The Power and the Glory

I was at first tempted to read The Power and the Glory as entirely allegorical, that the travails of the unnamed whisky priest are the persecutions of the Church in Mexico, and that his weaknesses represent the failures of the Church, due to it being an organization made of fallible men, as hard as they try to do good. However, this doesn't work particularly well, (with the exception of the final chapter) although the novel is not without allegory -- the half-caste mestizo as the Judas figure is merely the most obvious. While the priest's suffering and persecution is not Christ's, or that of a saint (contrast the whisky priest with the story of Juan, a martyred priest who certainly could be a saint that a devout woman reads to her children), he is unequivocally a man of God, despite his very human failings -- he had been proud and self-satisfied prior to the persecutions and outlawing of Catholicism, and afterwards, he turned to drink, even fathering a child in an alcoholic stupor. He is unable to regret this unconfessed sin, as he loves the child, so how can he truly repent for a sin he is not sorry for? (Not that it matters much anyway, as a renegade priest, one does not have many opportunities to attend confession.)

The novel is spent in squalor, among the poor towns of that certain Mexican state where it is set. (The setting is meant to evoke Tabasco, but Greene changes some of the geography. All place names are real, as far as I am aware. There are certainly towns with the names mentioned in the novel in Mexico.) All of the characters that we meet share a certain hopelessness with the priest -- there's Tench, the dentist, who wants ether, drink, and to be elsewhere -- although not necessarily back in England with his family. There's the lieutenant, an atheist, a self-described "man of the people" who can't relate to anyone and commits atrocities. There's Fellows, the happy-go-lucky banana salesman, his hypochondriac wife, and his precocious daughter, Coral. The only one of them who feels real is Coral, she's likely dead at the end of the novel. While the people don't always feel real or fully fleshed out, the settings do -- like jump cuts in a movie, each place is realized.

Overall, I have to be about the ten thousandth reviewer to conclude that this is an excellent novel, that Greene manages to write a pro-Catholic novel without it being merely an apologia. This, of course, makes it infinitely easier to read. The ending of the novel seems more allegorical than anything, which is satisfying, because on a real level, there can be no happy ending.