Resist the Urge to Hug the Ehru ~ A review of "Kings of Ordovar" by Phillip Campbell

If one of these guys suggests that you cold-hammer naga, maybe decline.

The upsurge of interest in historically-charged epics sparked by the most recent attempt to bring Homer's Odyssey to the big screen irritates me. Why? Because it's a fad. And if you need proof of that, recall that the cultural obsession with ancient epics started to fade as soon as the next tedious installment in the Vir Araneus series arrived in theaters.

For me, the fascination with historically-charged epics is persistent. As anyone who reads this blog is likely aware, there's nothing I like better than discovering the heroic words and deeds of distant antiquity recounted by an ancient witness—the more obscure the better.

With that in mind, what is one to make of an obscure historical source detailing the epic rise and calamitous fall of a civilization that never existed?

If that premise sounds intriguing to you, go get yourself a copy of Phillip Campbell's superb new release, Kings of Ordovar.

It's ok to judge this book
by it's cover.

The cover art by itself should draw you in. When I first saw it, I felt that the title should be changed to Giga-Chad Dynasty from Outer Space. But this book is no mere derivative comic-booky "based on the motion picture" fantasy novel. The back-cover copy, mentions that the work was created "in the tradition of Tolkien's Simarillion," and if you've read Tolkien's exploration of the pre-LOTR history of Middle Earth, the comparison is apt. Kings of Ordovar is high fantasy which mimics the language and structures of ancient history. I found it to be more like reading the Book of Samuel or Livy or Venerable Bede than anything you might find in modern fantasy literature.

The only thing that even mildly irritated me about this book was the mere fact that it is, after all, fantasy. One of the greatest pleasures one gets from reading ancient histories is that the writer is permitting the reader a glimpse into the otherwise lost world he lived in, allowing the reader to meet the great men and women he may have known himself—like Procopius who followed Belisarius on his campaigns and witnessed awe-inspiring and even miraculous events with his own eyes. This has a way of humanizing antiquity and making it relatable. I also tend to add passages from such works to my ever-shifting, oft-forgotten mental library of amazing historical anecdotes which memorialize heroic acts to be held up for emulation, or awful deeds to used as a cautionary examples. It feels somehow wrong to do that with fantasy, even when the author (like Tolkein or Campbell) has created characters who exemplify various aspects of the human condition very accurately.

There are many lessons to be learned in Kings of Ordovar. Though the tone is not overtly didactic, the work is presented as a scholarly history in which the narrator assumes a common morality with the reader. Moral themes abound, such as: 

• Decisions warped by greed often lead to disaster;
• God's gifts must be used properly, for when they are not, they can become curses; 
• No matter how powerful you think you are, there's always someone who is more so.

Finally, upon finishing this book, the aphorism quoted by Possidius near the end of his Life of Saint Augustine came to mind: "He is not to be considered great who thinks it strange that wood and stones should fall and mortals die."

These are the kinds of ruminations that result from reading Kings of Ordovar.

But if you prefer the fourteenth installment of Spandex Man versus Goofy Villain #36 to thoughtfully written epics about complex alpha males waging wars across vast continents in armadas of sky-galleons to decide the fates of kingdoms, then this probably isn't the book for you.

My preference is for the latter, so five stars for Kings of Ordovar. Get ye a copy, read and enjoy it.

Campbell's book reminded me of several unique works that I am intimately familiar with, including books with an epic poetic flair such as Claudio Salvucci's Laviniad and Robert Kauffmann's Mask of Ollock. I also detected some faint echoes of John Mason Neale, the Oxford Movement Anglican who wrote novels in the style of historical primary sources, though usually on a patristic theme—The Daughters of Pola being a prime example. If you read Kings of Ordovar and enjoy it, you should consider checking out these other works as well.

"Wherever the foot chanced to fall it rested on ashes." ~ The Great Peshtigo Fire, Adele Brice, and The Woman in the Trees

Servant of God Adele Brice surrounded by the children Our Lady called her to teach.

The National Shrine of Our Lady of Champion (originally known as Our Lady of Good Help), is the only formally approved Marian apparition site in the United States. Considering the site is near Green Bay, Wisconsin, I had at one time, in my profound ignorance, assumed that it must have something to do with the Packers various Super Bowl victories. 

But no. The site has nothing to do with Vince Lombardi, Brett Farve, or Aaron Rogers. It is much more closely associated with Our Lady, Star of the Sea, than Bart Starr. 

My general lack of knowledge about this shrine has been remedied to a reasonable degree by reading the novel The Woman in the Trees by Theoni Bell. This relatively recent work arrived among a box of books from TAN slated for our parish bookrack. I snatched it up immediately, suspecting that it would make for good Lenten reading. I was not disappointed.

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The Woman in the Trees sets out to tell the origin story of the Shrine of Our Lady of Champion through the eyes of a fictional immigrant girl from Belgium, Slainie Lafont. The story of the Shrine is told from an oblique angle which adds an enticing touch of mystery to the factual elements of the tale. Servant of God Adele Brice, the recipient of our Lady's apparition in 1859, is not one of the central characters of the book. Instead she flits in and out of the story like a guardian angel, arriving when she is most needed. Her impact on the main characters however, particularly Slainie and her irascible and immovably stubborn mother, is profound.

As a visionary, Adele does not follow the archetype set by the simple radiant beauty of Saint Bernadette. Nor does she appear like one of the wide-eyed innocents who received the locutions of Our Lady of Fatima. On the contrary, Adele had suffered a particularly horrible facial injury as a child which left her scarred and missing an eye. Yet despite her potentially frightening appearance, Adele persevered in the mission given to her by Our Lady to "gather the children in this wild country and teach them what they should know for salvation."

This novel is of that type of historical fiction that I enjoy the most in that it creates memorable characters and weaves them in, around, and through the history without making them a Pollyanna or secret genius without whom the defining events could not have happened. The novel entertains and informs at the same time. Best of all, it brings the history to life and makes the reader want to learn more about that newly settled woodland region of Wisconsin in the mid-19th century in general, and the Shrine of Our Lady of Champion in particular. Among the historical events that impact the story are the immigration of Walloons from Belgium to Wisconsin, the American Civil War, and most especially, the Great Peshtigo Fire of 1871.

If you've never heard of the Peshtigo Fire, you're not alone. Strangely enough, it happened on the same day—October 8, 1871—as the better remembered Great Chicago Fire. But as horrible as the Chicago fire may have been, the great Peshtigo Fire was much worse. In the space of 24 hours, the firestorm scorched an area of about 1.2 million acres of forest and farmland in eastern Wisconsin. The burn zone included several towns, and the fire moved so quickly, that thousands of people were unable to flee in time. The death toll was never fully determined. It was estimated that somewhere around 2,000 people were killed.

In the middle of the burn zone was the small shrine of Our Lady of Good Help and a few surrounding buildings. The shrine chapel itself was a small wooden structure which had been set up by the family of Servant of God Adele Brice at the spot where Our Lady had appeared to Adele as a young girl twelve years before. During the intervening years, as Adele's apostolate flourished, a convent and school building were added nearby the chapel. 

19th century engraving from Harper's Weekly showing the devastation wrought by the fire.

As the firestorm approached on October 8, many people from the surrounding farms and villages fled to the chapel. Led by Sister Adele, they prayed the Rosary, sang hymns, and processed around the chapel with the image of the Blessed Virgin before them. 

The great firestorm raged all around them. It burned the outside of the fence surrounding the shrine buildings—but proceeded no further. 

Early the next morning, a soaking downpour doused the fire.

When the smoke finally cleared, the area around the shrine was a scene of apocalyptic destruction. An eyewitness who very nearly lost his life in the fire, Father Peter Pernin, described the what he saw in Peshtigo when he returned three days after the fire:

About one o'clock in the afternoon, a car was leaving for Peshtigo, conveying thither men who went daily there for the purpose of seeking out and burying the dead. I took my place with them. The locomotives belonging to the Company, having been burned, were now replaced by horses, and we progressed thus till we came up with the track of the fire. We walked the rest of the way, a distance of half a league, and this gave me ample opportunity for examining thoroughly the devastation and ruin wrought, both by fire and by wind. Alas, as much as I had heard on the sad subject, I was still unprepared for the melancholy spectacle that met my gaze.

lt is a painful thing to have to speak of scenes which we feel convinced no pen could fully describe nor words do justice to. It was on the eleventh of October, Wednesday afternoon, that I revisited for the first time the site of what had once been the town of Peshtigo.

Of the houses, trees, fences that I had looked on three days ago nothing whatever remained save a few blackened posts still standing, as if to attest the impetuous fury of the fiery element that had thus destroyed all before it. Wherever the foot chanced to fall it rested on ashes. The iron tracks of the railroad had been twisted and curved into all sorts of shapes, whilst the wood which had supported them no longer existed. The trunks of mighty trees had been reduced to mere cinders, the blackened hearts alone remaining. All around these trunks, I perceived a number of holes running downwards deep in the earth. They were the sockets where the roots had lately been. I plunged my cane into one of them, thinking what must the violence of that fire have been, which ravaged not only the surface of the earth, but penetrated so deeply into its bosom. 

Then I turned my wondering gaze in the direction where the town had lately stood, but nothing remained to point out its site except the boilers of the two locomotives, the iron of the wagon wheels, and the brick and stonework of the factory. All the rest was a desert the desolation of which was sufficient to draw tears from the eyes of the spectator—a desert recalling a field of battle after a sanguinary conflict. Charred carcasses of horses, cows, oxen, and other animals lay scattered here and there. The bodies of the human victims—men, women, and children—had been already collected and decently interred, their number being easily ascertained by counting the rows of freshly-made graves. ("The Great Peshtigo Fire: An Eyewitness Account," Wisconsin Magazine of History, 1971)

Given the totality of the destruction, the fact that the shrine of Our Lady of Good Help survived intact has been considered by many to be a miraculous sign of God's mercy. 

The entirety of Fr. Pernin's account may be found at the link above and is well worth a read.

Also well worth reading is The Woman in the Trees. I highly recommend the novel for young readers of age 11 or 12 and older. It makes for a quick, easy, and satisfying read for adults as well—an ideal book to read aloud with your kids.

Click here to find out more about the Shrine of Our Lady of Champion.

Click here to learn about Adele Brice's cause for canonization.

Book Review: Father Michael McGivney and the Knights of Columbus by Emily Tennant

Fr. McGivney hurries through inclement weather on a sick call.

For many years I have appreciated and enjoyed the Vision series – a sequence of biographical novels about the lives of the saints and Catholic heroes written especially for younger readers. The series commenced in the hoary antiquity of the 1940s and has continued over the decades, featuring a variety of authors—some of whom, like Louis de Wohl for example, were writers of supreme talent.

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Several of the books in the series have been reviewed by your humble blogger over the years, among them books on Saint Helena, Blessed Miriam Teresa Demjanovich, and Saints Louis and Zelie Martin. The last two mentioned were recent additions to the series written by GinaMarie Tennant, an author, organist and music teacher who grew up in a large homeschooling family. Perhaps not surprisingly, this same family has produced another writing talent, Emily Tennant, who is the author of the brand new title in the Vision series, Father Michael McGivney and the Knights of Columbus.

What a tremendous idea it was to write this novel. As a Fourth Degree Knight myself, of course I had heard of Fr. McGivney. But I would be lying if I said I knew much about him before reading Miss Tennant’s historical novel about his life. Father McGivney comes across in the work as a man of shining parts who emerged from a humble yet virtuous family to become a humble yet virtuous priest.

As portrayed by Miss Tennant, Fr. McGivney’s life reminded me of that of his rough contemporary, Saint Therese of Lisieux. He lived his own “little way”, performing the menial tasks of a Catholic priest with great fervor and wearing himself out physically in the process. Much like St. Therese, Fr. McGivney died young, entering eternal life at the age of 38.

But also similar to St. Therese, Fr. McGivney’s small acts would be transformed by God in His own good time into tremendous works that impacted millions of people. I doubt that Fr. McGivney realized in 1890 when he died, that the Catholic mutual aid society he created known as the Knights of Columbus, would eventually grow into the charitable leviathan that it has become today, with over 2 million members worldwide.

Father Michael McGivney and the Knights of Columbus is an eminently readable little novel, and is ideal for the young Catholic audience for whom it is intended. The prose is mostly light-hearted and fun. Of course, there are scenes of tragedy that play out throughout the story, but these all coalesce as the rationale for Fr. McGivney’s vision of the Knights of Columbus. In those days, when the father of a young Catholic family passed away, his wife and children often became wards of the state, to be separated among orphanages and other charitable organizations. Fr. McGivney founded the Knights to provide life insurance and other aid to such Catholic families in their moment of need.

The aspect of this novel that I appreciated the most, however, was the author’s attention to historical detail. The book includes a wealth of minor personal anecdotes from Father McGivney's life that lend a distinct flavor of authenticity to the work. As I read, I found myself wondering, “What is the significance of this passage?” As Miss Tennant explains in the Author's Note at the end, nearly all of these seemingly insignificant events were drawn directly from Father's correspondence or church archives—even the many humorous prizes that Father McGivney wins at the various Church fairs came from the old records. 

Steeped as it is in the Catholic history of the United States in the mid-19th century, Father Michael McGivney and the Knights of Columbus is an ideal book to read aloud with your kids. If you are a Knight of Columbus or have one or several in the family, this book should definitely be on your bookshelf.

A Review of Lest Darkness Falls by L. Sprague de Camp

Years ago, I wrote a pretty scathing review of Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Mark Twain’s opus in which a clever young American is magically transported back to Arthurian England where he uses his wit and ingenuity to confound, defeat, and educate the poor benighted medievals of the Round Table. Yet, hovering beneath the surface of Twain’s work was a deep-seated animus toward the Catholic Church, as Twain himself would later admit.

Lest Darkness Fall is a pulpy 20^th century rendition of Connecticut Yankee written by sci-fi stalwart L. Sprague de Camp in 1939. Despite it's surface resemblance to Twain's work, Lest Darkness Fall is considered one of the prototype works in the genre of alternative history. It tells the story of Martin Padway, an early middle-aged American classicist who, while ambling through Rome, finds himself transported through time to the 530s AD when Ostrogoths ruled formerly Roman Italy. Realizing that he has arrived at one of the pivotal moments in human history—immediately prior to the Gothic Wars which would usher in the Dark Ages—Padway decides that it is his duty to attempt to change the course of history…lest darkness fall.

Utilizing his knowledge of classical history and ancient languages, Padway soon makes friends in 6^th century Rome. However, his blunders in navigating the cultural terrain of late Roman civilization nearly cost him his neck. But once he’s settled in, Padway does what Americans do when they want to get ahead in life: start a business. Introducing a sequence of novel inventions into Roman society, Padway soon finds that he has come to the attention of powerful people, for better or worse.

Unlike Twain’s effort which was long on ridicule and short on actual historical research into the period, Sprague de Camp clearly read his Procopius before writing Lest Darkness Fall. Many of the obscure characters he develops in the story—from Urias, the nephew of Vittiges, to Theodegliscus, the son of Theodahad—were real historical figures though little known outside the circle of those who have read Procopius’s History of the Wars. It was this attention to historical detail that grabbed me and kept me reading even when faced with a few rather tawdry scenes which are annoyingly typical of the genre and the time period in which it was written.

Why did I read this book? Well, as a student of late Roman history in general, and the Justinianic period in particular, Lest Darkness Fall kept coming up on various reading lists. I had put off reading it because I didn’t want it to cross-contaminate my own series on Belisarius. It turns out that I shouldn’t have worried. Belisarius only makes a few fleeting appearances in Lest Darkness Fall, and his portrayal is pretty one-dimensional.

While doing some research for this review, I found out a few pretty interesting things about L. Sprague de Camp. Though born in New York and raised in California, de Camp spent most of his life in the Philadelphia area. During World War II, he served at the Philadelphia Navy Yard as part of a rather unique naval engineering lab where he toiled alongside fellow sci-fi legends Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov. After the war, de Camp and his wife Catherine settled in Villanova where they lived for nearly 40 years before retiring in Plano, Texas.

While I wouldn’t necessarily recommend Lest Darkness Fall for a Catholic audience as the story's hero has a distinctly secular moral compass, for anyone with a genuine and abiding interest in the Justinianic period, it will be a quick, fun jaunt through 6th century Italo-Gothic Italy with many familiar names brought to life.

My Top 10 Historical Novels for Young Catholics

Seven of my top 10. The others are in the house somewhere...

Having homeschooled our six children for going on twenty years now, I'm starting to feel like a veteran history teacher. While my older kids had to suffer a bit through dad's patchwork curriculum, my middles and youngers have had the benefit of Phillip Campbell's outstanding Story of Civilization series, which is the perfect baseline, big-picture history curriculum for Catholic kids. 

But as homeschoolers, we don't just follow a curriculum without enhancing it. There are some aspects of history that I like to cover on a much more granular level, and for that, we use a method that combines history and literature — a technique that others including Maureen Wittmann of Homeschool Connections have called "reading your way through history."

There are many advantages to this technique, not the least of which is that it really brings history to life for the student. History becomes less about places and dates, and more about real people, their thoughts, hopes, conflicts and reconciliations. To paraphrase G. K. Chesterton, it also makes history into the highest and noblest thing it can be: a good story. This exact principle is what led me to write my Belisarius books in the first place because there were practically no good historical novels about the fascinating Justinianic period suitable for younger readers.

Following is a list of the ten books that I have used most frequently with my own kids to get them interested in particular historical eras. I have also recommended them to many parents over the years, particularly those with children who are particularly voracious readers. Since I have reviewed many of these books in the past, I am including snippets from those reviews and links in case you want to read more.

Number 10: The Red Keep by Allen French

Reading age: 10+

Historical Period: 12th century Burgundy

I have recommended this novel dozens of times, and many parents have come back to me saying that it immediately became their child's favorite book. The Red Keep is a story of the petty nobility of 12th century Burgundy that effortlessly places young readers in Medieval Europe. The stronghold of a barony, the Red Keep is raided by the neighboring Sauval family. The Baron is put to the sword. Only his daughter, Anne, is rescued by the noble Baron Roger and his men. In the aftermath of the attack, the damaged keep is left abandoned—the bone of contention around which the story revolves. More.

Number 9: The Cottage at Bantry Bay by Hilda Van Stockum

Reading age: 7+

Historical Setting: mid-20th century Ireland

This is a story about a simple family just scraping by in 1930s Ireland. The events that happen to them are not the stuff of epic adventure. Instead, they are charming little anecdotes that tie together and lead to a satisfying ending. The story focuses on the O'Sullivan children: Michael (about 11), Brigid (about 10) and the twins Liam and Francie (6). The characters themselves drive the story and the reader can't help but get attached to them. Van Stockum does a wonderful job bringing them to life and is so successful that the reader is left a little bit disappointed that they are not real people. This is a great one for reading aloud. More.

Number 8: Wounds of Love by Phillip Campbell

Reading level: 9+

Historical Period: 20th century Italy

This is the newest book on the list and it also deals with more recent history, Padre Pio having won his victory over death in 1968. Wounds of Love is a fantastic book and I heartily recommend it to readers of all ages. For additional proof of how the story draws you in, I gave the novel to my 17-year old son to read, and he polished it off in about a week. What's more, he immediately moved on to a more in-depth biography of Padre Pio that we have on our bookshelves. I'd say that counts as a "mission accomplished!" More.

Number 7: The Joyful Beggar by Louis de Wohl

Reading level: 12+

Historical Period: 12th century Italy

Louis de Wohl is a wonderful, if underappreciated, Catholic novelist of the mid-20th century. Of all his works (many of which have been beautifully republished by Ignatius Press), this one is my favorite. The Joyful Beggar is much more than simply a novel about St. Francis of Assisi. It is a history lesson on the religious and political turmoil into which the great saint was born and which he, in a very significant and unexpected way, influenced and turned to the good. With great flair, de Wohl brings the historical figures to life: the put-upon yet good-hearted Pope Innocent III, the tyrannical excommunicant Otto IV, the intelligent but worldly Frederick II and his Islamic reflection, Sultan Al-Kamil. More.

Number 6: Masaru by Michael T. Cibenko

Reading level: 12+

Historical Period: 17th century Japan

If there's one thing I love, it's historical novels set in obscure time periods. Masaru fits perfectly into that category. Written by New Jersey author Michael T. Cibenko, Masaru tells the story of young Shiro Nakagawa, a convert to Catholicism fighting a desperate battle to maintain the Faith during the aggressively anti-Catholic Tokugawa Shogunate. If you have a teen who's into anime or Japanese language and culture more generally, this fast-moving novel will be a hit. More. 

Number 5: Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc by Mark Twain

Reading level: 12+

Historical Period: 14th century France

Published in 1896, Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc is a beautifully written homage to a uniquely Catholic heroine written in the irreproducible style of Mark Twain. Though an implacable foe of Catholicism earlier in his life, Twain handles his subject in this novel with a delicacy bordering on reverence. The work is an eloquent retelling of Joan's history, from her humble upbringing in Domrémy, to her glorious exploits on the field of battle, to the grotesque and awful mockery of a trial which condemned her as a heretic. More.

Number 4: Angels in Iron by Nichlas C. Prata

Reading level: 14+

Historical Period: 16th century Malta

Of course, Angels in Iron had to be included on this list. This is another book that I have recommended hundreds of times over the years, and so many times, parents have come back saying, "My son loved it. Do you have anything else like this book?" Granted, this is very much a boy book—not to say that girls haven't appreciated it as well, but the vast majority of readers who have appreciated this book have been of the young male variety. I often tell parents, "If this book had been out when I was a teen, it would have been my favorite book." It really is just that good. When the novel was first presented to me in manuscript form, I read the whole thing in one night. I tend to put this one at a 14+ reading level simply because the battle scenes are rather graphic. More.

Number 3: Citadel of God by Louis de Wohl 

Reading level: 14+

Historical Period: 6th century Italy

Here is another wonderful old novel by Louis de Wohl. Originally published in 1959, the work is a gripping journey through the history of the early 6th century AD, bringing alive many of the celebrated names of that epoch. The book is sub-titled A Novel of Saint Benedict, so it is not surprising that passages in the novel are based directly on the ancient biography of Saint Benedict as contained in the Dialogues of Saint Gregory the Great. Given that my own Belisarius books are set in the same era, I have always appreciated this novel as one of the few that cover the period with such historical detail and story-telling skill. More.  

Number 2: Crusader King by Susan Peek

Reading level: 12+

Historical Period: 12th century Kingdom of Jerusalem

Crusader King tells one of the great tales of history—the immediate prequel to the fall of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem. Peek's rendition of Baldwin IV is both a tragic and uplifting tale. Stricken with leprosy as a boy, young Baldwin must somehow defend his tottering kingdom. Susan Peek's excellent novel tells how the sickly Baldwin managed to safeguard the kingdom for 11 years, despite scheming nobles angling for his crown, and the omnipresent threat of Saladin and his Islamic hordes. More. 

Number 1: Centurion's Daughter by Justin Swanton

Reading level: 12+

Historical Period: late 5th century France

France used to be known as "the eldest daughter of the Church," so it is perhaps appropriate that this novel about the earliest years of the Frankish kingdom was the favorite of my own eldest daughter for some time. Thanks to her endorsement, I have recommended the novel dozens of times. Centurion's Daughter is one of those rare pieces of historical fiction that successfully shines a light on a very obscure corner, allowing the extant (though scanty) history to speak for itself while providing a completely plausible literary framework. The book is an excellent story told in wonderful flowing prose, and includes about a dozen well-executed illustrations that ornament the text nicely. More.

Of course, a list of 10 barely scratches the surface of the books we've used to "read our way through history." There are so many other excellent novels for young Catholics out there. You won't find them in secular bookstores however. 

All these books and many others besides may be found here, at the Young Catholic's Bookshelf sponsored by Arx Publishing.

The Leper-King of Jerusalem Rides Again. A review of Susan Peek's Crusader King

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This is a review I wrote many years ago (and never posted here) for a book that has stood the test of time: Crusader King: A Novel of Baldwin IV and the Crusades by Susan Peek.

Peek's rendition of the story of the leper king of Jerusalem, Baldwin IV, is at the same time a tragic and uplifting tale. Young Baldwin was stricken with leprosy as a boy and ascended the throne of the tottering Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem at age 13. Despite scheming nobles angling for his crown even among his own family, and the omnipresent threat of Saladin and his Islamic hordes, the sickly Baldwin managed to hold his throne and safeguard his kingdom for nearly 11 years. 

Crusader King tells one of the great tales of history, and one feels genuine empathy for Baldwin as he struggles to do what he believes God has called him to do. Though his faithless nobles undercut him at every turn, Baldwin is supported by several very loyal Templars, one of whom, Theo, is his boyhood friend. Theo's loyalty and self-sacrificing excellence is really the heart of the book. While everyone else around Baldwin grasps at power, Theo refuses it at every turn, deciding instead to stick by his dying friend, no matter what the cost. Baldwin himself is presented as a devout, strong, and decidedly Catholic hero, suffering his dreadful crosses with courage and trust in God. As a Catholic myself, I found this to be a particular strength of the book.

Crusader King is an easy and quick read. The prose is rather light, even when dealing with difficult subjects—like Baldwin's progressing leprous disfigurement. Peek does use some modern colloquialisms, but mainly in an attempt to portray the informal banter between friends, or the cutting sarcasm among estranged family members. As such, it was wholly appropriate. I found this book to be an engrossing read and it made me seek out the historical accounts to get the actual story. If this was Ms. Peek's intention, she succeeded brilliantly. 

If you enjoy this type of book, or this particular time period in history, I encourage you to seek out Crown of the World: Book 1: Knight of the Temple by Nathan Sadasivan. This historical novel covers the time period immediately before the accession of Baldwin IV and the two books complement each other nicely.

Padre Pio for a new generation of young Catholics: A Review of "Wounds of Love" by Phillip Campbell

Detail from the cover of Wounds of Love: The Story of Saint Padre Pio.

Like Jeanne d’Arc or Francesco di Bernardone, Francesco Forgione was one of those unique individuals gifted by God to the human race to assure us of His love, His understanding, and above all else, that He is not deaf to our sufferings and entreaties. But unlike these other great visionary saints, Forgione was not a streak of light which flashed across the firmament and returned quickly to heaven. 

Saint Joan’s mission lasted about two years before she was martyred at age 19. 

Saint Francis of Assisi was 45 when he passed to eternity, roughly 20 years elapsing between his call and his death.

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Saint Pio of Pietrelcina, on the other hand, spent almost the entirety of his long life as a suffering servant of Jesus Christ. Afflicted with ill-health, physical infirmities, the Stigmata, and demonic attacks which left him battered and bruised, Padre Pio was also subjected to slanderous assaults on his character, all over a period of nearly seven decades. Yet during that time, he was able to touch the lives of thousands upon thousands of people, uniting his suffering to that of Christ and translating it into God's grace to heal sinners from all over the world. And his reach was truly immense. At his shrine at San Giovanni Rotondo, there is a wall of shelves filled with thousands of letters received by Padre Pio—in a single year. 

Nearly as many people recall unforgettable personal encounters with the gruff Capuchin saint of San Giovanni Rotondo, either in the flesh, or in the spirit. It is said that he heard about five million confessions over the course of his priesthood. And there are numerous miracle stories. One such story that I heard in person is that of Philadelphia native Frank Tenaglia (1965-2019) who credited Padre Pio with healing him of a grave childhood illness—a miracle which allowed him to praise God with his amazing voice for many years. 

Though there are myriad books about Padre Pio's extraordinary life, very few of these are accessible to younger readers. This has now changed with the release of Wounds of Love: The Story of Saint Padre Pio by Phillip Campbell. I have been waiting for a book like this for years. It’s no easy task to condense the long and eventful life of someone like Padre Pio into the historical fiction format which appeals to young readers, but Phillip Campbell has done a masterful job. His focus on the early life of St. Pio is pitch-perfect. While most readers think of Padre Pio as a rather grumpy elderly man, Campbell’s presentation spends more time introducing readers to the young Francesco Forgione growing in grace and holiness in the bosom of a loving family.  

Wounds of Love includes some of the most famous anecdotes associated with Padre Pio, including the well-known incident reported by General Nathan F. Twining of a Capuchin monk appearing in the sky to thwart Allied bombing runs on San Giovanni Rotondo during World War II. Campbell also relates a few more obscure ones, including one that I had never heard before, despite having read several books on Padre Pio in the past. In Chapter 12, the novel delves into the slanders aimed at Padre Pio by those within the Church in the early 1960s. In an effort to gather evidence against him, someone apparently wiretapped his confessional. Originally, I thought that this outrageous story belonged more to the “fiction” than to the “historical” side of the narrative. But upon further research, I discovered that this inconceivably awful tale was true—and that Padre Pio actually did discover the microphone himself and cut out the wire with a penknife! 

In sum, Wounds of Love is a fantastic book and I heartily recommend it to readers of all ages. If you need additional proof of how the story draws you in, I gave it to my 17-year old son to read and he polished it off in about a week. What's more, he immediately moved on to a more in-depth biography of Padre Pio that we have on our bookshelves. 

Mission accomplished, Mr. Campbell!

"Never give up." ~ A review of Pelayo: King of Asturias by James Fitzhenry

Detail from a 19th century engraving of Pelayo, king of Asturias.

Almost exactly 15 years ago, I received a book in the mail entitled El Cid: God's Own Champion. When first flipping through this book, I remember thinking to myself, "This probably won't be very good." After all, it was a work by an unknown author, meant for young readers, and self-published to boot. But as it turned out, I loved it. My kids have read it—even the one with dyslexia read and enjoyed it. Since I wrote the above-linked review in 2008, I have recommended El Cid to hundreds of people.

A few years later, Mr. Fitzhenry published another equally admirable book—Saint Fernando III: A Kingdom for Christ. Much like his first book, Fitzhenry's second endeavor delved into the epic life of a Spanish hero that almost no one knows about today. Again, I found myself enchanted with the book and have recommended it numerous times. 

Shortly thereafter followed Defenders of Christendom, offering a collection of excellent capsule biographies of forgotten Catholic heroes from the crusading period. 

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By this time, I have come to have very high expectations for Mr. Fitzhenry's work, so when I received a copy of Pelayo: King of Asturias, I was ready to tear into it straight away. 

And Pelayo did not disappoint. 

Much like Fitzhenry's previous books, Pelayo tells an ancient story that is rarely heard today. It is the sobering tale of the end of Visigothic Spain—a state whose leaders had become corrupt, corpulent and cowardly. They had largely abandoned their Christian ethic and had little remaining loyalty to God or man. When confronted with a zealous, powerful enemy who wished to impose an alien culture upon them, their internal dissensions proved stronger than their desire to preserve their heritage.

Fitzhenry does a brilliant job setting the stage for Pelayo's heroism. Starting with the collapse of Visigothic Spain under the beleaguered King Roderick, Fitzhenry emphasizes the treason of those closest to the king as a contrast to the steadfast loyalty of Pelayo. At the Battle of Guadalete, the Visigoths are catastrophically defeated when part of their army commanded by renegade nobles and an apostate bishop turn on their own Christian countrymen. Following the battle, the Muslim emir, Tariq, overruns the whole kingdom. Pelayo and a remnant of loyal Visigoths retreat into the mountains of northern Spain. There, he begins his exploits—escaping from an assassination attempt, rescuing his kidnapped sister, and building up the solid core of a Christian army to resist Islam.

After finishing Pelayo: King of Asturias, I immediately began searching for the ancient sources underpinning Fitzhenry's inspiring biography. I quickly discovered that Pelayo is the hispanicized version of the name Pelagius. He is considered a Visigothic noble, but given that Pelagius is not a typical Gothic name, he likely had a Greco-Roman strain somewhere in his lineage. This makes sense given that the Spanish Visigothic kingdom was built upon the foundation of the Roman provinces of Hispania. My search eventually led to a 10th century source called The Chronicle of Alfonso III. While reading it, I discovered that Fitzhenry stayed true to the history. His description of the events surrounding the history-changing Battle of Covadonga was drawn faithfully from this ancient historical work. 

Fitzhenry's Pelayo joins El Cid and Saint Fernando III among the growing list of exceptional historical books meant to educate young Catholic men about their heritage. Angels in Iron and Crown of the World are two other examples of this counter-cultural trend—portraying distinctly Catholic heroes as what the world desperately needs. I hope that my own books about the late Roman general Belisarius are serving a similar function. 

Toward the end of the book, the author lays out the message of Pelayo's life for those of us today: 

"Never give up. Even if it seems that you struggle in complete isolation, know that you are not alone....Follow closely in the footsteps of Christ. There are many who have trod the narrow path before you, and for those who do not give up the fight, eternal glory awaits in a kingdom that is not of this world!"

During a time when many Catholic institutions have failed and our leaders seem content to bury their talents in the ground, such a message is badly needed.

Book Review: Matron of Paris by Phillip Campbell

Saint Germain bestows his blessing upon the girl Genevieve, from a 19th century triptych, 
The Pastoral Life of Saint Genevieve by Pierre-Cécile Puvis de Chavannes

Unbeknownst to many outside of the homeschooling community, there is something of a literary renaissance going on in Catholic circles, particularly with regard to historical novels for younger readers. At the moment, there are enough of these high-quality novels on the market to keep even the most avid young reader going for a very long time. 

One of the eras that has attracted particular attention from writers of Catholic historical novels is the fall of the Western Roman Empire. The most recent entry in this category is Matron of Paris, a lively work by Phillip Campbell about the eventful life and miraculous works of St. Genevieve of Nanterre. Some readers may recall my previous post about this patroness of France: Saint Genevieve and Barbarism: From Attila to the Republic.

A Gallo-Roman woman, Genevieve (or Genovefa as she is called in Latin) was born toward the end of the reign of the weak Western Roman Emperor Honorius, circa AD 422. With Roman power in eclipse, barbarian tribes breached the frontier with increasing ease, carving out their own petty principalities in Roman Gaul and oppressing the inhabitants. This was the chaotic and dangerous era into which the girl Genevieve was born. 

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In Matron of Paris: The Story of Saint Genevieve, Phillip Campbell tells the story of this great saint in his usual engaging style, leading the reader from the simple life of a Gallo-Roman peasant girl into the brutal and complicated world of Late Roman / early Merovingian warfare and politics. While following the tale, readers will be introduced to numerous historical characters: from Saint Germanus, bishop of Auxerre, who first recognized Genevieve's sanctity, to Clovis, king of the Franks, whose story would ultimately become intertwined with that of Genevieve. Others who were Genevieve's rough contemporaries are also mentioned — from Aetius, the Roman magister militum who defeated Attila at the Battle of the Catalaunian Plains, to a mysterious saintly presbyter named Patricius who serves briefly at Nanterre before moving on to greener pastures. 

The core of the book, however, follows Genevieve as a mature woman. She becomes the heart and soul of Paris whose prayers and entreaties would hearten the beleaguered city during Atilla's invasion of Gaul. Later in life, her occasionally miraculous interventions would help the Franks and Gallo-Romans become one people. It is during this part of the novel that two other saints enter the story: Saint Clotilde, the Burgundian wife of Clovis, and Saint Remigius of Reims who would baptize the Frankish king. Campbell does a wonderful job weaving the story of Genevieve together with that of Clovis and Clotilde.

I highly recommend Matron of Paris and think it makes a fantastic addition to the literature of late Rome and the early Middle Ages, ideal for readers ages 12 and up. It fits together beautifully with another novel of the same time period, Centurion's Daughter by Justin Swanton. Considering St. Genevieve's feast day is coming up on January 3, the Christmas season is a particularly appropriate time to purchase this book.

For students who want to do a deep study of this period, here is a quick reading list of available resources in rough chronological order, (including my own books):

• Between the Forest and the Hills by Ann Lawrence (5th century AD)
• Matron of Paris: The Story of Saint Genevieve by Phillip Campbell (5th and 6th century AD)
• Centurion's Daughter by Justin Swanton (late 5th century AD)
• Saint Clothilde: The First Christian Queen of France Tells Her Story by Blandine Malé (5th and 6th century AD)
• Belisarius series by Paolo Belzoni (6th century AD)
• Citadel of God: A Novel about Saint Benedict by Louis de Wohl (6th century AD)

Book Review: "Joseph the Huron" by Antoinette Bosco

Years ago, I read the first 30 or so volumes of the Jesuit Relations—that vast treasure house of historical and ecclesiastical data on the eastern woodlands peoples and the early colonization of Canada, New England and New York. This was part of a very rewarding project called Iroquois Wars, Volume 1: Extracts from the Jesuit Relations and Primary Sources from 1535 to 1650. While pouring over the multitude of reports and letters written by intrepid and saintly men with names like Brebeuf, Jogues, and Lallemant, one also runs across numerous intriguing native people with names like Taratwane, Atironta, and Ondaaiondiont. But perhaps the one that stands out most vividly is Chiwatenhwa. 

This man of the Huron nation, called Joseph Chiwatenhwa after his baptism, lived that most remarkable of lives. Even before the Jesuits arrived, his existence had been markedly different from most of his people. He was an independent thinker, who did not participate thoughtlessly in some of the more ignoble aspects of Huron life. Whereas the French missionaries were often horrified at the grotesque behaviors of some whom they termed "savages" (meaning, literally, "people of the woods"), they soon came to admire Chiwatenhwa as a different sort of man. Writing of events that occurred in the Huron country in AD 1638, Father Fraçois le Mercier offers the following summary of Chiwatenhwa's character even before the time of his baptism: 

This brave Neophyte is thirty-five years old, or thereabout, and has almost nothing of the Savage, except his birth. Now, although he is not one of the most prosperous men of this village, he belongs, nevertheless, to one of the most notable families, being the nephew of the captain of this Nation. He is a man of superior mind, not only as compared with his countrymen, but even, in our judgment, he would pass as such in France. As for his memory, we have often wondered at it, for he forgets nothing of what we teach him, and it is a satisfaction to hear him discourse upon our Holy Mysteries. 

He has been married since his youth, and has never had more than one wife,—contrary to the ordinary practice of the Savages, who are accustomed at that age to change wives at almost every season of the year. He does not gamble, not even knowing how to handle the straws, which are the cards of the country. He does not use tobacco, which is, as it were, the wine and the intoxication of the country. If he annually makes a small garden near his cabin, it is only for pastime, he says, or to give to his friends, or to buy some little conveniences for his family. He has never made use of a charm to be successful. [See Jesuit Relations, Volume 15.]

Following his baptism, Chiwatenwha and his family would be ostracized by his fellow Hurons, many of whom viewed the Jesuit Blackrobes as men of ill omen who would bring destruction upon the nation.

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This is the setting for a remarkable book for younger readers entitled: Joseph the Huron by Antoinette Bosco. I recently discovered this short work, put back into publication by Bethlehem Books in 2017, and my interest in those heady years of extreme zeal and extreme danger in the forests of 17th century North America came flooding back. Originally written in 1961, the book remains faithful to the true history as I recalled it, softening the more awful parts, but only a little. Indeed, the author included a scene that had remained in my memory from reading the Relations twenty years ago thanks to the sheer dreadfulness of it. The incident followed the capture of an Iroquois warrior who was put to a day-long torturous death by the Hurons that was the equivalent of a town-wide festival in those evil days. As the man was literally being burnt alive, bit-by-bit, the Jesuit fathers, unable to restrain the fury of the pre-Christian Hurons, were able to console the victim with the solace of Christ's suffering and the promise of eternal life. Before being literally torn apart, scalped and decapitated, the Iroquois accepted baptism, and the Jesuit father who witnessed this atrocity, remarked afterwards, "that this brave spirit is now enjoying in Heaven the freedom of the children of God, since even his enemies loudly exclaimed that there was something more than human within him."

But incidents like this form only the briefest of interludes within Joseph the Huron. Most of the book concerns the man's journey of faith, from a virtuous pagan to a wondering if impatient neophyte, and finally into a thoughtful Christian who, at times, seemed to eclipse the piety of even the saintly future martyrs who were his mentors and friends. The faith of Joseph Chiwatenwha is not that of the comfortable Christians of our own time. It is a faith constantly challenged by the omnipresent reality of struggle, hunger, disease, and death. Living during a time when Huron culture and behavior was often governed by the precise fulfillment of dreams—often quite ludicrous in nature—Joseph struggled with his own dreams, sometimes wondering whether they were tricks of the demon or visions from God. It may be remembered from a previous post that "abandoning their belief in dreams" was one of the commandments that St. Jean de Brebeuf enjoined upon the Hurons who would become Christians.

The characters of his immediate family also loom large in Joseph the Huron. In particular, the author explores Joseph's relationship with his beloved wife, Marie Aonetta, who would suffer much for her Christian faith. Similarly, the book shows the often contentious relationship between Chiwatenwha and his elder brother, Teondechoren, one of those among the Hurons who was deeply skeptical of anything have to do with Christianity. But the most vividly drawn character aside from Chiwatenwha himself is the man known as Echon—St. Jean de Brebeuf. Echon is accurately presented as Chiwatenwha's friend, teacher, spiritual father, and collaborator. 

As a novel, Joseph the Huron is a fast-paced and beautiful vignette of one man's life during a time of great strife and struggle, particularly well-suited for readers ages 12 and up. Unlike most books written for young readers, the main protagonist is not a young person but a fully grown man grappling with spiritual revelations and cultural differences. As a fully grown man myself, I enjoyed it thoroughly. By pulling the details of this saintly man's life out of the history books, the author has done the world a great favor.

Speaking Boldly of the Past ~ Phillip Campbell's Power from On High: Theocratic Kingship from Constantine to the Reformation

As an aficionado of Phillip Campbell’s books for younger readers (The Story of Civilization, The Story of the Philippines, etc.), I am used to his more informal, witty, slightly chatty style, interspersed with sometimes comical vignettes. Power from On High: Theocratic Kingship from Constantine to the Reformation is a very different type of book. It is a more scholarly tome exploring the evolution of the role of Christian monarch from its inception during the later Roman Empire through a millennium of the Middle Ages until the retirement of Emperor Charles V in AD 1556.

Given the renewed interest in Christian monarchy among some in traditional Catholic circles, this is a timely study. Reading Power from On High reminded me somewhat of Machiavelli's Discourses on Livy in that it is an attempt by a contemporary scholar to ponder antique forms of government. Of course, Machiavelli was attempting to inform and influence the political thought of his own day with examples from antiquity. Though Campbell is attempting nothing so overt with this work, it is interesting to note that he begins his preface with an example of how modern politicians utilize propaganda to project an image of themselves for public consumption. Just so, Campbell argues, did the Christian kings of the Medieval period advertise their allegiance to the Catholic Church as a means of legitimizing their rule.

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Power from on High is a deep, insightful and thought-provoking book which should be read by anyone with an interest in political history, the political present, or the political future. We live in an era which I suspect future historians will refer to as the twilight of the Democratic age—when the great liberal democracies of Europe and the Americas grew hoary, bloated, arthritic and corrupt to the core, leaving their citizens frustrated, disillusioned and oppressed. In such a context, it is well to think about what came before so that we may begin thinking in terms of what may follow.

Of course, the piece of this book that I found the most fascinating was the first third or so which dealt with the emergence of Christian kingship. This section begins with pre-Christian concepts of kingship and how these merged with and mutated Greco-Roman democratic and republican ideals, culminating with the emergence of the Roman dominate monarchy of Diocletian and Constantine. Campbell doesn't quite get down to the granular level of Elizabeth Digeser in her outstanding work, The Making of a Christian Empire: Lactantius and Rome. What this section does do very effectively is set the stage for the core of the book which covers Medieval kingship.

I particularly enjoyed the segment on parrhesia which, I am embarrassed to say, is a term had not encountered before. Derived from ancient Greek, parrhesia refers to "freedom of speech," or more precisely, the ability to speak the truth to power boldly. The word is used to describe how Jesus spoke to the Pharisees as well as how Peter and John would later address the council of princes, priests and scribes in Jerusalem in Acts of the Apostles. Campbell provides several noteworthy examples of parrhesia among Christian religious leaders who had the audacity to confront and even rebuke Christian political figures. Saint Athanasisus is shown confronting Constantine the Great regarding false accusations made against him in a way that would have been unthinkable for any common citizen. Examples of of Saint Ambrose doing the same with Theodosius I are also offered. 

The only passage in this section that could have used a bit more elucidation was an anecdote in which the same Saint Ambrose boldly confronted the usurper, Eugenius, in a letter explaining why the former had failed to meet the latter in Milan. In this circumstance, it was most likely not a Christian bishop reproving a Christian emperor. Eugenius had taken the throne through the machinations of the Frankish general, Arbogast, and it was widely believed that Arbogast had arranged the murder of the rightful Western emperor, Valentinian II. Worse, Eugenius was viewed as potentially being a second Julian the Apostate, having removed the Christian courtiers of Valentinian II and replaced them with pagans, and restored the pagan Altar of Victory to the Senate House in Rome. Christian historians of the era considered Eugenius a lukewarm Christian at best, a "sacrilegious man" at worst. Ambrose's letter of rebuke was probably meant for public consumption as a stroke against Eugenius to weaken the resolve of his Christian Roman followers. The great saint likely had little hope that Eugenius would have his very unchristian behavior curbed by bold remonstrance. Indeed, Eugenius's ally, Arbogast, is said to have quipped upon leaving Milan that when he and Eugenius returned victorious, they would make a stable in the basilica of the church of Milan and would review the clergy under arms. Fortunately for Ambrose and the Christian Empire, Eugenius and Arbogast were defeated by Theodosius at the Battle of the Frigidus River. 

Returning to Power from On High, the majority of the book covers in some detail the Medieval ideal of kingship and the frequent squabbles between kings and princes on one side, and popes and bishops on the other, to define the boundaries between ecclesiastical and temporal authority. Campbell's discussions of the ebb and flow of this battle over the course of centuries—from Charlemagne the Great, the archetypal Christian Emperor crowned by the Pope in Rome, to Otto the Great who deposed two popes and imposed one of his own. Though my knowledge of the history of this era is pretty shallow, I enjoyed learning about the various conflicts and how they impacted political and religious events downstream from them.

The centerpiece of the book is the chapter on the Investiture Controversy. For me, the Investiture Controversy was one of those items in a history textbook that I knew were important, but for what reason, I could not say. This chapter helped put the controversy into sharper focus. I had not appreciated that medieval Christian kingship was often thought of as a type of priesthood by virtue of the anointing that the king commonly received upon taking the throne. This priesthood, at least at first, was thought to encompass only the priest's function as preacher. Later, this sacred function would extend to the Christian monarch's supposed prerogative to create bishops in his own realm. It was over this function that the Investiture Controversy would be fought. Campbell does a nice job putting the controversy into its historical context, explaining why investiture was such a furiously contentious issue, especially in Germany, during the high Middle Ages.

For those who are troubled by how the Church functions in our own time and who are at a loss to understand how and why certain men get appointed bishop and others who are seemingly more worthy are neglected, this look at history is enlightening. It gives modern readers a sense of what the modern Church has lost since the abolition of Christian monarchs in the early 20th century. With a secular state that is often hostile to Christianity ruling all formerly Christian nations, the Church is always forced into a defensive posture. We end up in a situation like Saint Ambrose as he rebuked the semi-pagan Eugenius, striving to jog his nominally Christian conscience with little hope of success. But, sadly, very few of our modern bishops have the divinely-inspired courage of Ambrose. 

To conclude, if you are a modern Catholic who is curious about how Christian kings once interacted with the Church, you should read Phillip Campbell's Power from On High. If you are a curious reader looking for insight into intractable modern political dilemmas, you should read this book. If you are an informed general reader seeking to learn about the political history of the Christian West, you should read this book. And finally, if you are a traditional Catholic who yearns for the re-establishment of Christian monarchies, you should read this book.

Telling the Story of the Philippines ~ Eastern History for the Catholic Student

A unique new book is about to release this month: Phillip Campbell's Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia.

If you are a Catholic homeschooling family like we are, you probably know Mr. Campbell's work quite well. Beyond his numerous student-friendly classes at Homeschool Connections, he is also the author of the very popular Story of Civilization series published by TAN. If you are not familiar with these excellent books and their associated resources, and you have kids ages 8-18, check them out. Our kids have read and re-read the books, and the audio books have accompanied us on many a long car ride.

In The Story of the Philippines, Campbell once again employs the formula he used so effectively in The Story of Civilization, combining straight-up history with clever and often amusing vignettes. The vignettes help bring the history to life, allowing the reader to witness events through the eyes of those who experienced them, whether Butuanese ambassadors to the court of Song Dynasty China, merchants from the kingdom of Tondo attacked by Japanese pirates, or Moro rebels deciding whether or not to make peace with the Spaniards. We even get a glimpse of the Battle of Manila Bay through the eyes of our old friend, John B. Tisdale. 

In one of my favorite vignettes from the book, we meet one of the first native Filipino saints, Pedro Calungsod, and Blessed Father San Vitores who were missionaries among the Chomorro people of Guam in the 1660s. With permission from the publisher, I offer this vignette below to give you a sense of how good this book is. Enjoy!

Taken from: The Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia, by Phillip Campbell, Chapter 15:

The lay catechist Pedro Calungsod and the Jesuit Father Diego Luis de San Vitores were walking up the road from the village of Tumon. After baptizing Mata’pang’s daughter, the two men had spent a good part of the day speaking with the Chamorro villagers and teaching the boys of the village to use the Rosary. The prayer beads of the missionaries were particularly popular among the Chamorro. The two exhausted men trudged up the dusty road wearily. They were looking forward to returning to their mission, but Pedro was a bit worried. 

    “Those medicine men did not look very happy to see us,” said Pedro. “Do you suppose they will give us any trouble when Mata’pang returns?” 

    “It’s hard to say,” said Father San Vitores. “I know they are threatened by us, but I don’t think they mean us any harm. So far the people here have given us a warm welcome.” 

    “True, but have you heard the rumors this Choco fellow is spreading?” said Pedro with a look of concern. 

    Father San Vitores nodded. “I have indeed. He is trying to make the people doubt the sacraments. Make them afraid of us.” 

    Some distance behind the men, towards the village, there was a great rustling noise. 

    “What is that sound, Father?” said Pedro, turning back. He squinted, looking back down the road towards the village, sheltering his eyes from the setting sun with his hand. “It sounds like a celebration.” 

    “Not a celebration, my son,” said Father San Vitores. “It’s an angry mob.” 

    Indeed, moments later a mob of Chamorro from the village came running up the road and overtook the two men. At their head was Mata’pang, their powerful chieftain. He was shirtless, as most of the Chamorro went about. His face was red, the veins on the side of his head bulging. In his hand he clutched several spears. Several macanjas flanked Mata’pang, shouting with their faces contorted in anger. 

    “This looks bad, Father!” exclaimed Pedro. 

    “Stand steadfast, Pedro,” said Father San Vitores. “The peace of Christ will strengthen us.” 

St. Pedro Calungsod and
Bl. Diego Luis de San Vitores
from The Story of the Philippines

    “You, priest!” Mata’pang shouted as he approached the men. Father San Vitores stepped forward calmly to try to reason with Mata’pang. He held out a large crucifix in a gesture of blessing. “Mata’pang, peace be with you. Tell me, why have you—” but Mata’pang was in no mood to talk. As soon as he was close enough, he lifted one of the spears and hurled it at the priest. Father San Vitores ducked quickly and the spear passed over him. Mata’pang then threw one at Pedro. A young, athletic man, Pedro was easily able to dodge the cast. 

    “Run, Pedro!” called out Father San Vitores. 

    “I will not abandon you, father!” Pedro yelled, stepping forward to protect the priest. At that moment Mata’pang cast another spear. This one struck Pedro squarely in the chest. He fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding breast with the spear still protruding. “Christ, save me!” he called out as he tumbled into the dust. 

    Immediately one of the Chamorro who was with Mata’pang fell upon Pedro and struck his head with a machete, splitting his skull. Pedro groaned. “My son!” Father San Vitores called out. The priest knelt beside Pedro and absolved him quickly before the young man’s eyes rolled up into his head. “May Christ receive your soul!” he murmured, holding the crucifix before the eyes of his dying companion. 

    Almost as soon as he did, the priest felt a searing pain in his gut. He looked down and saw a bloody spearhead protruding from his belly. Did that come out of me? He thought to himself in shock. He reached around behind himself. His fingers touched the solid wooden shaft protruding from his back. The blood ran down the tip of the spearhead and dripped into the dust. Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit, he prayed silently before collapsing.

Following the vignette is a brief note describing what happened next:

Mata’pang and his men stripped the bodies of the two men, tied heavy stones to their feet, and sank them in the ocean. Then Mata’pang took the crucifix of Father San Vitores and smashed it with a rock while blaspheming God. Pedro Calungsod and Father Diego Luis de San Vitores would both be revered as martyrs. Pedro was canonized in 2012 by Pope Benedict XVI and is now honored as a saint. His feast day is April 2. Father San Vitores was beatified in 1985 by John Paul II.

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While the book is definitely written for a younger audience, I freely admit that I learned a tremendous amount from reading it. My own very expensive education in the 1970s through 1990s contained almost nothing about the history of the East in general or the Philippines in particular. One of the prime virtues of this book is that it does a great job placing the story of the Philippines within the context of world history, as players from Brunei, China, Japan, Spain, the Netherlands, Britain and the United States all show up as characters in the Story.

For Americans of Filipino background, this book will provide a great introduction to the land of their heritage that they are unlikely to encounter in US public or even Catholic schools. If you are an American with Filipino family members (as many of us are), this book will give you insights into the fascinating cultural background of your aunts, uncles and cousins. Finally, if you are an American Catholic who knows many Filipino-Americans from church—and really, who doesn't?—won't they be surprised when you start asking them about Lapu Lapu, or La Naval de Manila, or the People Power Revolution, or the Bojinka Plot?

To find out more about The Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia by Phillip Campbell, or to order a copy of your own, visit the Arx Publishing website.