The best books about clerics

I read Death Comes for the Archbishop when I was fifteen. It was my first encounter with literary prose that was not assigned by a teacher, and it changed my life for the better by giving me a better understanding of myself and the human drama. I thought at the time: This is the best book I ever read. I re-read the novel in 2017 and thought: This is the best book I ever read. There’s no sex in it, but it’s a love story between two men. Cather’s novel has guided my work as a writer for more than sixty-five years.

This first-in-series book is set in Regency London, a place I would love to see via time machine (but only to visit—not to live there—because I like my creature comforts way too much).  

The two main characters, Charlotte Sloane and the Earl of Wrexford, are from different sides of the tracks, so to speak, but there is some evidence that Charlotte may have experienced affluence at one time. Charlotte and Wrexford team up to solve a murder for which Wrexford stands accused. Their witty dialogue, disparate strengths, and willingness to overlook the other’s shortcomings make this a great read. 

And the cover is gorgeous, isn’t it? 

The delight of this book is in the characters of the two sisters, and the character development/coming-of-age arc of the hero.

We have two sisters in a little village (living in the Small House at Allington). They are very different, but both delightful - one sought by a cousin she can't care for, the other jilted by a casual gallant.

As I've written elsewhere, the plot is Austenesque and the writing not far inferior - the dialogue instantly transports one to the period, to the village, and every character is cleverly drawn. It was first published in serial form, so there are no boring bits. There's a satirical portrait of high society, too, and the men are much better-developed than is generally the case in the period. There's a HEA, but not necessarily the one expected!! Highly recommended!

The main author of this book, Father Thomas Doyle, served at the Vatican Embassy in the 1980s and became an expert in the canonical and pastoral dimensions of priestly sexual abuse.

He has worked with the victims and their families, the abuser priests, the bishops, and superiors, and has developed policies for dealing with cases of sexual abuse by the clergy.

His advocacy work for the victims has resulted in large settlements for many of them, and his exposure of this ugly problem has caused huge financial and psychological stress for the Catholic Church worldwide.

At this point, most people in the world realize priestly sexual abuse is a critical threat to the integrity of Catholicism, and this book is the best source on this deep-seated problem.

This deep book reveals the Church has grappled with this devastating internal problem from its earliest years.

No living writer rivals Hillary Mantel in terms of sheer accomplishment and talent, so it might be annoying for us mortals to learn that on top of it all, she is also very, very funny. Fludd was a wonderful surprise for me after reading her previous works. A mysterious curate joins the parish of a small, bleak British and Catholic town whose priest has lost his faith and whose parishioners are wallowing in superstition. What could possibly go wrong? Mantel elegantly satirizes the eccentricities and harsh judgments of the religious townsfolk, while giving us a thoroughly pleasurable read about faith and love.    

This book is a bit different from my other recommendations. It’s not a fantasy. What it is is a series of books to make you laugh, cry, think, and most of all, want to go live in the imaginary town of Mitford, North Carolina. This is a small town where the phrase “Mitford takes care of its own” is sometimes hard but always rewarding. Reverend Tim Cavanough is a flawed man with a heart of gold who is in the mid to later stage in life and takes care of his flock of often eccentric, lovable townsfolk with a heart of love. I was with a friend one time walking through a little town in West Virginia, and we had both finished Ms. Karon’s books. The town and its folks reminded us of Mitford with its quaint charm. 

This engaging and accessible biography cuts through the mythology surrounding Pastor Martin Niemöller and his famous but often misunderstood confession, “First they came for the Communists….” Despite spending seven years in Nazi concentration camps, Niemöller is presented not as a stalwart opponent of Nazism but as a flawed individual who underwent significant transformation only after World War II, from a nationalistic, anti-democratic, militaristic Protestant elite to an internationalist, ecumenist, and pacifist willing to reckon with Germany’s past. Understanding the well-known statement as a confession is key, for as Hockenos explains, Niemöller did not remain silent about the arrest of socialists, trade unionists, and Jews because he was timid to speak out—he was silent because, at the time, he also disapproved of them. This is a book for those who want to read about individual transformation rather than heroic leaders presented on a pedestal. 

I adore sweeping family sagas with strong women characters and with tragedy, romance, and heartache set in Australia, The Thorn Birds is a beautiful example of the genre.

Meggie is rebellious and headstrong and makes questionable choices, but we empathize and root for her. All the well-rounded characters each come with their own secrets that will keep you turning pages.

Picking out one of this master storyteller’s plethora of great reads is nearly impossible, but this 2002 novel features Father Damien Modeste, a woman who has lived as a man on the remote Ojibwe reservation of Little No Horse. The gripping plot takes a turn amid an investigation into a potentially phony saint named Sister Leopolda.

This novel is the perfect blend of historical fiction and horror, and King perfectly captures small-town rural life among people who hold a little too strongly to both tradition and stereotypes. The novel invokes that particular dread that can only be raised by those philosophical questions that one can’t seem to answer; the horror of the unknown. Plus, given my own book, I have a soft spot for traveling preachers who aren’t what they seem. 

In 1927, Sinclair Lewis struck with Elmer Gantry, a richly researched and powerful satirical indictment of religious hypocrisy whose eponymous central character is an amoral preacher enthralled by his power in the pulpit and by the allure of a beautiful female evangelist, Sharon Falconer.

For a long time, I assumed that I would find these three novellas about churchmen and parishioners in the English countryside of the late 18th and early 19th centuries sleepy and dull. They’re anything but. Eliot depicts the presence of alcoholism, spousal abuse, loneliness, and life-damaging gossip in her fictional communities. But her signature empathy and wit, already on display in this early work, make it invigorating, not a downer.

Graham Greene creates a completely convincing scene in just a few words, deftly transporting the reader into a different world. His characters are credible, and tension underlies every word he writes. The Power and the Glory is a master class in demonstrating how a writer can ‘show’ not ‘tell’ the reader what is happening in the world of the book. Although the novel doesn’t fall into the conventional crime genre, Greene writes about people’s ability to treat others with both inhumanity and humanity, exploring the depths and also the best of human potential. 

A short book even by our standards, The Warden was Trollope’s first novel. He went on to write forty-seven more, as many short stories and nonfiction books as well, all while working as an important official with the Royal Mail. I love Trollope’s books because he was a master at creating life-like characters who may be filled with flaws, but are always portrayed with loving humour. While The Warden is about a controversy over how the Church of England manages a poor house, the story is carried by the complex people and relationships at the centre of the squabble. This is the first book in the Chronicle of Barsetshire series which spins out the lives of these characters across decades.

Whether you’re a person of faith, someone who identifies as spiritual, but not religious, or one who simply strives to approach the world in the most loving way, this book is for you! Nouwen explains, in straightforward terms, that until we can acknowledge, accept, and embrace our own shortcomings, failures, and woundedness, we cannot ever really be compassionate toward others. By wearing our vulnerability on our sleeves, we can stand in solidarity with others, empowering them to better face their own challenges. As a parent and as a friend, acknowledging rather than hiding my wounds and shortcomings has opened my heart to become more of a “wounded healer” to those I love the most.

My new book features the classic “book within a book” trope as a key plot mechanic, but I think Moxon is going for the gold medal in the category of “books within books within books,” with multiple competing characters claiming to be authors and demonstrating unnatural control over their domains, while bemused but frequently baffled readers attempt to decipher what nested reality is foregrounded and what the hell it all means regardless.

It starts off as a spiritual quest for inner-city redemption, starring the inmates of a forgotten asylum and the local parish that tries to tend to them; then an inmate reveals a deeper story of solipsistic villainy that blows away their current problems, and then at least one if not multiple authors involved throws all the cards up in the air and reshuffles them into a multiverse-spanning road movie.

All this, plus the prose is dense and thoughtful… show more.

I got soooo hooked on Julie’s contemporary suspense books. In Heartbreaker, as the story opens, we learn our hero agent Nick Buchanan has just saved a young boy’s life by taking out a serial killer who held him captive. Nick then gets to take some time off for a vacation, and as he’s on the plane waiting to depart, he stops an armed man from trying to free a prisoner another lawman has on the plane. He is definitely the white knight showing up at just the right time. When he meets up with his best friend, he learns a serial killer is after his friend’s sister. I couldn’t wait to see how he was going to protect the heroine, Laurant, from the psychopath and bring him in. This is my kind of hero—courageous, up for anything, never afraid to put his life in danger to right a wrong.

This is another modern venture into Victoriana, with a love affair straight out of Thomas Hardy, ruined by mutual misunderstanding. Its characters are heartbreakingly real and utterly original, and it closes with one of the most memorable set-piece scenes I’ve ever read. I won’t spoil the surprise because it occurs about 400 pages into this long, seductive novel, but it’s a stunningly sensory and dramatic moment.

By exploring how their sumptuous ritual vestments were designed, manufactured, and cared for, Maureen Miller shines powerful new light on the key social transformation of the European middle ages - how the clergy emerged as a distinct and dominant order of society in the eleventh and twelfth centuries - and how the process was shaped by their essential, intimate and contradictory relationships with the women who discharged these tasks.  

John Updike, writing about golf? Well, why not? This novel, from one of America’s greatest writers, is something of a riff on Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter, in a story about a disgraced minister sent off on a sabbatical. He keeps a daily journal, which is what makes up the novel.

Naturally, this being Updike, there are stories about his affairs, his drinking, his family relationships, and more. But there are also wonderful passages about his golf game. Like much of Updike’s work, this book is thought-provoking and an interesting window into the American mind of the 20th century.