Bless me father...
Yes, it's a terrible title. But while I'd normally advise you always to judge a book by its cover, Clerical Errors is a cracker. It's got priests in it. Need I say more?
OK, maybe I'm a little bit biased - as a lapsed Catholic who seriously considered joining the clergy after watching the first series of Father Ted (I really like the uniform), a book like this was always going to be right up my street. Personal career ambitions aside, however, this book was a revelation (arf arf!).
Edmund Music is a clerical chancer. Born a French Jew, his parents enrolled him in a Catholic seminary so that he might avoid persecution from the occupying Nazis: finding non-belief in the existence of God no obstacle to success within his field, Edmund never leaves. Ordained a Catholic priest, he ends up forty years later the custodian of a plush English retreat centre and library - a cushy number bestowed on him in the will of an ex-lover.
The immediate plot revolves around the insipid Father Twombly (a rival since Music's seminary days) and his attempts to disturb Music's domestic bliss by unearthing evidence that Edmund, when in dire financial straits, sold off a rare Shakespeare print from the library, a charge that, if proved, will lead to Edmund's sacking and reassignment somewhere hot and impoverished - a fate worse than death for our feckless hero.
This minor transgression, however, barely scratches the surface of Music's past indiscretions, and serves as a plot device that compels Music, in first-person confessional form, to re-evaluate his past sixty years and ask, in light of the fundamental deceptions that he relies on to live his life, who he truly is. This reappraisal sees Edmund revisiting episodes in his life, second-guessing his motivations and justifying his actions, as if seeking absolution, to the reader. Much of his attention is focused on the secret of his Jewish ancestry - his obsession with an obscure Jewish prophet and his account of disastrous meetings with his estranged Jewish father make for some of the more offbeat passages of the novel.
While Edmund's search for personal identity touches on some serious themes, it is related with the lightest of touches.
Isler's style is sharp, funny and relies on elements of the absurd, but is never glib: Music is not a caricature corrupt priest, or an archetypal loveable rogue, but an intelligent and engaging character. His relations with the frail and malcontent people around him, in particular his ambiguous feelings towards his housekeeper Maude, reveal a warmth and generosity to his character that would not exist if the corrupt priest concept had just been played for laughs. Edmund's gentle humour and courteous tone towards the reader are reminiscent of Jean-Baptiste's humble yet challenging confessional in The Fall (the Camus novel, not the Manchester lo-fi band.) - subtle, compelling, and entertaining. I like this book.
Again (having been too hungover to attend Easter Mass), I might be biased favourably towards accounts of crap Catholics. Maybe true believers might find Edmund a less sympathetic character; maybe non-Catholics just won't get it, I don't know. I suspect, however, that while Isler might be preaching to the choir, as far as this reviewer is concerned, this novel contains enough wit, humour and depth to inspire a truly ecumenical following.
Oliver E. Holtaway
26th Apr 2001