novel

Jon Mote stumbles through life and the mystery of the brutal death of his former academic mentor like Oscar the slob but played by a neurotic Woody Allen.

For Rose Macaulay in The Towers of Trebizond, a story of moral seriousness couldn’t afford to tie up everything neatly.

I plead for the renewed reading of The Innocent Curate, as a general portrait of an Episcopal Church in the heyday of its mid-20th-century revival.

Quintember is perhaps an ideal read for Episcopalians who have reached our Anglican shores as refugees from Methodist, Baptist, or other Protestant climes, for those who have entered the fold from the campus of American (neo-)classical paganism, and for those seeking asylum from the lawless badlands of postmodern relativism.

Catholic-minded friends recommended Michael O’Brien’s apocalyptic thrillers, Father Elijah and Elijah in Jerusalem, to me for years.

Many observe that Patrick O’Brian’s novels are comparable to Jane Austen’s, if only she had written rousing naval adventures.

This week: the beauty of public liturgy, the "personal shape" of ecumenism, and the world as narrative and symphony.

I have sometimes complained that it is very difficult to stir up a proper theological controversy in Canada. Maclean's magazine did its best by publishing a skeptical article during Holy Week.

The title of Bishop Kee Sloan’s novel comes from Genesis, when Jacob wrestles God on the “ford of the Jabbock.”