect of loneliness. On the one hand, we know we should accept the dinner invitation to an old friend's home but we are lured by the comforts of solitude where there will be no surprises as we know exactly what to expect. So to home we go with are minds as lone companions - companions that all too often poke, prod and inflict pain. The passages on loneliness are perhaps the strongest parts of the novel in my opinion.
Did I mention that amidst the doom and gloom, the novel is also quite funny? It is. Balancing sad with funny is not an easy trick to pull off and yet O'Connor manages it with aplomb.
This is one of the finest novels I've read this year and for sure it will be on my top to read list for 2016. Finally, I'm happy that the renewed interest in "The Edge of Sadness" has inspired renewed interest in some of O'Connor's other works.
I am always amazed after reading a novel like "The Edge of Sadness" just how much great fiction there is waiting to be rediscovered. The offerings are plentiful but our lives are short. I highly recommend cutting to the chase and giving this novel a whirl.
January 7, 2024
An enjoyable, satisfying read where not a lot happens, though there are a couple of plot surprises. I certainly gained a better understanding about the life of a priest in the 1950s. We learn about three men, Father Hugh Kennedy, old 81 year old Charles Carmody, a well off, disliked, miserly property owner, and Charles's son, Father John Carmody, a successful son, rector of Boston's popular, fashionable Catholic parish.
Minor characters are the young, positive, enthusiastic Father Danowski, Helen, sister of John Carmody, who is married to a doctor and has children. Also two men who of a similar age to Charles, Bucky and P.J. Bucky and P.J. have known Charles since they were children.
The first half of the novel had some humorous moments.
This book is very much Hugh's story. Through some interesting dialogues and reflections of his past, Hugh gains a better understanding himself.
Readers with some life experience should appreciate this book more.
This book was winner of the 1962 Pulitzer Prize for fiction.
Minor characters are the young, positive, enthusiastic Father Danowski, Helen, sister of John Carmody, who is married to a doctor and has children. Also two men who of a similar age to Charles, Bucky and P.J. Bucky and P.J. have known Charles since they were children.
The first half of the novel had some humorous moments.
This book is very much Hugh's story. Through some interesting dialogues and reflections of his past, Hugh gains a better understanding himself.
Readers with some life experience should appreciate this book more.
This book was winner of the 1962 Pulitzer Prize for fiction.
June 11, 2016
I'd never heard of this novel, though it won the Pulitzer in 1962. It's not for everybody: narrated by a priest who is a recovering alcoholic, the novel is very long and slow moving with scarcely any plot. The book is also weighed down by tons of dialogue (and monologues) among the sometimes comical, sometimes emotionally vicious, Irish American parishioners.
Still, I found it enormously satisfying: though almost nothing "happens," the narrator's inner life is beautifully rendered. Moral issues and spiritual experience are developed with great subtlety and delicacy. There's nothing I love more than a novel that manages to capture the complexity of human nature, warts and all, and still affirm the saving power of goodness.
Still, I found it enormously satisfying: though almost nothing "happens," the narrator's inner life is beautifully rendered. Moral issues and spiritual experience are developed with great subtlety and delicacy. There's nothing I love more than a novel that manages to capture the complexity of human nature, warts and all, and still affirm the saving power of goodness.
June 25, 2015
Wow...this was just exactly my sort of book and I'm so smashed full of love for it that I'm having a hard time talking about it coherently. All the characters are so so real, flawed but lovable (or hate-able) and presented in just the way that life presents you with people. It explores some of those deep questions of life that I often feel alone in pondering, but I've found a friend in this book. I loved the American Irish culture, the family dynamics, the era, and the never-ending struggle between what we want and what is good for us. If ever you find yourself in the mood for some deep thought or a contemplative character study, this just might be the ticket.
November 22, 2013
This book is worthy of the Pulitzer prize it won. O'Connor is truly a wordsmith, taking the reader into the thoughtful world of Father Kennedy. By the end of the book, each character is known and cherished for his or her own individuality. O'Connor recognizes that everyone has redeeming characteristics, even the oafish curate earns our respect for his unflinching loyalty and honesty. I was deeply touched by several characters and their deceptively simple presentation by O'Connor. This book has timeless values that will stay with its readers.
June 1, 2023
This book won the Pulitzer in 1961 and not until now did I pick it up. It is a long rambling book - featuring a recovering alcoholic priest in the Catholic church. He has been assigned a parish in his home town and, of course, comes into contact with a wealthy family that he knew as a child. In fact, one of the sons, his age, also became a priest and now presides over the "best" church in the area. Father Hugh Kennedy tells the story and how he can not, maybe "does not want to", escape the influencial Carmodys. Kennedy was an only child and after his father died, he lived with the loss by moving deeper into alcohol. He felt that he had no one left to share with. The head of the church in that area send him to a Catholic wellness center our in the desert. Father Kennedy stayed there for four years and managed to discipline himself and refuse alcohol for the rest of his life. But he is sent back to the neighborhood and is the presiding priest of a lesser church. And the father Carmody contacts him, often calling late into the night. It is obvious from the outset that the father of the family is very controlling and it is obvious that the family is very dysfunctional. And the demands on our recovering alcholic are great. He manages but I was always expecting him to fall off the wagon. There is a charming young priest who is his assistant and I liked him best of all the characters. There are constant crisis, the greatest of which is when the father Carmody becomes very ill - will he die? This is a story of a man who has chosen the priesthood and likes it, but falls away for a time. And the glory of the story is that he rescues himself and, by the end of the book, is at peace with himself and his world. Be prepared for a lot of lies - to others and to self.
Beware - it is long, 600+ pages, and dry at times but there is real development of some characters and some never grow beyond their narrow self-focus and lies. Just like all of us.
Beware - it is long, 600+ pages, and dry at times but there is real development of some characters and some never grow beyond their narrow self-focus and lies. Just like all of us.
October 8, 2025
The Edge of Sadness is Edwin O'Connor's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, published in 1961. It is a sensitive, thoughtful character study, particularly within the context of the mid-20th-century Irish-American experience and the Catholic priesthood.
The story is narrated by Father Hugh Kennedy, a middle-aged priest who is a recovering alcoholic. He has returned to his unnamed city in New England to serve as the pastor of the declining and rundown parish of Old St. Paul's. His past struggles with alcohol resulted in his removal from the more prosperous St. Raymond's parish.
The central drama unfolds as Father Hugh returns to the world of the powerful, wealthy, and tumultuous Carmody family, old friends from his childhood. The patriarch of the family, Old Charlie Carmody, is a manipulative and ruthlessly self-interested man. In his old age, he begins a series of cryptic phone calls and interactions with Father Hugh.
The relationship between the reserved and introspective Father Hugh and the boisterous, secretive Carmody family—including Charlie’s successful priestly son, Father John Carmody, and his daughter, Helen—forces Hugh to confront his own past failures, loneliness, and spiritual emptiness. The novel chronicles Father Hugh’s journey toward self-acceptance, grace, and a quiet form of spiritual renewal, often contrasting his experiences with those of his friend Father John, who grapples with worldly success and inner turmoil.
The story is narrated by Father Hugh Kennedy, a middle-aged priest who is a recovering alcoholic. He has returned to his unnamed city in New England to serve as the pastor of the declining and rundown parish of Old St. Paul's. His past struggles with alcohol resulted in his removal from the more prosperous St. Raymond's parish.
The central drama unfolds as Father Hugh returns to the world of the powerful, wealthy, and tumultuous Carmody family, old friends from his childhood. The patriarch of the family, Old Charlie Carmody, is a manipulative and ruthlessly self-interested man. In his old age, he begins a series of cryptic phone calls and interactions with Father Hugh.
The relationship between the reserved and introspective Father Hugh and the boisterous, secretive Carmody family—including Charlie’s successful priestly son, Father John Carmody, and his daughter, Helen—forces Hugh to confront his own past failures, loneliness, and spiritual emptiness. The novel chronicles Father Hugh’s journey toward self-acceptance, grace, and a quiet form of spiritual renewal, often contrasting his experiences with those of his friend Father John, who grapples with worldly success and inner turmoil.
Which, as I say, is a foolish way to feel: obviously no one ever grows closer to the cradle. But getting old is a strange business. It's happening to you every minute of every day, and you almost never give it a thought; then, one day, you catch a glimpse of an old friend, or you hear a phrase from an old song, or your eye falls on a solitary sentence in the daily paper, and suddenly, without being able to do a thing in the world about it, you seem to be for a moment outside your own skin, taking one good long look at yourself, exactly as you stand, exactly as you are. And at this point, no matter who you are, or what you believe, or what you may be, it sometimes becomes a little hard to give three cheers for the inevitable....
abandoned
February 5, 2023DNF at page 65. A long-winded narrator rambling on and on, the plot not advancing for chapters and chapters on end. This goes on for 620 pages. Reminds me of Wendell Barry or Wallace Stegner (in a bad way).
July 18, 2016
I have read few novels with the psychological insight of “The Edge of Sadness” by Edwin O’Connor, published in 1961 and the winner of the Pulitzer Prize for fiction the next year. As an avid reader and a longtime writer, I was impressed with O'Connor’s skill at putting so much so well into his novel, and I was sad that I had not read him sooner in my life.
Beginning his career as a newspaper and magazine journalist, O’Connor was best known for his 1956 novel “The Last Hurrah,” made into a 1958 movie, starring Spencer Tracy and directed by John Ford.
In “The Edge of Sadness,” the first-person narrator is Father Hugh Kennedy, a 55-year-old Catholic priest serving during the pre-Vatican II era in an unnamed Northeast city, probably modeled on Boston and/or Providence. The novel covers about six months of his life, with an emphasis on his relationship with the powerful Carmody family he grew up with.
While “The Edge of Sadness” concerns the life of a priest, the novel examines life and death, family dynamics, loneliness, memory, and aging; it is a riveting book whatever one's religious beliefs or lack thereof. It works well at many different levels: The descriptions of people and places are meticulous and revealing, the dialogue and modes of speech skillfully rendered (especially the Irish cadences and rhetorical flights of family patriarch Charlie Carmody and his old friends), and the thoughts of the introspective Father Kennedy honest – often brutally so.
The reader experiences what Father Kennedy experiences, what he sees and hears and smells, conversations he has, and his thoughts of present and past – all done seamlessly. He is a character so brought to life that you remember him better than most people you know in real life. And we must remember that O’Connor was never a priest himself.
An example of O’Connor's skill at setting a scene both externally and internally is when he describes a meeting of fellow priest John Carmody with Father Kennedy in the latter’s old urban church.
“We stood there for awhile in the darkness and the silence. Old churches like St. Paul’s – old churches, that is, that are not merely old, but whose best days are obviously over, and whose slow quiet fade has long ago begun – have an atmosphere all their own. The air is heavy and still – as if to announce that no crowds now pass through to stir or change it – and there is always a particular smell: a smell of dust, and incense, and coats of varnish on old wooden pews, and the burned wax of endless votive candles. And in such as atmosphere there is always a certain sadness, but there is always too a feeling of calm and timelessness that is not at all unpleasant ….”
Father Kennedy questions many things, but not his faith or his calling as a priest. The closest we get to religious questioning is almost 200 pages into the book when we learn that his life had been devastated by the death of his father, making him ponder the “problem of suffering” that haunts monotheistic religions.
“And so my father died. All through his illness I had said my Mass for him every morning; every day and every night I had prayed that he might be allowed either the miracle of recovery or the blessing of a happy death. These prayers were not answered. My father did not recover, and he died witless and in pain. And why this should have been I have no idea at all. He was a very good man who had lived a very good life – yet he died a very cruel death. This is the hardest sort of thing to accept; for some, it's impossible. Because here is the old, baffling problem that has always been with us and will be until the end of time: the problem of reconciling pain and suffering with an omnipotent and merciful God.”
Father Kennedy does not shy away from examining his life, his performance as a priest, and the human condition generally – of asking the big “whys?” – and that makes this novel such compelling reading.
Beginning his career as a newspaper and magazine journalist, O’Connor was best known for his 1956 novel “The Last Hurrah,” made into a 1958 movie, starring Spencer Tracy and directed by John Ford.
In “The Edge of Sadness,” the first-person narrator is Father Hugh Kennedy, a 55-year-old Catholic priest serving during the pre-Vatican II era in an unnamed Northeast city, probably modeled on Boston and/or Providence. The novel covers about six months of his life, with an emphasis on his relationship with the powerful Carmody family he grew up with.
While “The Edge of Sadness” concerns the life of a priest, the novel examines life and death, family dynamics, loneliness, memory, and aging; it is a riveting book whatever one's religious beliefs or lack thereof. It works well at many different levels: The descriptions of people and places are meticulous and revealing, the dialogue and modes of speech skillfully rendered (especially the Irish cadences and rhetorical flights of family patriarch Charlie Carmody and his old friends), and the thoughts of the introspective Father Kennedy honest – often brutally so.
The reader experiences what Father Kennedy experiences, what he sees and hears and smells, conversations he has, and his thoughts of present and past – all done seamlessly. He is a character so brought to life that you remember him better than most people you know in real life. And we must remember that O’Connor was never a priest himself.
An example of O’Connor's skill at setting a scene both externally and internally is when he describes a meeting of fellow priest John Carmody with Father Kennedy in the latter’s old urban church.
“We stood there for awhile in the darkness and the silence. Old churches like St. Paul’s – old churches, that is, that are not merely old, but whose best days are obviously over, and whose slow quiet fade has long ago begun – have an atmosphere all their own. The air is heavy and still – as if to announce that no crowds now pass through to stir or change it – and there is always a particular smell: a smell of dust, and incense, and coats of varnish on old wooden pews, and the burned wax of endless votive candles. And in such as atmosphere there is always a certain sadness, but there is always too a feeling of calm and timelessness that is not at all unpleasant ….”
Father Kennedy questions many things, but not his faith or his calling as a priest. The closest we get to religious questioning is almost 200 pages into the book when we learn that his life had been devastated by the death of his father, making him ponder the “problem of suffering” that haunts monotheistic religions.
“And so my father died. All through his illness I had said my Mass for him every morning; every day and every night I had prayed that he might be allowed either the miracle of recovery or the blessing of a happy death. These prayers were not answered. My father did not recover, and he died witless and in pain. And why this should have been I have no idea at all. He was a very good man who had lived a very good life – yet he died a very cruel death. This is the hardest sort of thing to accept; for some, it's impossible. Because here is the old, baffling problem that has always been with us and will be until the end of time: the problem of reconciling pain and suffering with an omnipotent and merciful God.”
Father Kennedy does not shy away from examining his life, his performance as a priest, and the human condition generally – of asking the big “whys?” – and that makes this novel such compelling reading.
January 17, 2016
The Edge of Sadness
is unlike any book about "the church" I've ever read (I could say Christianity or Catholicism -- but I mean inside the life of the local congregation, and even more specifically the interior life of the priest). The author tells about a six month slice of life with a depth of reflection on human nature that is unusual in any novel. O'Connor has a sharp eye for our flaws, and yet he is, I think, forgiving of the thousand cruelties of our relationships with those who are closest to us. I have often said that the test of Christian love is not how we feel about people on the other side of the world, but how we treat our families and fellow church members (two groups whose membership we have no choice, unlike our friends and the people in the world we choose to interact with). Outwardly, Father Hugh and Father John are ordinary (if appearing reserved). Father Hugh says the story is not about him, but his heart is the one most revealed by the events in The Edge of Sadness.
This book would probably not have won the Pulitzer Prize if it had been more "religious," but I missed the Lord in the thought life of these priests. Their prayer life and preaching is mentioned, but John and Hugh could have been social workers trying to be better people, without that wrestling in conversation with God that is prayer and preaching.
It would be unfair to criticize the author for the faults of the characters, and goodness knows Father Hugh is humble about his faults. Father John feels enough blame for both men. But what I felt that both men --as Christian spiritual leaders -- seemed to totally lack was awe and awareness of the grace of God. Even in conversation with a dying man, instead of pointing him to the love and mercy of God displayed in Christ, Father Hugh launches into an appalling "don't spoil your clean conscience with more sins before you die" exhortation. This is unworthy not only of the honesty and sincerity of old man Carmody's confessions, but even of what I understand to be the content of the last rites. Our comfort is not that we believe the same thing about what could happen if you louse up your spiritual life (Father Hugh's message); our comfort is not being told to trust God; our comfort IS God's mercy. Our peace is Christ's forgiveness.
I don't believe that what I've said is a "spoiler" because there's so much more to the book than my reaction to this scene, and similar feelings about Father John and Father Hugh's last conversation. It is a book that will make you reflect about your own life and the people you love.
This book would probably not have won the Pulitzer Prize if it had been more "religious," but I missed the Lord in the thought life of these priests. Their prayer life and preaching is mentioned, but John and Hugh could have been social workers trying to be better people, without that wrestling in conversation with God that is prayer and preaching.
It would be unfair to criticize the author for the faults of the characters, and goodness knows Father Hugh is humble about his faults. Father John feels enough blame for both men. But what I felt that both men --as Christian spiritual leaders -- seemed to totally lack was awe and awareness of the grace of God. Even in conversation with a dying man, instead of pointing him to the love and mercy of God displayed in Christ, Father Hugh launches into an appalling "don't spoil your clean conscience with more sins before you die" exhortation. This is unworthy not only of the honesty and sincerity of old man Carmody's confessions, but even of what I understand to be the content of the last rites. Our comfort is not that we believe the same thing about what could happen if you louse up your spiritual life (Father Hugh's message); our comfort is not being told to trust God; our comfort IS God's mercy. Our peace is Christ's forgiveness.
I don't believe that what I've said is a "spoiler" because there's so much more to the book than my reaction to this scene, and similar feelings about Father John and Father Hugh's last conversation. It is a book that will make you reflect about your own life and the people you love.
July 8, 2012
The story is narrated by Father Hugh Kennedy,who tells us on the first page,that at no point is the story his own,but rather it is about the Carmody family,mostly ,the patriarch ,Charley,a man well knowen , but not well liked in the unnamed city. it begins when Kennedy receives a phone call at six AM from Charley inviting him to his birthday party next Sunday( he says it's his eighty second,but everyone knows he will be eighty one, he knows that they know it, he dose it just to irritate them) he will have his son John pick him up, Kennedy protests,saying that he has his own car,but Charlie insists.What this means is that his son John,pastor at St.Raymonds,the plum of the dioces is as far away from from Kennedy's church St Paul's (the very bottom layer of the Dioces) as you can drive. He dose this just to annoy his son.
Irritating & annoying people is the very stuff of life to Charley,that and coming out on top of any trade.
The birthday dinner conversation reads like a TV sitcom. However as the story unfolds we learn why sadness is in the title .his son John a Priest who really can't stand listening to all the problems brought to him by his parishioners. Dan the black sheep ,always one step ahead of the law in some part of the world. His oldest daughter , Mary ,devoted & humble servant to her Father and Helen maybe not to happy in her marriage but the grandchildren make up for it.
We learn that after 15 happy years as a curate at St Raymond's ,than transferd to St Stevens as Pastor and then his fall from grace and sent by the Bisop to a place called the Cenacel in Arazona ,for Prests who have taken to drink.
Thru out the novel Kennedy ( and the reader) keeps trying to find out why Charlie has pulled him back to the Carmody family and old associations,everything he knows about Charley tells him it can't be a good thing.
This novel won the Pulitzer prize for fiction in 1962 , but has been out of print for sometime until 2004 when the Loyola press ( a Jesuit Ministry) brought reprinted it for their classics series.
Although all of the main charters in the story are both Catholic and Irish and their is much in the book about Parish life (at that time) I don't believe you have to be either to deeply touched by this beautiful story. Many times over the years I have been reminded of one paragraph or another that I could relat to.I have also met more than a few of the people that populate the story.
I would highly recommend this book to just about anyone.
Irritating & annoying people is the very stuff of life to Charley,that and coming out on top of any trade.
The birthday dinner conversation reads like a TV sitcom. However as the story unfolds we learn why sadness is in the title .his son John a Priest who really can't stand listening to all the problems brought to him by his parishioners. Dan the black sheep ,always one step ahead of the law in some part of the world. His oldest daughter , Mary ,devoted & humble servant to her Father and Helen maybe not to happy in her marriage but the grandchildren make up for it.
We learn that after 15 happy years as a curate at St Raymond's ,than transferd to St Stevens as Pastor and then his fall from grace and sent by the Bisop to a place called the Cenacel in Arazona ,for Prests who have taken to drink.
Thru out the novel Kennedy ( and the reader) keeps trying to find out why Charlie has pulled him back to the Carmody family and old associations,everything he knows about Charley tells him it can't be a good thing.
This novel won the Pulitzer prize for fiction in 1962 , but has been out of print for sometime until 2004 when the Loyola press ( a Jesuit Ministry) brought reprinted it for their classics series.
Although all of the main charters in the story are both Catholic and Irish and their is much in the book about Parish life (at that time) I don't believe you have to be either to deeply touched by this beautiful story. Many times over the years I have been reminded of one paragraph or another that I could relat to.I have also met more than a few of the people that populate the story.
I would highly recommend this book to just about anyone.
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