I’m not sure how I should write about A History of Loneliness by John Boyne. It’s a book that made me want to throw my kobo against the wall. I think that’s what Boyne wanted, for people to be angry about sexual abuse within the Catholic church, but my anger at this book wasn’t for that; my anger at this book was for how glossy it was. My anger at this book was for how insensitive Father Odran Yates, the protagonist, is. My anger at this book is just all encompassing and I want to stop reviewing and never have to think of it again. Every comment I made in the (electronic) margins on my kobo is caustic and rude and I am going to try and smooth them out and hopefully not give into the nauseated feeling in my stomach.
So we have a priest, Father Odran Yates. He is a good priest, feels the calling of God, enjoys his priesthood. There’s some unnecessary intrigue when he’s sent to the Vatican and is embroiled in the deaths of Pope John Paul I and whoever was before Pope John Paul I (my Catholic family members are pretty embarrassed for me right now, not knowing who came before Pope John Paul I). The novel suggests that Pope John Paul I was going to do something about some nascent scandal within the Irish Catholic church, which the reader assumes to be the rampant sexual abuse, and hints that Pope John Paul I was murdered for this. The novel then becomes quite scathing against Pope John Paul I’s successor, Pope John Paul II. Less hints this time: That man hates women. Direct quote. There’s also some unnecessary back story about Yates’ brother who drowned and Yates’ widowed sister with dementia that could be excised completely without much fuss, although I suppose it’s meant to counter the argument that people with lousy upbringings will do lousy things, like rape children. Because Yates had a lousy upbringing and still managed to keep his penis to himself.
Back to Father Odran Yates, who, for the most part, is upset regarding the unrestrained sexual abuse by priests because it makes him look bad. It means people don’t respect him on the Luas. It means men are angry with him in coffee shops. It means that he grows tired of having a chaperone when he talks to his altar boys. For something like eighty percent of the novel, Yates does not seem to understand that this is not about him. People are rightly angry because of the years of abuse perpetrated by the church. He has no compassion for the victims of sexual abuse, instead painting himself as the true victim in all this. This infuriates me. I am incensed. It’s taken me hours to write this review because I get so angry and I have to walk away. I suppose he comes around when he realizes that his friend, another priest, sexually assaulted Odran’s nephew (which he then makes about himself, visiting the nephew even though the nephew has cut off all contact with Yates, because Yates needs the nephew to absolve him. Yep, back to what Yates needs rather than what anyone else does), but for a priest who goes on and on about how this is his true calling, he seems to have no ability for humility and no compassion. No Matthew 9:36 (Seeing the people, He felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd) for Yates. This is all about him. The book ends with Yates realizing he must have known about other abuses, but chose to look away. The End. No self reflection or anything about this. Just stop.
Ignoring the repugnance of the plot, the writing is all right. Not spectacular, and I’m still biased towards spectacular Irish writing after my time with Frank O’Connor earlier this winter. It’s really slick, the writing. It’s not uncomfortable the way it should be to reflect the content. I know that seems like an odd criticism, that the writing is too smooth for the context, but I can think of no other way to put it. Facile maybe? I know people are going to connect with this book and it’ll likely sell millions of copies (the author also wrote The Boy in the Striped Pajamas), but there’s no depth. It’s like a puddle rather than a sea.
You want some amazing writing about Ireland: read Frank O’Connor. You want a meaningful fictitious book on sexual abuse within the Catholic church: read The Bishop’s Man by Linden MacIntyre instead.
A History of Loneliness by John Boyne went on sale September 11, 2014.
I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.