Customer Reviews

CliffsNotes on Cather's Death Comes for the Archbishop

5 star:		(64)
4 star:		(29)
3 star:		(6)
2 star:		(6)
1 star:		(23)

 

 

Based on two real life French Catholic priests who were sent to the American Southwest in 1851, Willa Cather's 1927 novel captures the essence of their experiences. The Mexican people, formerly ruled by Spain, had been Catholic for centuries and welcomed the Bishop, Jean Marie Latour, and his Vicar, Father Joseph. As the two men travel through the countryside, it is clear that the landscape itself is a major character in this novel. Ms. Cather's descriptions brought me right there and I could almost breath the perfume of the earth as well as feel the impact of the mountains of rock and open desert.

In what reads like a series of short stories, the priests travel throughout the area and meet a wide variety of people along the way. Always, their adventures take on mythical and religious significance, such as when Father Latour finds himself quite lost and then sees a juniper tree in the shape of a cross that leads him to food and shelter. Each of these stories has a crisis and each crisis is answered by a religious experience. This deepens the faith of the two priests who share their common religious feelings even though they have very different personalities.

Ms. Cather had the uncanny ability to capture exactly what each character felt and let the reader experience it moment to moment. Her detailed descriptions are many faceted. For example she uses the character of Kit Carson to show both gentleness and compassion as well as vile cruelty to the Indians. Always, she just lays out the story and lets the reader make his or her own judgments.

One of the problems I had with the book was my own desire to have the priests confront some difficult choice. That didn't happen. Their faith was always there. And, if there were any demons for them to conquer, it might have been a very subtle pride in what they were doing. In my mind, it made them just a little too perfect to identify with. This, however, was obviously not the author's intention which was to tell the tale as she saw it, filled with simple miracles and a loving testament to these two men whose impact can still be felt centuries later. It was a good book. I recommend it.

After reading with fascination the prior forty-plus reviews, they would appear to fall into three categories: juveniles who were forced to read the book for school, giving the book the lowest possible ratings. PC-types who judge both the writing of the book and the actions and beliefs of the characters by today's standards--such smug intolerance! Thirdly, those who love literature for its own sake, belonging to the community that has made this one of the classics in American writing.

I admit, I am part of the third group. I fell in love with the writing of Cather as a teenager. To date, I have found no other author who can illustrate the great expanse of America and the vision of our ancestors in the way she could. Being set in New Mexico, the feeling of expanse of the American West permeates every page. I agree with another reviewer that this book is the writing equivalent of O'Keefe.

While I can understand the young ones criticizing the book after being forced to read it, I don't understand adults who were dissatisfied. Was this their first Cather? Hopefully not (I'd recommend starting with "Song of the Lark" or "O Pioneers". Her writing is not an unknown quantity.

I've read the book many times over the past thirty years, and it's not a book for those who like to have their plots laid out for them. The plot is obscure, as Cather leaves the main story line with chapters diverging like side trails off a main path. Though not hard to read, it's not a book for those in a hurry. It's best being read in a comfy chair on a rainy afternoon next to a window. The sense of timeliness, of the stretching on into eternity, is seldom better conveyed than in this book.

A hundred-plus years on, Willa Cather's writing remains the foremost example of American Midwestern writing. For those who love the narrative style, I'd recommend finding some of the writings of Sarah Orne Jewett, one of Cather's mentors. You will see the origin of some of Cather's style.

Willa Cather's works are more reminiscent of paintings than books. They are better described by words such a `warm', `vibrant' and `rich' than by `suspenseful', `fascinating' or `page-turner'. In "Death Comes for the Archbishop" she does to New Mexico with black ink what Georgia O'Keefe needed a whole palette of colors to do.

"Death Comes for the Archbishop" is a multidimensional work skillfully woven together. On one hand Cather tells the story of New Mexico in the early days of its occupation by the United States and of the clash of two cultures trying, sometimes unsuccessfully, to get along.

On the other hand it is a portrait of a life. It is the story of Father Latour, a French priest sent to Santa Fe by the church to serve as an impartial intermediary between the protestant Anglo government and the Mexican Catholic population. He leaves behind all that is dear to him and dedicates himself to a life of service in a distant outpost far from what he must have considered civilization.

While it's true that the book may be `episodic' or `anecdotal', few of us recall our own lives as a smooth, day-to-day rendering. What we remember are the high points and low points of our lives, and so it is here. This is, after all, the story of the life, and death, of a man.

If you read books just to find out how they end, I'll save you the trouble. He dies. But if you read to experience the world through the heart and eyes of a great author, this book is for you. And once you read it you will find that, for you, Father Latour, hasn't really died. He'll stay with you forever.

In the early 21st century, Willa Cather is perhaps best remembered for her chronicles of prairie lives, but one of her best works is DEATH COMES TO THE ARCHBISHOP, which depicts the southwest some 300 years after the Spaniards arrived, but barely into its American infancy. In the 1850s, there are no maps yet, and to the European eye, the landscape is a vast, primitive "geometric nightmare." It is peopled by Mexicans and Native American Indians, and by a few rogue priests who so far from Rome and civilization have built fiefdoms and empires in the desert wilderness. It has been left so long untouched that Christian legends have grown up and become ancient alongside the lore of the Indians. By turns, the land and its people are hospitable and inspiring, misguided and harsh.

In 1848, the church of Rome believes it is time to find a leader who will bring order to this region. Going against conventional wisdom, the leaders decide on a younger priest, Jean Marie Latour, a Frenchman currently stationed in Michigan, for the task. The first question that persists through this episodic story is, is he the right person? The book becomes a portrait of his steady cerebral yet compassionate leadership through the chaos he finds and the upheavals of an extraordinary period in history.

The movement of the book zigzags among the people, both imagined and real (Kit Carson shows up), and the land. Especially, it looks at the land as it is shaped by belief-Christian, Indian and political. Cather does an extraordinary job of creating very vivid, complex characters. She also describes the land in a way that needs no photographs or maps to build it in our minds. Her prose is elegiac and yet nearly as clean as Hemingway's. There is power in it, and just when you think deep into the book that it is a series of sketches, it moves forward in the last part to the later 19th century and reveals how some characters' lives have taken some unexpected yet comprehensible curves and others were able to hold a course-the suspense was building all the time. In Latour there is the story of the human vs. the self, nature, other humans, and God. His personal story reflects the broader array of church and national history.

Willa Cather's Death Comes for the Archbishop is a deceptively simple but profound novel about two French missionaries in the Southwestern United States. These men are not terribly otherworldly and they are capable of enjoying good books, good wine, and good food. They are tough guys too, up to the task of traveling thousands of miles on horseback or facing down some bad guys. The religion they promote provides support and comfort to Mexicans, Indians, and some Anglo miners who need spiritual succor.

The book presents us with several vignettes in the lives of these urbane priests, as well as some fables and Southwestern folklore. By living in harmony with God's law and the world he created, the men prosper. Eventually, they must part, and they must grow old and die. But death holds no horror for men like these who have spent their lives in service to others.

Cather's writing is beautiful and direct. In the following passage, one of the priests and his friend spend several days traveling together:

As Father Latour and Eusabio approached Albuquerque, they occasionally fell in with company; Indians going to and fro on the long winding trails across the plain, or up into the Sandia mountains. They had all of them the same quiet way of moving, whether their pace was swift or slow, and the same unobtrusive demeanor: an Indian wrapped in his bright blanket, seated upon his mule or walking beside it, moving through the pale new-budding sage-brush, winding among the sand waves, as if it were his business to pass unseen and unheard through a country awakening with spring.

North of Laguna two Zuni runners sped by them, going somewhere east on "Indian business." They saluted Eusabio by gestures with the open palm, but did not stop. They coursed over the sand with the fleetness of young antelope, their bodies disappearing and reappearing among the sand dunes, like the shadows that eagles cast in their strong, unhurried flight.

Her book also contains some beautiful ideas. In this passage, the two priests discuss Our Lady of Guadalupe:

"Where there is great love there are always miracles," [Father Latour] said at length. "One might almost say that an apparition is human vision corrected by divine love. I do not see you as you really are, Joseph; I see you through my affection for you. The Miracles of the Church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always."

This book has it all: fine writing, adventure, and some lessons for living. Most highly recommended.

It is not my intention in this review to remark at any length on Cather's literary ability. Instead, I merely advise to anyone who plans on purchasing this book to purchase a different copy. This particular edition is poor in two ways.

1. The only information the book offers other than the text itself is the publisher and date (Cassia Press, 2009) and that it was printed on 23 December 2009 in Lexington, KY. It fails even to give the year it was originally printed.
2. More significantly, almost every single sentence in this edition has a typo where a space is omitted. The first two sentences of the prologue, for example, read: "One summer evening in the year 1848, three Cardinals and amissionary Bishop from America were dining together in the gardensof a villa in the Sabine hills, overlooking Rome. The villa wasfamous for the fine view from its terrace." It makes it difficult to read. Horribly unprofessional.

This book is the best description of the near absurd task that European missionaries faced in the American West. Willa Cather gives a sympathetic (and historically accurate) account of two French priests who are given orders to help the secluded diocese of Santa Fe, NM.
The atmosphere of Santa Fe, Albuquerque, and Tucson was unique on the american west. These were cities with centuries of Catholic culture resulting from early Spanish influence, but their extreme isolation made them a true oasis of civilization. The two main characters are very lonely on this foreign frontier, and the task they were sent to accomplish (tame renegade priests and rejuvenate the catholic culture) seems impossible due to language, cultural, and ideological differences.
Fortunately, the two priests compliment each other very well, and enjoy some truly interesting adventures. Issues of Indian relations, slavery, lawlessness, heresy, and isolation are expertly dealt with in Willa Cather's narrative. This has been described as stylistically her best book. Willa Cather loved this book and spent years in the southwest researching the terrain and characters. It will not disappoint.
If you find this story interesting, you may also be interested in books about Padre Kino of Tucson.

Willa Cather, one of the best American novelists ever, turned her sights on the southwest frontier in 'Death Comes for the Archbishop'. It has been described as a quiet, gentle novel and a story of faith. It is that, but so much more.

First, this small book defies categorization. Is it a generic novel that just happens to be set in New mexico, or is it historical fiction, ala Michener? Perhaps it is the barely novelized biography of the real first Archbishop of Santa Fe, Jean Baptiste Lamy (Bishop LaTour in the novel).

Whatever the category, this well-written book uses simple, evocative prose to bring the main characters to life. You will feel youy really know Bishop Latour, his assistant Father Valliant, his native guide Jacinto, Kit Carson, and so many more.

Cather's sense of time and place is perfect! I live right where this book is set and let me say that she has every detail down pat: the names of the old Spanish families, the quirks of the locals, the nature of Catholicism in New Mexico, the food, the topography, etc. are all just right. Most of all, Cather has, in prose, somehow captured the lighting and color which have made New Mexico "the land of enchantment."

This tale of a devout French priest sent to bring a neglected land back into the fold, could not be more authentic. A testament to a good man's life and a great writer's pen

In studying the history of the American West, I've come across a few real gems; Stegner's Beyond the Hundredth Meridian, The Journals of John Wesley Powell, Fremont's journals of his surveys, several books by Ed "Vulture Breath" Abbey, just to name a few. "Archbishop" is on the same shelf with these other classics in my bookcase. Cather takes a mundane day out of the lives of her characters and turns it into a Mahler-esque symphony of crashing, staggering "That air [of wilderness] would disappear from the whole earth in time, perhaps; but long after his day. He did not know just when it had become so necessary to him, but he had come back to die in exile for the sake of it. Something soft and wild and free, something that whispered to the ear on the pillow, lightened the heart, softly, softly picked the lock, slid the bolts and released the prisoned spirit of man into the wind,into the blue and gold, into the morning, into the morning!" Human integration with the natural, non-technologic world, and the feelings that integration fosters, is not often portrayed as well as this. The Archbishop lives! ;-)

I picked up this book in the library purely because of the title. There are certain book titles which, upon seeing, compel me to pick up the book and read it, no matter the content, and "Death Comes for the Archbishop" was one of them. I was expecting to read a dark, gothic novel with deep, philosophical discussions about the nature of good and evil, perhaps with Death and the Archbishop sitting down to a game of chess or something. Instead what do I get? Some thinly veiled Christian dogma set in an "Oh, California" textbook.

But here's the strange part... I actually LIKED this book. For no tangible reason, I couldn't put it down. Now, to reiterate, this was what I would have considered, by any normal standards, to be an extremely stupid, boring book. There is no plot, to speak of. There are pages and pages, entire chapters almost, devoted solely to describing how peaceful and beautiful the arid New Mexican landscape is. And although it spans almost fifty years, it moves at the pace of a lone French missionary jorneying through the desert. But despite all this, I found myself liking it more intensely than almost any other book I've ever read. I found myself caught up in its slow, quiet, undulating rhythm. In fact, towards the end, I practically had tears in my eyes from the beauty of it all.

I would have given it a ten, if I didn't find this whole thing so damn unsettling.