“The cruelty of men is as wondrous as Peru.” So sayeth Sweeney Todd, and he should know.
Why, you might ask, did I begin my review of a biography of a woman who just might be the greatest saint of her age with a quote penned by arguably one of the greatest lyricists of ours?
Because it’s true.
The story of Joan of Arc is a hard one. It begins in glory, ends in betrayal, and in one of the most painful and tragic deaths imaginable.
An illiterate peasant girl inspires her country, crowns her king, and is betrayed by those she sought free from the tyranny of a foreign oppressor. Joan was burned at the stake as a heretic because she wore men’s clothes to avoid being assaulted by both her countrymen and the men who later imprisoned her. Seriously.
Okay, you’re probably wondering how men’s clothes could protect a woman from constant assaults. I know I did. Turns out men used to tie their hosen to their jackets with twenty cords. Tight. Top it off with hip-high cavalry boots and you’ve got yourself a pretty effective chastity belt. Tough to get past. Sadly, many men still tried.
So the official charge was the heresy of wearing men’s clothing, but in actuality Joan was murdered because she was a bit too effective at inspiring her fellow countryman to drive the English invaders from French soil. The nerve of some women.
In more modern times, Joan was victimized again by people too blinded by their own reality to accept hers. That there were beings, ‘voices’, that guided and consoled her; voices she spoke about only under duress because she was too practical and too humble to believe that she would be believed. There are those who have speculated that she suffered from epilepsy, migraines, bovine tuberculosis or any one of a number of ‘real’ reasons to explain an experience that is unimaginable and indescribable.
In “Joan: The Mysterious Life of the Heretic Who Became a Saint", Donald Spoto argues that the indescribable experiences of the spirit are best described through poetry and metaphor. And I would argue not well at that. How do we speak of that which the human brain can barely comprehend?
There are a few routes. The most predicable is the pious avenue, one which skirts the potholes of human nature and the speed bumps of reality.
Boring.
Even Joan would have thought so. When pressed by the faithful to touch objects to bless them, she replied, “You touch them. Your touch will do them as much good as mine.”
Another is the aforementioned skeptical approach that discounts not only Joan’s spiritual experiences, but the reality of the hard physical tasks she accomplished. Riding for days in full armor, leading multiple charges, encouraging and inspiring the French troops, her pennant always in hand because she refused to take a human life. Does this sound like a woman with bovine tuberculosis?
Not to me.
Finally, there is the middle path. One where the reality of Joan’s temper, her piety, her fear, and her love are treated with a biographer’s honesty, and her spiritual experiences are viewed with belief and an attempt at understanding. To say this biography resonated with me is an understatement. There was more than one moment when I stopped to reflect not only on the strength of will and the deep faith necessary for Joan to live, and more importantly die, believing always that God was with her. That she had no need to fear because God would always be with her. And I was able, for the briefest of moments, to understand how superficial and petty our daily concerns are when contrasted with the soaring majesty and eternal love of the divine.
The beauty of a soul is as wondrous as the universe.
Five stars. Highly recommended.