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Reviews
"Ethel & Ernest" by Raymond Briggs
A marvelously realized graphic novel captures a generation's worth of changes in working-class England.
By Charles Taylor
[10/13/99]

Too noble
Faced with unthinkable loss, some families respond too humanely for society's own good.
By Charles Taylor
[10/12/99]

Reviews
"Yes We Have No: Adventures in the Other England"
Novelist and cultural critic Nik Cohn tours ye merry olde land of low-rent gangsters, spiritual wanderers, techno DJ's and football hooligans.
By Stephanie Zacharek
[10/12/99]

Dear Mr. Blue
Closet case
My female lover left her husband for me, but she won't tell her children she's a lesbian. Should I wait for her to come around?
By Garrison Keillor
[10/12/99]

Book Bag
Rockets' red glare
The author of "Dog Soldiers" picks five great contemporary war novels.
By Robert Stone
[10/11/99]

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From the time I was about 8, my father had told me bardic tales of his spiritual awakening at the College of Santa Fe in the deserts of New Mexico. His transcendental images became so seared in my mind that I vowed to follow in his footsteps.

When it was time to choose a college, I looked at other schools, but Santa Fe was always in the back of my mind. When I discovered it had one of the few full-fledged undergraduate creative-writing programs in the country, it became my first choice. I applied and was accepted.

I visited the two small, private, mid-Atlantic colleges that had also accepted me. They were nice, but seemed very typical. I wanted something new, something I'd never known. I had a deep feeling that if I went to Santa Fe I would either hate it and come home, or soar into a better life. After visiting it and learning about its commitment to the traditional disciplines, its emphasis on theater and film, and its Catholic Christian Brothers tradition, I was convinced that there I would meet other artistic oddballs like me.

But almost as soon as I arrived, I began to worry that this faraway college, the place where I could indulge in both the life of the mind and the spirit, would not live up to my expectations. In my first night in the dorm, I sobbed in the thin desert air, and woke the next morning trembling with anticipation and optimism. I was here, where I had dreamed of coming for so long. In fear, I rose to confront my dream.

I walked to my classes hoping to find teachers who were not career academics, but brothers for whom teaching was their mission to God. Instead, only one of my classes -- religion studies -- is led by a Catholic brother. He is a wonderful teacher; although a devout Catholic, he does not give any religion priority in his lectures. He has a true vocation in teaching. Although all my teachers teach well and are dedicated, none has the utter devotion to teaching that he does. I soon learned that of the 14 brothers on campus, only four teach full-time. There have been no new brothers in years, and the school is rapidly losing its Catholic flavor.

Although I am non-practicing, I am a cultural Catholic. My senses were formed on the glow of stained glass and the scent of incense. As an adolescent, I rebelled against the Catholic hell and proclaimed that no loving God would eternally damn his beloveds. But at about 16, I realized that I had been shortsighted. Whether or not Jesus is God, Catholicism tells much more truth about life than the generic pop culture that was my only other source of enlightenment. After a rigorous Catholic elementary education, I was shocked at how the brightest students in my public high school were ignorant of the most fundamental grammatical rules. Thus, I gained great respect for Catholicism's strong educational traditions.

Next page | A sweet, bland Madonna stared down at me