It is fairly easy to posit strange premises for modern fantasy but not always possible to come up with a coherent story with sufficient verisimilitude to counter one’s inherent disbelief. St. Patrick’s Gargoyle has the right mix of modern considerations versus fantastic presuppositions and conventions. As the title indicates, the protagonist in this novel is a cathedral gargoyle. “Paddy” (most of the guardian gargoyles and statuary in this world assume nicknames based on the venues they guard) is a far cry from the Disney gargoyles of the animated Hunchback of Notre Dame, but there is a reference to the cartoon characters within the story. As always, Katherine Kurtz strikes a delicate balance between observations on people’s actual faith and the supernatural constructions of her imagination.
When I picked up the book with its delightful painting on the cover, I was originally concerned at how a statue could serve as the center of an interesting plot. I was quickly dissuaded of this problem when Kurtz unveiled the background of gargoyles as “Old Testament”-style avenging angels and, within the first few pages, began to delineate the limitations of these supernatural beings. Plus, St. Patrick’s Gargoyle features a co-protagonist, an alternate point-of-view in an old man, member of a largely ceremonial order of elites, and his antique automobile (which plays a major supporting role despite having no signs of personification beyond what the old man gives her).
Although I enjoyed the story very much, I have to recognize that much of my enjoyment comes from more than the story itself. My experiences in Dublin have been wonderful and the book makes me want to go back. The novel is interesting because it deals with the subject of death and faith without mockery. To be sure, there is one comment that danced on the line of heresy (though later reflection about the Council of Chalcedon reminded me of how it did not have to be heresy—more on that later) and there is a rather judgmental, self-righteous attitude toward the aging demonstrated and expressed by the relatives of Francis Templeton (note the last name and remember Kurtz’ admitted fascination with the Knights Templar) regarding his personal freedom and mental/physical capacities. They believe they are prolonging his life, but they are, truth be told, rather asphyxiating him.
Warning:: This paragraph deals with aspects of orthodox Christian faith and may not be relevant to all readers. Please skip to the final paragraph of the review if you don’t care. So, about that “heresy.” Early in the book, “Paddy” refers to God as the “Boss” and his role under the “Old Testament God” as opposed to His “Son” joining the Firm and, “The Son was human for a while you know, so He’s [God is] inclined to be a little softer on sinners.” (p. 23) Okay, “Boss” isn’t any different from “Lord,” so no problem there. For me, making such a clear-cut distinction between the “Old Testament God” and God of the New Testament is problematical. Despite what some see as vengeful, blood-thirsty trappings in the Old Testament, there is a theme of grace and salvation that runs through it consistent with that of the New Testament. Punishment is based on rejection and that is tied to free will, a recognition that Kurtz embodies in later explanations from “Paddy.”
What caused my consternation in the statement was both the idea of the “Son” joining the Firm. It implies that the Son was not pre-existent with the Father. If that is what Kurtz/”Paddy” meant, that isn’t biblical to me. Yet, I remembered that, as late as the Council of Chalcedon, there was a debate over the idea of the Son as “begotten” or originating “from” the Father. Chalcedon settled this for most with a statement that the “begotten” part of the creed referred only to the human aspect of the human-divine equation in the Incarnation. In that sense, the “Son” MIGHT join the Firm, but the poetic sections of the Pauline epistles (and Hebrews) refers to the Son as pre-existent and involved with God’s plan for salvation from before the beginning of the creation. The second part of the statement, that God was a little “softer” on sinners is also borderline to me. However, the wording is key. Notice that it says God in the New Testament era is “softer on sinners.” It does not say that God is softer on sin. God still hates sin because it destroys the sinner from within and those around said sinners by contamination (maybe overstated, but probably not) due to influence. But understood with a distinction between sin and sinners, I am not bothered by the statement.
That being said, I call your attention to some wonderful theological aspects within St. Patrick’s Gargoyle. Early on, Paddy is asked why the guardian statuary didn’t guard against historical buildings being torn down and replaced with inferior construction. Paddy asserts, foreshadowing later discussions: “It isn’t my job to interfere with the greater idea of free will.” (p. 35) On page 133, Paddy refers to the existence of God’s Master Plan. But, since the world and individual human lives don’t seem to confirm to a clear-cut teleological (headed toward an orderly objective) plan, he observes, “What caused the occasional blip in that plan was free will.” And then, Paddy’s train of thought addresses an answer to that Old Testament/New Testament perspective. “That was why Paddy’s original assignment was as an avenging angel; for free will meant that humans could and often did insist on making the most appalling choices, and someone had to deal with the consequences and clean up the mess. (The Boss was very big on delegating authority--…)” But the key statement on this subject comes when Paddy reflects: “His Master Plan had been laid down at the moment of Creation, but only God had a broad enough perspective to see and understand it all. Trouble came when humans misunderstood that plan, or understood only a part of it—or discarded it altogether. Mistakes and, worse, flagrant disregard, always had their consequences, either from the action itself or from Higher Up--…” (p. 134).
I also liked the more ecumenical stance that Kurtz expressed through Templeton’s godson Marcus and Paddy, as well. Marcus responds to Templeton’s protest that Catholics are not supposed to take Communion in a Protestant church. Marcus responds: “’We’re all Christians aren’t we? Seems to me that it should be a matter of individual conscience. This island has been torn apart too long by old grudges, and people keeping the letter of the law instead of the spirit—and a lot of them don’t even keep the letter of the law.’” (p. 75)
There was also a conversational exchange that seemed rather Gnostic to me. Gnostics had a strong dualism between matter (evil) and spirit (good). The problem with that dichotomy is that God created matter to be good and the teaching in 1 Corinthians 15 about the resurrection body affirms that matter, wholly sanctified is good. So, when one gargoyle is speaking about human death to Paddy and protests that their bodies just turn to dust and go back to their elemental state, Paddy replies: “’…they get hung up on the idea. They lose sight of the fact that it’s their immortal souls that count. Truth is, they won’t need or want physical bodies by then. It will be a whole new order of existence for them.’” (p. 128) From my perspective, that’s “yes and no.” IF Paddy is making a distinction between the purely material body and the idea of a resurrection body (which she uses to full extent later in the book), then yes. Any resurrection body would not require one’s current physical body (law of conservation notwithstanding). If there is no conception of a resurrection body, I cannot concur. Humanity, from a biblical perspective, doesn’t “have” a soul; humanity “is” a soul composed of a “trinity” of body, mind, and spirit. Hence, the need for some type of “body” to complete the mini-trinity.
Not being Catholic or Church of Ireland, I don’t know if the prayer presented on p. 115 is a published prayer or an original one, but I liked it very much. “’O God from whom all holy desires, all good judgments, and all good works proceed: Give to Your servants that peace which the world cannot give, that our hearts may be set to obey Your commandments, and that we, being defended from the fear of our enemies, may pass our time in rest and quietness; through Christ Jesus Your Son our Lord.’”
There were some humorous, yet reverent, biblical references, too. At one point, a cat asks (it is a fantasy novel, after all) the gargoyle/angel if he is going to cause the chains on a door to loosen and fall like it says in the Big Book the cat’s human reads. The cat describes Peter’s experience when the angel releases him from prison before he appears on the doorstep and frightens the housekeeper, Rhoda, who thinks he is a ghost (p. 126). And, although not exactly humorous, I loved the use of rainbow allusions in the climactic scene.
Bottom Line: As one can see, this was a stimulating book for me. Just rating it for me, I would give it a 4.5 (if the rating system allowed for fractions) or a 5. As it is, I would have to say that anyone without a willingness to “play” with theological themes would probably find the pacing of this book to be problematic. The book has fascinating ideas and I would gladly read a sequel. Yet, I can understand why many readers would find both co-protagonists to be too passive at times and the overarching threat to be too deep in the background to build sustained suspense. I think many would like it, but I understand why it doesn’t have the satisfaction quotient of the Deryni novels for many.