From Russell Shaw at The Catholic Thing:
I recently read two hugely different novels in quick succession – The Wings of the Dove by Henry James and The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. Published only 24 years apart – the James in 1902, Hemingway in 1926 – they read now like voices from two different epochs (which they were – the epochs being the years before and after World War I, with the war tracing a blood-drenched dividing line between them).
The Wings of the Dove is a subtle analysis of innocence and corruption in posh settings in London and Venice. The Sun Also Rises, narrated in Hemingway’s clipped, tough-guy prose, chronicles lust and violence among self-destructive pleasure seekers in the bull ring and bars – especially the bars – of Pamplona.
Profoundly unalike as they are, however, the books share an intense interest in Catholicism. But since neither author is usually taken for a Catholic writer, that calls for an explanation.
In a 1993 study (The Catholic Side of Henry James), Edwin Sill Fussell traced a persistent fascination with Catholicism running all through the writing of this great “post-Protestant” writer. For example: In probably the best known of James’s stories, The Turn of the Screw, the malevolent ghosts of the dead butler and governess are Catholics; and in James’s last novel, The Golden Bowl, all four principal characters are as well.
And then there is The Wings of the Dove. Fussell cites textual evidence that Milly Theale, the doomed American heiress at the center of the story, is a Catholic. But even more to the point is a crucial incident near the novel’s end.
Trudging around central London on Christmas morning in a funk over his unwitting role in Milly’s death and the moral dilemma this has created for himself and his mistress, Milly’s close friend, the scheming Kate Croy, journalist Merton Densher decides that a bit of religious uplift might help. Seeing he is in the neighborhood of Brompton Oratory, Densher, though not a Catholic, heads there:
At the door then, in a few minutes, his idea was really – as it struck him – consecrated: he was, pushing in, on the edge of a splendid service. . .which glittered and resounded, from distant depths, in the blaze of altar-lights and the swell of organ and choir. It didn’t match his own day, but it was much less of a discord than some other things actual and possible. The Oratory, in short, to make him right, would do.
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