My first Graham Greene novel was The End of the Affair and it rocked my world, and affected me in some profound ways. It was the perfect novel for me at the time, and I am forever indebted to Mr. Greene for giving me that enlightening experience.

Going into this, I knew better than to expect the same magnitude of visceral reaction that I had with The End of the Affair, but nonetheless, because the connection I had with the aforementioned was so strong, I couldn't help but have decently high expectations.

So, were my expectations met?

You're thinking, "Three stars, of course not." And of course you're right in a sense.

But you're also wrong, because I'm not the least bit disappointed in the writing; it's amazing. In our discussion group, Megha brought up the point that she couldn't imagine someone giving this book less than three stars because of the writing. I couldn't agree more. And as goodreaders constantly prove that the world isn't full of idiots after all, I found that only 4% of those having rated this gave it 2 stars, and a rounded-down 0% gave it 1 star. That makes sense.

The story's nuances, the human complexities of the protagonist Whisky Priest, and the novel's complex questions of morality should satisfy most of the intellectually hungry. On a cerebral level, this novel does not disappoint. While The End of the Affair is an existential kick in the nuts, this is an ongoing observation; a thought process with rewards for the careful reader. The setting of scorching hot, desolate Mexico is descriptive and engrossing, and the storyline is complex enough and sensitive enough to the human condition, to rightly be considered as a possible masterpiece.

Yet, as is often the case with fiction, whether something speaks to your gut or not, may come down to a string of subjective and perhaps only loosely definable reasons; some (or even all) of which, you don't fully comprehend.

And, for whatever reason(s), this novel didn't speak to me. While I appreciated the nuances and very-human elements involved with the Whisky Priest, I just couldn't get myself to feel for his plight.

So, how could I identify more with a self obsessive, hardened hater such as Maurice Bendrix from The End of the Affair, than a well-meaning, soft hearted, guilt-feeling, conscience-carrying priest?

Subjective, personal, psychological reasons, I assume. One off the top of my head is that my struggles of faith are more similar to the struggles that Maurice and Sarah had, than those had by this here, protagonist. I don't recall the Whisky Priest ever questioning the existence of God; most of his struggles were in the context of doctrine, or with forgiveness and grace, instead. I relate more to the back and fourth between belief and unbelief; the constant questioning of faith that took place in The End of the Affair.

If I have one important, reasoned qualm with this book, it's this: Beyond the Whisky Priest, few characters are developed enough. It's rare that I say a book is too short, but I think I would have gotten more out of this had Greene developed the other main characters with the thorough, insightful precision I know he's capable of.

Nonetheless, this is a well-written novel that should result in your appreciation, even if it doesn't speak to you.

Magnetic. A terrifying, cathartic firecracker of a psychological novel that deals with the immense complexities and dangers of faith. It resists categorization of style and influence- it’s not a biting tragedy of the plight of 20th century man, nor a rich Dostoevskian philosophical epic. Greene criticized modernist writers like Woolf for stripping their work of any metaphysical or theological examination in favor of simply glorifying the banality of finite experience. Regardless of whether you think this is a fair assessment, it is sensible and refreshing to have the courage to write a novel about the quest for values and redemption in the midst of an artistic landscape shifting the other way. Greene writes about the “religious experience” rather than the “human experience” in the sense that he struggles with what it means to pursue the authentic duties that belief requires while navigating the world. Ultimately, though, the human and religious experiences run into each other, since none is meant to exist without the other. By including symbols reminiscent of the Crucifixion story, Greene reminds the Christian that Christ’s suffering is ours- but his treatment of the matter can be seen as ironic, too. In fact, many of his ideas can be treated as such- the Church is certainly not presented as the Great Mother of peace, and the constant struggles with and against God may seem to imply an attitude of entrenched skepticism. Why do we hold true to the faith? What does it mean to be saved? What is worth clinging to in times of despair? If what we believe is true, than what are the consequences? Greene’s terse prose, relentless inquiry, brilliant plotting, and profound understanding of the human condition all contribute to the legacy of a work that teems with unanswered questions, thrusting the reader into the depths of their souls and leaving them face to face with the barren throes of truth. A book to challenge all. A book that refocuses our perspectives on the purpose of art. A book that reminds us of inherent sensibilities about what it means to live. Easily one of my 10-15 favorite novels.

Even though the nuns forced us to read this book during my stay at the parochial school penal colony the story of the "whiskey priest", his mistress and the long hard road back to salvation still echoes in my heart. I only wish, to paraphrase what someone said of Lord Macaulay, that I wish I was as sure of one thing as Graham Greene is of everything.

Il Potere e la Gloria è una di quelle opere così leggendarie che lo stesso titolo è entrato nell'immaginario collettivo, e viene citato dai più spesso senza neppure sapere che è il titolo di un romanzo. Giusto per fare un esempio banale, power and glory era il nome di una coppia tag team di wrestling negli anni 80;un indizio importante (puntualmente confermato, per quel che mi riguarda), che siamo davanti ad un capolavoro. E' una di quelle opere di Graham Greene definite come "cattoliche" ovvero incentrate sulla natura di quella che fu la fede religiosa dell'autore, piuttosto che sullo spionaggio, sul thriller, sul tipo di genere che lo hanno reso famoso. Non deve essere una cosa banale per uno statunitense essere cattolico, ovvero cittadino di un paese impregnato di protestantesimo fino al midollo, e non stupisce che generi riflessioni profonde insieme con storie come questa.

Siamo nel Messico della prima metà del 900, in quel periodo una delle terre più impregnate di sofferenza del mondo, traversato da rivoluzioni una più sanguinosa dell'altra. Il feroce materialismo dell'ennesima dittatura più o meno marxista unisce alla violenza fisica quella spirituale, proibendo la pratica del cattolicesimo e negando a gente tra la più miserabile del mondo anche il conforto di una fede della quale mai come allora si sentiva il bisogno.
Per questo scenario di violenza e di fame a livelli tali da ridurre gli uomini a bestie, si aggirano terrorizzati ed in clandestinità gli ultimi preti, alla ricerca di un modo per fuggire ma allo stesso tempo spinti dalla loro coscienza a rimanere.

Non è la prima volta che incontro l'inferno messicano nelle mie letture: nel 2010 ho avuto modo di leggere il ciclo storico di Valerio Evangelisti (il collare di fuoco - il collare spezzato), e non lo avevo apprezzato per niente. Erano romanzi troppo splatter, il dolore e la sofferenza del popolo tormentato dalla fame erano esibiti in modo troppo compiaciuto ed a colori troppo vivaci: dopo poche pagine tutto diventava ripetitivo e si raggiungeva prima la saturazione, poi la noia.
Niente a che vedere con questo "Il potere e la gloria", che è una vera e propria elegia del dolore degli ultimi, una poesia della sofferenza ma anche del saper restare uomini e donne, nonostante tutto.
La differenza vera sta nel fatto, appunto, che questo è un romanzo profondamente spirituale, che riesce a non parlare solo di sofferenze e necessità fisiche, come il materialistissimo e postmoderno Evangelisti si riduce molto presto a fare. L'angoscia profonda, la disperazione del futuro, ma anche la capacità di compassione e di commiserazione, di ricercare dentro di se energie sempre nuove. Qui siamo ben oltre il fumetto, e questo Messico lo ho davvero sentito come qualcosa di vero.

Poi c'è il cattolicesimo, e il cattolicesimo sudamericano. Lì per lì la citazione mi aveva tratto in inganno, perchè in italiano la preghiera si recita in modo diverso: il titolo di questo libro è una frazione di un Gloria a Dio (tuo è il regno - tua è la potenza - e la gloria nei secoli). Protagonista del libro è un prete divenuto clandestino e fuorilegge dopo la presa del potere dei socialisti. Debole, abbruttito, ubriacone e sessuomane, sempre ubriaco ed ansioso di sesso, questo presbitero ha avuto una figlia da una fedele e poi le ha tutte e due abbandonate a se stesse nel suo perpetuo fuggire.
Proprio nella persona di chi è chiamato alla santità abbiamo toccato il fondo dell'abiezione, questa persona che si divide tra la disistima più totale, l'autocompatimento, ma anche l'ansia di sopravvivere e la dimenticanza delle proprie malefatte non appena le cose si mettono meglio. L'ufficiale che gli dà la caccia è agli antipodi. Laico e materialista, spende tutta la sua vita in sacrifici per l' ideale rivoluzionario che serve, per la giustizia sociale ed il bene dei più deboli. Pure, e qui sta uno dei messaggi più forti di tutto il romanzo, quando cacciatore e preda si scontrano con le loro idee, il cattolicesimo non ne esce sconfitto ma vincitore.

Perchè lo scandalo di questa fede è lo stesso scandalo di venerare un Dio crocifisso: che dalla miseria fisica e spirituale dei suoi fedeli (e dei suoi fedeli consacrati), non ne esce indebolito ma più forte. Perchè come dice il protagonista stesso, non importano il peccato e l'abiezione in cui è precipitato il Ministro, l'ostia conterrà sempre lo stesso Spirito Santo, e la redenzione resterà comunque immacolata (non sono citazioni letterali). La grande forza del cristianesimo sta proprio nel suo crescere nella debolezza. Come si può non rendersene conto oggi, in un mondo dove la vita religiosa va morendo, e va morendo proprio per eccesso di benessere e di autocompiacimento? Cristo muore in mezzo ai cristiani che si sentono buoni, non in mezzo a quelli che si sentono inadeguati. Questa è una fede di redenzione, non di celebrazione: e tra i cristiani con la pancetta che siedono nelle prime file delle chiese, muore. Nelle tremanti mani di un prete ubriacone e sessuomane, che decide di consegnarsi alla morte per confortare un moribondo e perdonare un traditore, dopo tre giorni risorge sempre.

Quando si racconta una terra sofferente, bisogna ricordare che i bisogni primari di ogni uomo non sono solo quelli materiali. Anzi, l'abiezione vera si nasconde sempre nella privazione del nutrimento spirituale, a partire dalla consapevolezza e dal ricordo di essere uomini, uomini con una storia e con un futuro. Tanti, troppi scrittori, politici, giornalisti, uomini di cultura di sinistra se lo dimenticano troppo spesso.

This was a beautiful but powerful story, and this only being my second Greene book, I feel like I haven't even scratched the surface with this author and his wonderful storytelling skills. There was much to ponder about and there was much to love, and I am happy with my choice of choosing this book.

Greene has an engaging style of writing that draws you in from the first few pages, and within that writing are some thought-provoking issues that causes the reader to close the book and think deeply, about the characters and their fates.

Our protagonists are two troubled men, one is a 'Whisky priest' and the other, the lieutenant. The priest portrays as a rather complex character, and although he has some positive attributes, he was also rather flawed. The lieutenant is an anti-religious man, who personally, I don't think received enough time in the novel. There were many questions created here, but not a lot of answers.

This was not a joyful read, and at times, the vivid descriptions, especially of the prison cell, made for difficult reading, but I must admit, this book was excellently written, and I am looking forward to reading more Greene.

The Power and the Glory is a powerful and a glorious story. Set as a consequence of Cristero War, the novel revolves majorly around the journey of a whisky priest, a term coined by Graham Greene. An attempt by Mexican government to suppress the Catholic Church was in full swing. As a result, the lieutenant comes up with a plan so that he can follow the government's order.

This novel is essentially about perspectives and kindness in the face of the barren world. It is about mutual respect to differing ideas. It is about regretting for some deeds, while not regretting for the result of those deeds. It is about abandonment and hushed secrets. It is about recurring ghostly presences. All in all, it is a wasteland that the modern world has continued to be.

The Power and the Glory is the sort of title to inspire readers to great deeds, pushing beyond the bounds of normal reading capabilities to turn pages at superhuman speed! But alas no. And why not? Afterall, the premise is promising...

A cynical, whiskey priest sneaks about the poor, rural lands of southern Mexico, evading capture for the treasonous action of being a priest. The question is whether he's on the lam to preach the word of god or to save his own neck.

I haven't read much Graham Greene, but what I have read makes me think Greene could turn a phrase and slap a good sentence together right up there with some of the best of them. The problem seems to be his plots. They don't punch you like you expect. I always seemed to be waiting for something more out of this book and it never came, and this isn't the first time it's happened with a Greene book.

Straight out of college I made a pledge to read through the works of respected authors. I powered through Kafka and then Camus. Both were exciting or at least interesting. In hindsight, I think I read them both at the perfect time in my life.

Next up was Greene. He wrote over two dozen novels, and then there were plays, screenplays, children's books, travel journals, short story collections. Out of all that, all I managed to read was The Man Within, his less than spectacular first attempt at a novel. Such were the deflating affects of that ho-hum experience that twenty years passed before I picked up my second Greene, A Gun For Sale aka This Gun For Hire. It wasn't great, but it was good enough to reignite my interest. Since then I've renewed my pledge, but with lowered expectations. I just don't think I'll be able to bulldoze through his work.

If only his work was a bit more exciting. As you read on a growing sense that nothing will be resolved starts to envelope you, and if you're a person that likes resolution, you're up shit's creek paddle-less, my friend. If you let the current take you, you'll float along into a boggy morass of self-doubt and moral ambiguity, where you're left to stew in unpleasant juices (<<< like contemplating a poorly mixed metaphor). Graham Greene writes thinking man's books and I don't mean books for smart folk necessarily. I mean he intends you to ponder his ideas well after you've put the book down. The Power and the Glory is just such a book. That's fine, but couldn't he have managed both? Say perhaps, a thinking man's thriller? I'm just asking for a little more spark. It would make me leap to his next book!

4,5 stars.

I really liked it. I'm not a religious man and usually don't like to read about religious theme but I liked this one. Unfortunately it's not perfect, it's not a work of genius but it's very good.

The main protagonist is "Whiskey Priest", a failed weak character who maybe not failed and weak at all. Very complex hero/anti-hero. He doesn't consider himself a martyr, but that's a feature of all true martyrs - to be humble, yet ironically Whiskey Priest is or rather was kind of a proud man. He has many positive qualities but he's definitely not a saint in a traditional sense, but maybe that's what all saints are? This is the kind of book that asks questions rather than answers them.

Another very interesting and troubled character is The Lieutenant, an ardent anti-religious man. He's maybe as good as Whiskey Priest but we don't know that because Greene fails to give more attention to him. For me that was a disappointment definitely, it could've been one hell of a novel had it been bigger and more spacious. The duel between Priest and Lieutenant, the Power and the Glory could've been much more epic. However even in this limited form I could easily recommend this novel as a smart and thought provoking, bittersweet story about religion, society and human nature

n  Bettie's Booksn

The “whisky priest” is on the run from the law from the law in Mexico. Set in period in Mexico’s history where priests where being shot and the Catholic Church was illegal, this book plays like the New Testament mixed with an existential western. Grim and suspenseful, stocked with cinematic imagery in a gothic and decaying Mexico, this book is masterpiece from the first page on. While my personal beliefs are nearer to the nihilistic lieutenant (kind of a Miltonic devil type character) chasing the priest, I think the ‘whisky priest” is one of literature’s great character. He is flawed and human but dedicated to and personifies his beliefs despite the suicidal risk he is taking. That member of the please-all McSweeney’s generation Rick Moody snarkily dismissed this book as “being too Catholic”. Well, Greene weaves his beliefs more openly into his work than say Flannery O’Conner or T.S. Eliot (early, not that “Four Quartets stuff), people of any or no belief should find this an emotionally and intellectually involving book. This is not a didactic Catholic apology but a troublesome piece of art.

There is always one moment in childhood when one door opens and lets the future in. (GG)

To begin with, I want to clarify that I am neither a Catholic nor a religious person. Although I was raised in a family largely comprised of practising churchgoers—including a Vatican official on the roost—I have always felt some aversion to the tenets and predicaments that rule that particular faith.
Something peculiar about it, which I have never quite understood, tells me that the whole theory didn't sum up, even though I can't fully articulate my thoughts. I am a superstitious type rather than a religious one.

However... I was born in Africa, in northern Mozambique, and lived there for the first years of my life, on the borders of the Niassa Lake, where my father exploited a farm.
I was still a little boy when we left Africa and came to Europe, so I don't have "real" memories of those times, just some recollections, glimpses imprinted in the back of my mind, of landscapes, animals, people, that for some reason stayed with me all these years, but mostly the soft voice of my father telling the most wonderful stories.
One of those "memories" is one of the most terrifying things I collected in my life: A dry lightning storm in the plains of an African night... The lightning bolts hitting the ground in the dark are like a finger of a malignant god scorching the Earth. You just freeze in terror when the night suddenly becomes day, for just a split second, after you almost become deaf with the thunder pounding your bones to dust, followed by the crack of the spark of high voltage hitting its target and leaving a heavy ozone smell in the air... You are blinded by the sudden light in the deep darkness of the African Savanna, and the most fantastic landscapes are burned into your brain. It's something that you can never forget.
You can't be born in a place like that and don't believe that there is "something up there", hidden, lurking in the shadows of the night, or in the morning fog coming from the lake, ready to pounce. I believe that was when I began to develop my embryonic misotheism.
In a certain measure, I'm like Job - not the one in the Bible but Joseph Roth’s Job: "The Story of a Simple Man".
All those events we call fate or destiny that shape and command our lives are the result of chaotic probabilities, and History is just the sum up of the statistics of these events.

Graham Greene was, according to some, a reluctant catholic. He was a self-described “Catholic agnostic,” who did not believe in anything supernatural. Due to his future wife, he once declared: I was interested to know that someone took seriously these subtle distinctions of an incredible theology... and if I am going to marry a Catholic, I should at least learn the nature and limits of her beliefs, besides, I thought, it would kill time... In 1926, there was no great epiphany, but an ineffable change: Greene converted and took the baptismal name of St. Thomas the Doubter. And you wonder why I fear and love Greene's books...

He is one of my favorite writers, and I have all his books. However, I have been putting off rereading The Power and the Glory for many years, and now that I did it, I am afraid to write down all my thoughts about it because I know that the "beasts" are still out there, whispering in the darkest corners of my imagination; lingering ghosts, from a time in my life filled with homesickness and loneliness, but also with promises and discoveries, a web of tangled memories and emotions that have long since been stifled; yet the voices have stories to tell about the power struggles in heaven and hell! How can anyone feel safe against such mighty dreams?

Power and the Glory is a narrative with masterful rhythm, portraying a small period in Mexico's history when Catholicism was outlawed in Tabasco. During this time of persecution, Governor Tomás Garrido Canabal, an atheist, actively targeted the Catholic Church, destroying various temples, including the Tabasco Cathedral. Greene portrays these events with a powerful narrative.
His prose is starkly graphic, filled with vivid descriptions of poverty and class power relations. He delves deep into themes of power and powerlessness, sacrifice and martyrdom, exploring what it means to be human amid darkness, both around us and within ourselves. The novel reflects on the human condition and the challenges faced by the Roman Catholic Church.
The story unfolds in a hellish corner of the country, scorched by the blazing sun. As I read, I could almost feel the heat dulling my senses. Having lived in Brazil for several years, while travelling under similar climatic conditions in the central States (in the so-called Sertão), I can assure you that Greene's depiction of the heat and humidity, along with the burning sun of southern Mexico, is both realistic and accurate.

The foundation of the book revolves around the themes of repentance and salvation in relation to sin and eternal fate. The focus is on the salvation of the soul, as it seems that the God of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam cares little for the physical body. Therefore, the constant suffering and Greene's many references to decay and death. Undoubtedly, Greene's view of faith under the guidance of the Catholic Church was bleak and depressing.

The main character's "Journey" in the novel, from beginning to end, is a Via Crucis (Way of the Cross), and his story is an analogy to the story of Jesus. People die because of him – good people – as good people die because of Him.
Without expressing biblical references, the author dwells on the nature and impact of mortal sin, especially the perspective of dying in this state, which is of the utmost importance to those who live by this particular faith.
Again and again, Greene with this parable asks why Jesus could not save Judas? And he answers himself: Because He respected Judas's Free Will, and He couldn't force him to accept forgiveness. In the end, Judas made the choice for Him, a tragic choice, but one, nonetheless, because he hated what he'd been forced to do, and hated himself for doing it (Matthew 27:5).
In a way, Greene is wondering: if in Christian mythology, Judas was instrumental in Jesus' death and the fulfilment of the prophecy, if his betrayal was what allowed Him to finish His mission on earth, so why is Judas considered a betrayer? Why would helping God (Jesus) fulfil God's plan be considered a betrayal? If it had to happen for Jesus to save mankind, how could it be evil?
We see this poignant struggle of someone with a particularly deep conscience, fighting against guilt, but who cannot really forgive himself. His duty is to help people and save their souls, not their bodies. If he is unable to believe that God forgives, he further undermines the possibility of forgiving himself. He learns, in the hardest way, that while carrying out God's will, a man can be both a saint—whose very death stems from his sense of duty—and, at the same time, a drunkard, a corrupt, and, above all, a sinner who refuses to repent, as Judas did.
His conflict is as much like the struggle of Prometheus in trying not to hate Zeus. In the immortal words of Goethe:

Here sit I, forming mortals
After my image;
A race resembling me,
To suffer, to weep,
To enjoy, to be glad,
And thee to scorn,
As I!

Greene's message only makes sense if we accept a world where God exists because, without bearing that in mind, it becomes difficult to understand the actions of the characters and, consequently, our own actions as well. Once you grasp this premise, you begin to understand Greene's ideas more clearly.

Every chapter in "The Power and the Glory" has a vulture somewhere in it and beetles "exploding" everywhere. I still can see them today, after so many years, since I read it for the first time in my twenties, the great birds, hovering and vigilant, watching and waiting for me to die. Some critics see them as an analogy for God watching us, and the bugs a reminder of the Egyptian plagues, you see? I'm the One and I'm watching you... behave or otherwise...

Greene's dark novel and its deeply flawed protagonist provide a more enriching perspective to contemplate faith and self-reflection; one that average Christians might find more accessible and realistic than romantic and biased narratives about "Belief".
Orpheus failed Eurydice, just as our protagonist in this book failed his faithful ones. Alone, in the darkness of our doubts, perhaps we are all "Orpheus" and "Eurydice", seeking daylight through a valley of shadows, pursuing our yet unwritten destiny between the choice to hold fast or lose faith. Let's try to hold fast today.

This is the first Greene I have read in years and it is a powerful novel. It is set in Mexico and Greene has spent some time there in research. The novel is about a priest; a whisky priest in a province of Mexico where the Catholic Church is banned and priests are shot. The unnamed protagonist is a bad priest and a drunkard who has also fathered a child. He is also a coward.
The title is taken from the end of The Lord's Prayer and there is religious imagery all over the place. The priest rides a donkey to his inevitable capture (having been given a chance to escape), the peasant who betrays him is Judas. Most of the other characters can be seen to represent someone in the gospel narratives; Maria, padre Jose, Tench etc. The priest is a very imperfect Christ and the Lieutenant a very implacable reperesentative of authority who is ultimately moved by the priest. The Lieutenant plays a much larger role than Pilate does in the gospels, but there is a "What is truth" Moment.
The book represents Greene's own struggles with faith and the Church. There are also themes relating to abandonment, desolation, hope and the bleakness of everyday life for the poor. Greene's descriptive powers are very powerful and you can feel the stifling heat.
This is a thought provoking piece and managed to offend Catholics and atheists in equal measure; quite a neat trick. I've known a few whisky priests in my time and remember one particular church and rectory which was locally christened St Glenfiddich's because of the drinking habits of the incumbent. He didn't seem to do a great deal apart from drink, but when the alcohol finally got him everyone turned out for the funeral and he was rather fondly remembered. The whisky priest here doesn't do a great deal apart from move around and perform any religious duties he was forced to by the locals. There is something here perhaps about being rather than doing.
While I don't share Greene's faith it is an interesting and powerful novel with more hidden layers than I first perhaps realised