I finished the first book a while ago, and I really liked it. Here is my review if anyone cares to read it:
A Canticle for Leibowitz is Walter M. Miller's post-apocalyptic science fiction masterpiece. It is wholly unlike any post-apocalyptic book or film I have ever read or seen. It is not populated with disparately armored road-warriors fighting for water or gasoline, or mutant-monsters blood-thirsty for human flesh, or clans of horsemen waging war on one another in barbaric and violent fashions. While there are rumors and mumblings of these sorts of actions and cliche, Leibowitz is, smartly, devoid of almost every convention this particular sub-genre is known for.
Instead, the book focuses on the most unlikely of heroes: a small group of new-Catholic monks living in an abbey in Utah after the great deluge of fire and destruction. Miller traces the course of new-human history through the monks' -- who work as “bookleggers” and memorizers of the Memorabilia, relics, trinkets, and things from a time long ago -- point of view: a journey spanning thousands of years. The narrative moves from the time known as The Simplification, a new dark age where literacy and scholarly knowledge are punishable by death, through a new time of reformation and enlightenment, and into the distant future where technology, spacecrafts, and nuclear-knowledge again cause humanity to repeat their past mistakes.
At it's core, Leibowitz deals, quite effectively, with ideas of religion, science, faith, and humanity, and how all of these aspects mesh to form our perception of society. It deals with the misappropriation of scientific knowledge, and the superstitious ways of religion. However, it never conjures a voice of cynicism towards these differing points of view. While there is clearly a message hidden within the wonderfully written prose, Miller never comes off as being preachy, and neither condemns, nor condones the scientists or the men of God. He simply presents his lofty ideas in a highly readable and approachable manner and allows the narrative to unfold with nary a hint of manipulation or pulpit-pounding.
As a huge fan of religious science fiction, I was shocked when I recently discovered this book; shocked because I had never even once heard of it. In many ways, I feel as if Leibowitz was tailor made for me. I identified strongly with the central characters (especially Brother Francis and Father Zerchi) and their endearing motivation to preserve spiritual and worldly knowledge for the good of all mankind. As the keepers of the Memorabilia, items that, given enough study, could unlock the secrets of the past, secrets that, if in the wrong hands, could once again spell disaster, the monks are treated with respect, and are charged with a great deal of responsibility. So, too, are the worldly scholars, and when the two factions collide in an exchange of wits and mental sparring, I was filled with a great deal of admiration for the way in which Miller presents the clash of ideologies. The so called battle “between religion and science” has always been an absurd idea to me, as I see these ideologies sharing a symbiotic relationship. Each asks and answers different questions, and both science and religion are needed to form a well-rounded and healthy society.
Before reading Miller's book, I did read some critical reviews, and the majority of these presented a picture that was quite unlike the book I ended up reading. A Canticle for Leibowitz is a highly regarded novel; as the winner of the Hugo award, and a book read in science fiction classes in schools, there seems to be a great deal of posturing about the book's “literary” importance and significance by nefariously painting it as an overly serious work. Many of the reviews I read portrayed Miller's book as being a Pynchon-esque, impenetrable tome of immense density, and so I was wary of the read. However, within the first few pages of the first part (this is actually a novel made up of three interconnected novellas, which seems to be a trend in the books I am now reading), I was amazed to find how incredibly funny the book is; at times, it is downright hilarious.
I was led to believe that this would be a dark, callous, and disturbing read, detailing the follies of humanity birthed from our unwillingness to learn from past mistakes. And while this theme of repeating history is the central driving force behind the narrative, Miller's book is teeming with genuine humor, passion, sorrow, and empathy for humanity. While reading this, I was constantly reminded of two other works, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain. I was reminded of Adam's great book in the way that Miller uses humor to underline and punctuate the absurd and confounding nature of mankind. And while the two works are similar in tone, Leibowitz lacks the cynicism of Hitchhikers, and comes across as a more positive look at humanity.
Conversely, I was reminded of The Fountain because, while the two share slightly similar themes, Miller's book possesses many of the qualities that Aronofsky's film is missing.. In my review for the film, I wrote, “Many things we humans do are funny, laugh out loud funny even. As we bumble through this life, we often make mistakes, and are constantly hitting walls and stumbling blocks in our personal journeys. If we do not take the time to stop, and laugh, and get a good healthy chuckle at our own expense, the lessons learned will only serve to torture and beat us down. I felt as if Aronofsky was beating down his characters by giving them but a scant few moments to be human and fully embrace the joys of life.” Miller's book does this; it allows the characters, doomed as they are to repeat their mistakes, a chance to experience more of what life has to offer. Miller's book does not end on a happy note, the final pages are upsetting, but it does give its readers ample opportunities to experience laughter, along with a wide variety of emotions in the midst of its narrative encrusted with tragedy and frustration.
