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Converts: From Oscar Wilde to Muriel Spark, Why So Many Became Catholic in the 20th Century
Why did Catholicism attract so many unlikely converts in Britain during the twentieth century?
The twentieth century is understood as an era of growing, inexorable secularism, yet in Britain between the 1890s and the 1960s there was a marked turn to Rome. In the first half of the century, Catholicism became an intellectual and spiritual fashion attracting more than half a million converts, including fascinating artists, writers, and thinkers. What drew these men and women to join the church, and what difference did conversion make to them?
Melanie McDonagh examines the lives of these notable converts from the perspective of their faith. For the Decadent circle of Aubrey Beardsley and Oscar Wilde—who converted on his deathbed—artists such as Gwen John and David Jones, the philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe, and novelists including G. K. Chesterton, Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, and Muriel Spark, Catholicism offered stability in increasingly febrile times. McDonagh explores their lives and influences, the reaction to their conversions, and the priests who initiated them into their faith.
The twentieth century is understood as an era of growing, inexorable secularism, yet in Britain between the 1890s and the 1960s there was a marked turn to Rome. In the first half of the century, Catholicism became an intellectual and spiritual fashion attracting more than half a million converts, including fascinating artists, writers, and thinkers. What drew these men and women to join the church, and what difference did conversion make to them?
Melanie McDonagh examines the lives of these notable converts from the perspective of their faith. For the Decadent circle of Aubrey Beardsley and Oscar Wilde—who converted on his deathbed—artists such as Gwen John and David Jones, the philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe, and novelists including G. K. Chesterton, Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, and Muriel Spark, Catholicism offered stability in increasingly febrile times. McDonagh explores their lives and influences, the reaction to their conversions, and the priests who initiated them into their faith.
368 pages, Hardcover
Published January 6, 2026
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
March 25, 2026
I read this quickly for a nonfiction book and enjoyed every chapter (with the exception of G.K. Chesterton's, which seemed to spend more time on his character flaws than his conversion, oddly). It shaded in some interesting aspects of late Victorian and 20th century history for me, including learning more about the circle around Oscar Wilde, artists Gwen John and David Jones, writers Siegfried Sassoon and Muriel Spark, and the philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe. I enjoyed reading more specifics about R.H. Benson, Evelyn Waugh, and Graham Greene. David Jones and Graham Greene's chapters were especially enjoyable for me since the former discussed sacramental theology and the latter the integration of faith with writing.
In between the mini-biographies of the various folks, McDonagh included chapters on relevant topics, such as The Church in 1900, John Henry Newman and Anglo-Catholicism, The Church and War, Between the Wars, etc. I've been wanting to learn more about Newman for a long time (hoping to get a bio of him for my birthday soon!). It was fascinating to learn about the huge effect he had on Catholicism in England well into the 20th century. McDonagh describes Muriel Spark as being converted by Newman's writings, though his name comes up many times in other chapters as well.
The book ends with a brief discussion of Vatican II and the reactions of the converts who were still alive at the time. I felt their grief as I read that chapter since many of them mourned the loss of the old Mass. From what I understand, the connection to the ancient and historic church and the sense of the numinous/sacred in the Mass was lost after the reforms of Vatican II. It was the connection with the pre-Reformation Church that many of the converts valued as well as the consistency of belief, which they felt the Anglican doctrine did not have. This is something I'd like to learn more about.
I think the most moving thing about the book as a whole is the vulnerability of the humans behind the names that are so recognizable. All the converts McDonagh writes about were drawn to the Church because they knew their own sinfuless and needed an anchor for their souls. I love that the converts, even if their journey into the church was rocky or they struggled with doubt after, all felt the soul-pull of the good, true, and beautiful into the Church. I'm so grateful for this easily accessible introduction to this fascinating topic in an especially fraught 100 years of history.
In between the mini-biographies of the various folks, McDonagh included chapters on relevant topics, such as The Church in 1900, John Henry Newman and Anglo-Catholicism, The Church and War, Between the Wars, etc. I've been wanting to learn more about Newman for a long time (hoping to get a bio of him for my birthday soon!). It was fascinating to learn about the huge effect he had on Catholicism in England well into the 20th century. McDonagh describes Muriel Spark as being converted by Newman's writings, though his name comes up many times in other chapters as well.
The book ends with a brief discussion of Vatican II and the reactions of the converts who were still alive at the time. I felt their grief as I read that chapter since many of them mourned the loss of the old Mass. From what I understand, the connection to the ancient and historic church and the sense of the numinous/sacred in the Mass was lost after the reforms of Vatican II. It was the connection with the pre-Reformation Church that many of the converts valued as well as the consistency of belief, which they felt the Anglican doctrine did not have. This is something I'd like to learn more about.
I think the most moving thing about the book as a whole is the vulnerability of the humans behind the names that are so recognizable. All the converts McDonagh writes about were drawn to the Church because they knew their own sinfuless and needed an anchor for their souls. I love that the converts, even if their journey into the church was rocky or they struggled with doubt after, all felt the soul-pull of the good, true, and beautiful into the Church. I'm so grateful for this easily accessible introduction to this fascinating topic in an especially fraught 100 years of history.
February 28, 2026
I took my time with this totally fascinating account about the rise of Catholicism in the early part of the 20th Century, particularly among notable names such as Oscar Wilde, Evelyn Waugh and Graham Greene, but also expected names like John Henry Newman and G. K. Chesterton. Only a few of these conversions were down to belief in God, others were for cultural or intellectual reasons or as a form of asceticism. I felt more depth could’ve been given to these reasonings, and maybe some degree of background knowledge is needed before approaching this book, as some explanations are left open ended for the reader to go searching for elsewhere.
April 30, 2026
I was initially motivated to buy this book after reading a reasonably favorable review of it in National Review, and because the topic holds some personal interest. Further, upon reading the author’s Introduction, I was quite eager to proceed. Yet at the end of it all, I feel mostly disappointment. Its promise was, I think, unfulfilled, while its author’s purpose in compiling these somewhat strange data points seems unclear if not intentionally obfuscated. There’s a much better book that could have been written, but perhaps that would have called for a proper historian to have written it rather than a journalist.
A curious thing about this book is that, after reading the first half-dozen chapters, my over-riding sentiment was of having been soiled. What a bunch of absolute freaks and perverts these converts were! Oscar Wilde! Aubrey Beardsley! Robbie Ross and Eric Gill. To misquote Groucho Marx, ‘I would never want to belong to a club of which these guys are representative members.’ Yes, I know the Church is of the sinners, by the sinners, and for the sinners, but the particular selection of sinners emphasized here seems skewed toward the willfully, consciously, and intentionally outrageously vile. It’s almost as if the authorial intent were to present us with a smorgasbord of the 20th Century’s ‘Most Vile.’ Indeed, the converts here profiled largely strike me as the type for whom their new-found religion is more of a fashion accessory than anything else. (Or perhaps the author thinks there is value in reassuring readers that the NAMBLA is not unique to our times.)
To be fair, there are a handful of chapters (in addition to the Introduction) that I consider valuable and/or interesting. ‘The Church in 1900’ was one such.
But why, then, a chapter on Muriel Spark, about whom nobody cares, or Elizabeth Anscombe, whose self-trumpeted moral superiority (vis a vis Truman, at least) is, not unreasonably, repellent to many. She wasn’t even what I’d call an artist except in the sense of being a performance artist. She knew how to draw attention to herself. What, then, could be the authorial intent in including such unworthies as these two (rather than, say, Ronald Knox) in this collection? (Moral posturing? Because Spark was Scottish?) And why, in a book whose structure is largely chronological, put Siegfried Sassoon at the end? (He spent time in a Scottish mental hospital in 1918.)
One suggestion I have to make this a book better would be to restructure the time-frame so as to commence with Vatican 1 (1870) and end with Vatican 2 (1960-ish). That might allow for a few non-pervert converts (Waugh and Greene being in this latter class, I suppose, along with Maurice Baring, who I shall read soon), although if one sticks with the ‘artist’ class, maybe there aren’t any.
I don’t know what the author was up to, but I wasn’t impressed. Go ahead and buy and read this book. Perhaps after reading this review you will be pleasantly surprised. You couldn’t possibly be more disappointed than I was.
A curious thing about this book is that, after reading the first half-dozen chapters, my over-riding sentiment was of having been soiled. What a bunch of absolute freaks and perverts these converts were! Oscar Wilde! Aubrey Beardsley! Robbie Ross and Eric Gill. To misquote Groucho Marx, ‘I would never want to belong to a club of which these guys are representative members.’ Yes, I know the Church is of the sinners, by the sinners, and for the sinners, but the particular selection of sinners emphasized here seems skewed toward the willfully, consciously, and intentionally outrageously vile. It’s almost as if the authorial intent were to present us with a smorgasbord of the 20th Century’s ‘Most Vile.’ Indeed, the converts here profiled largely strike me as the type for whom their new-found religion is more of a fashion accessory than anything else. (Or perhaps the author thinks there is value in reassuring readers that the NAMBLA is not unique to our times.)
To be fair, there are a handful of chapters (in addition to the Introduction) that I consider valuable and/or interesting. ‘The Church in 1900’ was one such.
But why, then, a chapter on Muriel Spark, about whom nobody cares, or Elizabeth Anscombe, whose self-trumpeted moral superiority (vis a vis Truman, at least) is, not unreasonably, repellent to many. She wasn’t even what I’d call an artist except in the sense of being a performance artist. She knew how to draw attention to herself. What, then, could be the authorial intent in including such unworthies as these two (rather than, say, Ronald Knox) in this collection? (Moral posturing? Because Spark was Scottish?) And why, in a book whose structure is largely chronological, put Siegfried Sassoon at the end? (He spent time in a Scottish mental hospital in 1918.)
One suggestion I have to make this a book better would be to restructure the time-frame so as to commence with Vatican 1 (1870) and end with Vatican 2 (1960-ish). That might allow for a few non-pervert converts (Waugh and Greene being in this latter class, I suppose, along with Maurice Baring, who I shall read soon), although if one sticks with the ‘artist’ class, maybe there aren’t any.
I don’t know what the author was up to, but I wasn’t impressed. Go ahead and buy and read this book. Perhaps after reading this review you will be pleasantly surprised. You couldn’t possibly be more disappointed than I was.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
Just going by the chapter on Wilde, who I know most about of anyone here, it makes some fairly outlandish statements (that Wilde was baptised both Catholic and Protestant- for which I’ve only ever found one source and I reckon could just be an allegation of crypto-Popery), there’s also a great glossing over of the difference in the political contexts between England and Ireland.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews