Graham Greene once described Brian Moore as “my favourite living writer”. Moore’s death in 1999 means I can’t do the same but I can confirm that he is rapidly ascending the ranks of my all-time favourites. He must have something special for I kept reading even though Black Robe is a tale of full of atrocity and foul language. Not my usual fare at all.
But it’s impossible to stop reading a novel that encompasses all of Moore’s compulsive themes: sex, the clash of ideologies, loneliness, betrayal and religion. That’s a heady mix. But then Black Robe is a heady novel.
Set in the mid-17th century, it describes Father Paul Laforgue’s journey into the heart of darkness of Northern Canada. He is sent to relieve a dying priest of his post in a country inhabited by hostile, violent tribes. While he is prepared for martyrdom, his young novice, Daniel, is more ambivalent and succumbs to infatuation and the temptations of the flesh offered him by Annuka, a young Algonkin squaw. And so begin the religious complexities. Not only does Laforgue attempt to save the soul of his fallen Christian brother, he must also attempt the conversion of the pagan and, it must be said, savage natives. These are not the natives, cowed, domesticated and addicted to alcohol that we meet in Stef Penney’s The Tenderness of Wolves, set 200 years after the events of Black Robe. The tribes of Black Robe are savages. To illustrate: at one point Laforgue, Daniel and his lover’s family are taken captive by the hostile Iroquois.
“May we caress the captives?” asked one of the women.
“Caress them” said Kiotsaeton, “but carefully, We must make them last.”
The women, gleeful, at once thrust their burning brands against the genitals of Chomina and Laforgue, causng them to double up in pain. They then burned Annuka’s shoulder and thrust a flaming stick into Daniel’s armpit …
and this is just the start of a torture session that ends in the parboiling and cannibalism of a young Algonkin child.
Moore makes it clear that the savagery is a result of the native religious system, which, with its belief in the world of night and the power of dreams, is so far removed from Christianity that the idea of conversion is inconceivable. Daniel and Annuka’s relationship, at face value demonstrating that reconciliation is possible, becomes the catalyst for the destruction of her family. Laforgue’s problems reconciling his experiences with his own beliefs precipitates a personal crisis of faith.
What’s amazing is Moore’s evenhandedness in showing both sides of the religious divide. Raised an Irish Catholic, Moore famously renounced his faith on the boat leaving Ireland. He waited that long, he said, so as not to hurt his mother. Yet, he remained cognisant of religious faith that could inspire men to behaviour beyond what is normal. So, while Black Robe shows the extremities of Indian belief, it does not condemn. It explains. So too Moore’s treatment of Jesuit faith and the behaviour of the missionaries.
The events are shocking and the outcomes bleak. Yet Moore is depicting real history – his source the voluminous letters that the Jesuits sent back to their superiors in France. He doesn’t sanitise the facts and as a result, demonstrates the bravery, the arrogance and the shortsightedness of the seventeenth-century Jesuit Blackrobes.
Presented with Moore’s trademarks, spare unadorned prose, strong visual elements, controlled pace and a tight plotline, this was quite simply unputdownable.
I won’t be rushing to rent the film. The pictures in my head are graphic enough!
Delighted that you are an increasing Moorophile, Lizzy. I look forward to reading your thoughts on The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne, which I gather you liked a lot!
I found Black Robe probably Moore’s most difficult book; it certainly took me a while to get ‘into’ it whereas mostly he grabs you in the first pages.
If I might be permitted to recommend some of his others. Dates are guesstimates:
The Feast of Lupercal (1958) is out of print but available used on Amazon Marketplace. It’s a sort of companion piece to Judith Hearne: another sad, lonely lead character, a male teacher this time, and it’s sex (or lack of) rather than drink which is his downfall. It has stayed with me strongly since I read it earlier this year.
The Luck of Ginger Coffey (1960) in some ways seems to be an expansion of the story of Madden in Judith Hearne: Irish fella goes to Canada/US to find his fortune, and finds that fortune is elusive… Actually shows a humorous side to Moore, but is also pretty soberly moving, particularly the end. One of my favourites of the dozen or so of his novels I’ve read.
The Doctor’s Wife (1976): even the slow-reader Mrs Self got through this in about three days. A gripping and entirely real story of a love affair in Paris between a young American and a Belfast woman seeking a substitute for her stultified upbringing… Contains explicit sex. Shortlisted for the Booker Prize.
Lies of Silence (1990): Also Booker-shortlisted. Moore’s late thriller style (as opposed to, I suppose, his early Bernard Mara thriller style) at its best, I think. His only novel which is set in Troubles-era Northern Ireland – but don’t let that put you off.
I’m reading through his books chronologically but intermittently and posting thoughts on my blog. The Emperor of Ice-Cream is next, then I Am Mary Dunne. The latter I’ve read before but can’t remember. Looking forward to it already…
Addicted, moi? It’s two days since I finished “Judith Hearne” and I’m suffering from moore tremens!
Lies of Silence, The Great Victorian Collection and The Colour of Blood are waving their flags having reached the summit of Mount TBR rather quickly. I think we can safely assume that sometime in the not too distant future I, too, shall be a Moore completist.
Returning to “Black Robe” for a moment or, to be more precise, the sweary words. I accepted them as a device but remain unsure as to the authenticity. Did the native tribes have such foul mouths or was Moore using this to underpin the essential incompatibility of the mentalities?
Anyway ’twas these which prevented the full 5-star rating.
Funny you’re concerned about the film as it is VERY toned down from the novel, bowdlerized practically. The child simply has his throat cut then is tossed face first into the hearth before being drug out of the longhouse to an unknown fate. The sex is still somewhat frank, but rather tame compared to the heavy erotica of the book. The language of the natives being translated into vulgarity is absent in an attempt for historical accuracy (While in truth swearing did exist in Indian languages. The Comanche war chief Lone Coyote Tail was a Victorian-era rendering of Coyote Ass on Dung Heap). Elsewise, it is very faithful to the script of the novel. The trip however is shortened with all the pit-stops and whatnot removed and the harrowing ending with the Mohawk massacring the village is simplified to a mere epilogue script scrolling up with the credits during the baptism of the natives.