AUDIO REVIEW: A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller Jr

Teaser

The world you know is over, immolated by nuclear fire. From the ashes rises a new dark age. An age where the treasury of ancient knowledge is guarded by the priesthood of Saint Leibowitz . . .

Review

Walter M. Miller Jr only completed one novel, but it’s a famous one. A Canticle for Leibowitz is a cornerstone of science fiction, notably winning the Hugo Award for Best Novel in 1961. Written during the early years of what would become the Cold War, it sits at the intersection of nuclear dread and religious optimism. It’s the religious aspect that sets this book apart from so many others. There are many stories in which humanity destroys itself, many tales of post-apocalyptic wastelands patrolled by mutants, but not many that delve quite so deeply into the role of religion in rebuilding the world. That religious angle is simultaneously the most interesting and most infuriating aspect of the novel.

Divided into three acts, each effectively a standalone novella, A Canticle for Leibowitz tells the story of the first millennium after a nuclear holocaust. In the first, humanity is scattered and ignorant of the earlier world. In the second, new empires are emerging, and that lost knowledge is being reclaimed. By the time of the third, the world is rebuilt, but the threat of mutually assured destruction is renewed alongside it. The common thread throughout these three arcs is the the Order of Leibowitz, a Catholic order of priests who preserve the knowledge of the old world alongside their other priestly duties.

Though the books is fairly consistent in tone, my interest in it fluctuated rapidly. There’s a real mix of fascination and tedium going on here that takes a little unpacking. The key thing to understand is that Miller is more interested in the religious discussions than he is in anything else he includes. The book works better when you accept its logic that God is real, and the Catholic faith is the custodian of human morality. If that assumption doesn’t work for you, you might have a hard time accepting some of the turns the story takes. At the very least, you need to be interested in the inner workings of the faith to get the most out of this book.

Personally, I found the opening act to be the strongest. Here we see a dark age of ignorance, with priests toiling over archives they do not understand in order to preserve knowledge for a future they hope will be enlightened enough to make use of it. There’s great imagery of monks bent over blueprints, transcribing every meaningless technical detail, and turning even the most mundane files into a work of art through marginalia and embellishment. The chronicled life of young Francis is a good early focus point, allowing us to see this world through someone who inhabits it without fully comprehending it, as best demonstrated early on when he stumbles into an old fallout shelter, and mistakes it for the lair of some horrible monster.

It is, however, during the third act that Miller’s vision for the book becomes clear. By this point we have seen that history is cyclical, and that man is doomed to destroy just as much as he creates. It’s all very gloomy. Unless, that is, you have faith. Faith, in the end, is the only light available for the characters of Miller’s world. We see priests arguing vehemently against voluntary euthanasia on the basis that faith in God, hope that better days may come, outweighs any material suffering. My problem with this section is not so much the message (I have no problem reading books I disagree with), but the fact that these sections feel like Miller reaching through the text and preaching his message directing. Yes, I’ve used that dread ‘p’ word. The ending of this book is downright preachy. And as we all know, preaching is only good if you’re already a believer. Otherwise it’s just wasted air. Or ink, as the case may be.

Nevertheless, this is a fascinating book. There are works of science fiction that dive this deeply into religion. Even if Miller does have a side, his opponents are not straw men to be knocked down. Some of the arguments are genuinely thought-provoking, and Miller’s dialogue sparkles when old friends meet for another bout. If you’re more familiar with the Christian mythos or if you have an interest in the history of the Catholic Church, then I cannot recommend this book highly enough. If you want a fun read, maybe you’re better off skipping it.

This is one of those books I’m glad to have read even if I didn’t necessarily enjoy it, and that’s a rare thing. A worthy winner of the Hugo Award, A Canticle for Leibowitz is, for all its faults, a classic of the genre for a reason.