A comic read that defies pigeon-holing
In the course of human events, there does come a time when comedy is in order. Such was a time last month for me. I was choosing a book to read and I needed comedy.
“Morte D’Urban,” a novel by J. F. Powers (Doubleday, 1962), had been recommended by a trusted friend. It is brilliantly funny and, how wonderful, much more than that.
Father Urban is a middle-aged, handsome, confident Catholic priest, a committed member of the Order of St. Clement. The Clementines, as they are known, “were unique in that they were noted for nothing at all.” It was said that they “never recovered from the French Revolution.”
Urban is determined to change that, to attract the talent and money that will invigorate the order. Working out of Chicago, he is a sought after speaker at retreats and has the people-engaging talents of a successful politician. His ambition is thwarted, however, when he is taken off the speaker circuit and assigned to the order’s “latest white elephant,” an abandoned mansion in rural Minnesota. He is to serve under Father Wilf, who is not talented in either organization or home repair skills, who enjoys leading meetings more than he should, who gets defensive easily, and who envisions the cold and leaky mansion as a successful retreat center, somehow, sometime in the future. It’s enough to drive a competent man like Father Urban crazy.
Joining these two men is Father Jack, who is confident only in checkers, and the extremely capable and pleasant Brother Harold. We don’t see much of Brother Harold. He is doing all the cooking and cleaning. The comedy lies in the situation and the characters and in the sentences. Powers never lets the dry comic tone falter. There are masterpiece scenes, including the disagreement over the nativity display and Father Urban’s performance as guest speaker at the ecumenical Poinsettia Smorgasbord. The tone changes only towards the end of the book when a few things happen that are not funny.
Powers resisted the label “Catholic writer” as much as he could. “This country is decidedly a specialist’s country and I think it’s happening to me. I know that sounds like I’m a gall-bladder man, but it does happen.” I am on his side in this. Labeling him a Catholic writer is superficial. There is no dogma. We don’t see Father Urban perform mass or take confessions. The play between humans — and the moral decisions often required in our reactions — these things happen in any friendship, any group, any family, any business. An atheist who appreciates good writing and believes in moral choice should have no problem here.
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What was genius to me, besides the perfect sentences, was the lack of condemnation. With a few exceptions, notably the three villains toward the end, Powers holds affection for his characters. If not obvious affection, then understanding. With the exceptions, the three who act without mercy, he has them play their parts, but he doesn’t spend any time trying to get us to understand them. Incidentally, I could find a bit of myself in every one of his characters. That’s impressive, especially in a comedy.
There is teaching, there is Powers’ point of view, there are exemplary actions, but nothing comes across as manipulative. Sometimes we hear, in Father Urban’s thoughts, thoughts that must belong to the author. When Urban is reluctantly playing checkers with Father Jack (no one else will!), “Jack, of course, showed him no mercy. Father Urban sniffed. It occurred to him that Jack would have been an entirely different sort of person if he’d handled himself as he did his checkers. Jack could have been a big success in life — and not a very nice person to know. He certainly got back at the world in checkers.” This is not entirely true, as we soon find out, but the thought fits where it is.
The ending was perplexing to me, and it took me a reading of the introduction to get someone else’s opinion, and a re-reading of the ending, before my own ideas formed. This is subtle writing. In my copy’s introduction, novelist Elizabeth Hardwick says that “Morte D’Urban” is “a sad morality drama,” because of the ending.
I completely disagree. I believe that Hardwick rushed her reading. I believe that the ending is a triumph for Urban. He learned what he needed to learn. Powers was an extremely careful writer. He did not have another income, he was not prolific, and he skirted a life of poverty. After disappointing sales of “D’Urban,” he wrote to his friend Katherine Anne Porter: “People told me in New York that I was lucky to have done as well as I had with the book. Well, if so, I don’t know how to look the future in the face.” Not every careful writer is a good writer, but I believe Powers hit it right with this novel, and that a thoughtful reading of the ending will reward a reader with inspiration as opposed to sadness.
“Morte D’Urban” won the National Book Award in 1963. Flannery O’Connor and the Catholic monk Thomas Merton were fans, as was the atheist Phillip Roth, who went so far as to call himself “anti-religious.” Contemporary novelist Donna Tartt is a fan.
Here is a book which explores some of the crucial questions of humanity. How do we make our decisions in life? Where is home? It is a novel that is both challenging and fun to read. I have read it twice already. This is what I am calling a good friend of a book. By the end, we know everything we need to know about Father Urban, and nothing we don’t need to know. It is complete. And who doesn’t need to laugh? I would have loved to have known author J. F. Powers, never a priest, by the way, but knowing Father Urban is a fine substitute.
(Anne Bevilacqua is a book lover who lives in Haywood County. This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..)
