staffed with friendly young ladies, andnuncomprehendingly watches a pornonmovie to which he has been drawn by itsnseemingly pious title, A Maiden ‘snPrayer, As his ancestor fought the windmills,nMonsignor Quixote attacks anfestival in which visiting Mexicans cover anstatue of the Virgin Mary with papernmoney. Confronting these blasphemers,nhe roars, “How dare you clothe her likenthat in money ? It would be better to carrynher through the streets naked.” But innhis outburst he finds an answer to thenprayer he made after viewing the pornonmovie: “O God, make me human, letnme feel temptation. Save me from mynindifference.”nBut it is the uncertainty of this worldnand the next that gives a focus to Quixote’snlife. In a dream he sees Christ savednfrom the agony of the cross by a legion ofnangels; thus “there was no final agony,nno heavy stone which had to be rollednaway, no discovery of an empty tomb.”nHe awakens to realize that such a miraclenwould destroy Christianity, a religion innwhich doubt has to be the beginning ofnfaith: “There was now no ambiguity, nonroom for doubt and no room for faith atnall.” In spite of our best humane andnreligious impulses, “We all make cruelnparodies of what we intend.”nMonsignor Quixote is a book whichnhas much to say about faith and doubt,nreligion and politics, God and Marx. Thenmodern world, for Greene, is devoid ofnbelief and values and offers only deathnand insanity to the unbeliever. Sanchonand Quixote, though poles apart in theirntheology and politics, can still find somendegree of happiness in sharing those simplenthings that symbolize the goodnessnand wholeness of life—wine, cheese,nbread, a journey.nM alamud’s book, on the othernhand, is a snarl of unresolved complexitiesnand ambiguities. At the beginning,nin a confrontation with God, Cohn hearsnthe reasons for the catastrophe: “Theynhave destroyed my handiwork, the conditionsnof their survival: the sweet air Ingave them to breathe; the fresh water InHclitorial NotenI m\< ili.«;if;rci- wiili I•’rlIf^•^>:^)rn.’iifiiisniii mnicrninj; lir>. i’;ilii;iliiin i>tnt.ir;ihani Cirittu- ;i>- :i muMcr “ot then(k’licjit- ;iri “I rciiiliiiij;. iniuliinj;. midnliclditij; ihc luiiii’. and rniii(K uf . . .nriMiicr”:.” lit- (HK f WLK I1I;II kifiil ofnaiirhiir. hiii afrtr IIK- la.^i 20 yt-ars Dlhi*.nIiizarri- idi’olujjical jujjylint; and a loii-n.••raruK dt.TiTii)raiiiiK-i andnlioiik markc-i from liis. or ht-r. .•iijjhi.nMft/Mj^nur Qmxn.’r’i a-ntral mi-.>:’>a.!;i’ni-; ihc panr (philo’iDphiial. hisiorital.nnioral) ot’C.ailiolkism and lomnuiniMii.n••[! j^ ihi-rc miuh dillV-rfiui’ bciwiTn thentwo?” a^k.-. CirtTnc s ii’mmuniM proraj;onisi.nand Cirt-inc .scfni>- (o proclaimnSli-c-t’ully diai rhtTi- i^ none. To anyonenWIM lives wilh open eye<- and a tiiiuiioniiiKnmind ai rhc end ol die 2l)th lenniriL.nihiv i~ a hold-iaeed lie. wicked demajjofiuerv.nTorquemada. ills villainy noiwiih.iiaiidinj;.nknew noihinj; about Sialinnhui .’^lalin knew all ahoiii Torcjiiemada;nthe dirfereiiie heiween the ini|iii’.iiioiinand ihc jjulafi is both qiianriiaiive andnqualiiaiive. a.s Greene should well know.nHe choose? a po.se oltoy ifjnoratiie whii hnhi» admirers eall artistry. I tall ir iiilelleiiiialnami moral lonveiiieiia- -a despiiablensianee wliiih Greene has suricsskilKn/”•(7e//f/i’i/'(oioinbai ihroLif;houi his entirenlarcei. MnHtit^mir Ouixulf is aniharnile.ssand dull novel. It’saNo witlessn•in spire ol a continuous ellort to ben\itt—and boriiij:. regardless of all hisnexertions to appear winsnine. Cireenenwanted to take oti the most lime-honorednplory ot the Clalholic body ol writiny:nthe lighihearted dialojiiie betweenntliefaitlilul(il not thetnost intellciiuallvnsharp) of God and his perennial philosophiialndetractor- the rationalist, materialistnagnostic. Kill di.sciissinpe.schatol-n(ifiy iiiid elliiis with a lijiht, entailingntouch -a.s did Swih’ and Sterne. Voltairennnand Diderot. Daudet and Fiafice. andnlinaliy. in our lime. Giovanni Cruareschinin his ///’/iTo/f/ MoHii’niUDiin CniiiUtin(iroved to be beyond his reach.nGuarc-schi’s Diwi r.amillo is a .simpletonnilltiinitiated by CJod’s merciful brilliance:n(ireenes Quixote is merely a simpleton,none thai is sinjrularly unattrauive in hisnerbal atid inielli’ctual communicatioti.nIt is obvious that the Romance literaturesnare i haracterii-ed bv one inimitable rraiin• their writers seem to possess a sense otnironic huiTiiliiv toward and nuuk obediencento ihcfuiidametiial truths which soneasily turn into a son of graieful dcipmatism.nand which tinally projeit humannessnat its best. The Northern. Pmtestatu.nAiislo-Saxon tradition of literaturenappears somewhat deficient when comparednrti the i’renrh, Spanish, or Italiannknow-how in this respect, and Circcne’snlast novel is an alnsnial reminder ot thisnrule. Guarcschi’s [“)on Catnillo. thencountry priest, tiever overwhelms hisnfriend atid opponent, a small-town cotnmunistnmayor; nor dc>es he ever fully persuailenthe reader. He wins his argumentsnon ihesiretifirli nfsubiniititijj hisall-toohumannweakness of mind and heart to anhif^lier authority which he trusts—nmnblindlv. but because he isconvincc-d of itsnsupreme saf;acity. Ciuareschi does notnfear his adversary jHincturing his religiousnossilicatioiiotthouglil: in direct controntation.nDon Camillo’s religiousness andn( atholicisin’s own hiiinanisn), all occasionalnobscurantism notwithstanding,ntomes out as victorious, warm wisdom—exactlynwhat (.irc-eiie is unable tonproject. HiseHoit, intact, issoiiiepi asionmake one wcMider whether he really believesnin rlie superiority of spiritualitynover Marxian dialectics, a quandarynwhich, of loiirse. excludes him from thendelights of a-lebrating .small but meaningfulnvicrories. .Xnd as for his gift tor lirerarvn.sensitivities—once so exc|uisiie innIke I’liut’TMititbt- ijiiiry and T/.u- hiictnl’nthi- AlLiir—‘w has failed hini miserablynthis titne. ‘I’hus. from .Wimsi^nor Oiiixnetc Graham (ireetie emerges a.s a writernof shallow insights, banal rone, stiltednargurneniatioti. stuffed car, and woodenntactiliry ol style.n-f.T.nwmmmm^inApril 1983n