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One dark and stormy night in 1956, a stranger named Fludd mysteriously turns up in the dismal village of Fetherhoughton. He is the curate sent by the bishop to assist Father Angwin-or is he? In the most unlikely of places, a superstitious town that understands little of romance or sentimentality, where bad blood between neighbors is ancient and impenetrable, miracles begin to bloom. No matter how copiously Father Angwin drinks while he confesses his broken faith, the level of the bottle does not drop. Although Fludd does not appear to be eating, the food on his plate disappears. Fludd becomes lover, gravedigger, and savior, transforming his dull office into a golden regency of decision, unashamed sensation, and unprecedented action. Knitting together the miraculous and the mundane, the dreadful and the ludicrous, Fludd is a tale of alchemy and transformation told with astonishing art, insight, humor, and wit.… (altro)
deb80: Similar plot and characters. The bishop is not amused. He sends an emissary to investigate a malfunctioning pastor, church and congregation, with wacky and wonderful results.
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For Anne Ostrowska
Incipit
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On Wednesday the bishop came in person.
Citazioni
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Out of her black drapings and her rolls of petticoats, standing shivering in the fireless parlour in her long linen drawers, she looked a pitiful beanpole ... she stood with her arms crossed over her breasts in a pose at once picturesque and gauche: going to God knows what. "Twilfit or Excelsior?" Sister Anthony asked. "Oh, I couldn't. I couldn't put on corsets. I've never worn corsets in my life." Sister Anthony was taken aback. "Don't you have them in Ireland these days?" "I shouldn't know how to manage. What if I wanted to go to the lavatory?" "You'll have to have something, you know." Sister Anthony felt around in the chest. "Try this bust-bodice. Come on now, look lively. ... Either you may have my silk combinations," she said, "or you'll have to go in your drawers, please yourself.""
The frightening thing is that life is fair; but what we need, as someone has already observed, is not justice but mercy. (p. 74)
Christ died to free us from the burden of our sind, but he never, so fars as she could see, lifted a finder for free us fromour stupidity. (p. 117)
Ultime parole
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He was a modern policeman, fresh-faced and cold-eyed, and he liked nothing better than to tear around the country in his big black car.
One dark and stormy night in 1956, a stranger named Fludd mysteriously turns up in the dismal village of Fetherhoughton. He is the curate sent by the bishop to assist Father Angwin-or is he? In the most unlikely of places, a superstitious town that understands little of romance or sentimentality, where bad blood between neighbors is ancient and impenetrable, miracles begin to bloom. No matter how copiously Father Angwin drinks while he confesses his broken faith, the level of the bottle does not drop. Although Fludd does not appear to be eating, the food on his plate disappears. Fludd becomes lover, gravedigger, and savior, transforming his dull office into a golden regency of decision, unashamed sensation, and unprecedented action. Knitting together the miraculous and the mundane, the dreadful and the ludicrous, Fludd is a tale of alchemy and transformation told with astonishing art, insight, humor, and wit.
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