Anyone who has had to battle their way through an English term paper probably remembers with dread the research books that they had to wade through, scraping a quote here and an inference there, then helplessly staring at how much white space was left on the page. I vividly remember wondering how people could possibly care enough about Henry James’ neuroses to write an entire book dissecting his stories, much less buy a book like that.
Time and, perhaps, age have mellowed my resentful attitude more than a little, which is fortunate since Cordially Yours, Brother Cadfael is exactly the type of book I would have growled at ten years ago. This thin book, only around a hundred forty pages, is a collection of ten essays examining various aspects of Ellis Peters’ popular Brother Cadfael mysteries. (In case you’ve never heard of Brother Cadfael, I strongly recommend, without reservation, that you head for your local library and pick up all twenty or so of that series, which focuses on a Benedictine monk with a penchant for landing in the middle of a murder mystery. Then read some of Ellis Peters’ other books: the Felse mysteries are also wonderful. But I digress.)
Judging by the list of contributors at the back of the book, seven of the nine writers (one, Carol A. Mylod, contributed two essays) are teachers or professors. Margaret Lewis, whose bio notes claim no teaching credits, is “the authorized biographer of mystery writer Ngaio Marsh” and has written about Ellis Peters previously (Edith Pargeter: Ellis Peters, Seren Press, 1994). Strangely, the last writer, who happens to be editor Anne K. Kaler, has no bio blurb with the rest; you have to turn the book over and read the back cover to see that she, also, is a professor of English.
I will admit to a prejudice. Upon seeing the academic nature of the book and the word “professor” after so many names, I had a flashback to that struggle over my English term paper and the horribly dry, boring language I had to fight through in book after research book. “This,” I said to myself, “was a mistake.” I considered sending the book back and claiming I was in over my head. “Try it,” said that evil little voice that has gotten me into so much trouble in the past; “just flip the damn thing open and try reading it before you give up. You love the Cadfael books, how bad can this be?”
Resolute, I forged ahead.
“Cloying as Brother Cadfael’s cordials and just as sweet,” starts the first line of the Introduction. I stopped, hesitated, and reached for my dictionary. Cloying: unpleasantly, overly sweet or sentimental. That didn’t sound like Ms. Kaler liked the Cadfael series. But that same paragraph ends with: ” . . . these tales are as restorative as Brother Cadfaels’ own cordials.” So, the mysteries of Brother Cadfael are overly sentimental but refreshing, too. Huh?
At that point, I relaxed, feeling myself on more familiar ground. At least one of these writers wasn’t an intimidating, dry-voiced, infallible Professor; and they certainly weren’t about to grade one of my papers. I could look at this as a project put together by human beings rather than towering academic giants, which was much more reassuring.
The rest of the Introduction is an explanation of what the Cadfael books are about, who wrote them, the history of the Benedictine order, and finally details how the book of essays is organized and what each author writes about. It is an essay in and of itself by the time it gets around to that last part, and although parts of it were interesting, I couldn’t help but think most of the first five pages of the Introduction could have been left aside. If nothing else, the part detailing the Benedictine Order seems unnecessary; the first two essays, “The Role of Religion in the Cadfael Series” and “Brother Cadfael’s Vocation: Benedictine Monasticism in the Cadfael Chronicles,” covers much the same material. I did like the explanation of how the book is organized and what each author wrote about, however; that part of the Introduction made me eager to get to the actual essays.
The book is divided into two main parts. Part one, “The Mysteries of Brother Cadfael” has essays that look at “[C]adfael’s relationship with God.” Part two, “The Ministries of Brother Cadfael,” focuses on the meeting of the secular and the spiritual in the series. At the end of each essay are footnotes and citations, some of which take up an entire page of their own. A table of contents at the beginning shows a list of intriguing titles: “Brother Cadfael and His Herbs,” “The Moral World of Brother Cadfael,” “Saints, Lepers, Beggars, and Pilgrims of Brother Cadfael,” and so on.
The first essay (“The Role of Religion . . .”), by Anita M. Vickers, renewed my fears that this was going to be a stiff and scholarly bunch of writers. “Assuredly, the choice of a shrewd, discerning monk … yields the locus of the series’ appeal.”
Yikes. Back to the dictionary. “Locus: a line, plane, etc. every point of which satisfies a given condition.” Satisfied, I move on, only to run, a few sentences later, into: “Like a palimpsest there are levels of textuality within the chronicles, some obscured, others conclusively evident.”
“Well,” said that evil little voice, “you’re gong to learn a lot from this book, anyway.” And it was right. I needed to dust off my hard reading skills for this one, something I haven’t had to do in a while. Once I did that, within a few pages it became conclusively evident that I needed to make a trip to the library. I checked out every last Brother Cadfael book they had and ensconced myself firmly in a chair for a week’s worth of reading. Two days later (all right, maybe it was three) I returned to “The Role of Religion in the Brother Cadfael Series” for another try.
Finally it all started to make some sense. I knew what the writers were talking about, understood the allusions they were making, was equipped, in short, to read in an educated fashion. And was still, for the most part, bored silly.
Now, before you throw those rotten tomatoes, I do know that books like this are not intended to be read for entertainment. They’re meant for people writing English papers and researching for serious projects, people who argue late into the night over things like whether Henry James was gay. This is an analytical book, and on that ground it is very good. The writing is solid, well thought out, and thoroughly researched. Not every essay is as dry as the opening one; “The Moral World of Brother Cadfael” by Anthony Hopkins is a good example of a more conversational piece. ” . . . because Cadfael is a good man, and his deceptions are rendered in a good cause, obviously everything is all OK. … Cadfael is such a good man that even his sinning is righteous. We all need friends just like that …”
In fact, Anita Vickers was, for me, by far the most difficult read. Carol A. Mylod’s essay “Fathers in the Chronicles of Brother Cadfael” looks at how Ellis Peters depicts fathers and father figures in the series, both good and bad; her language is reasonably clear and straightforward. Anne K. Kaler’s essay, “Saints, Lepers, Beggars, and Pilgrims of Brother Cadfael,” manages to avoid the weight of that long title, delivering an critical examination of “the four stages of hospital care in the early middle ages” before turning to look at how those are used in the Cadfael stories. And of course, my favorite had to be “Brother Cadfael and His Herbs,” by Margaret Baker; herbs are a passion of mine. “[C]adfael is definitely a good detective,” she says in this essay. “The question is whether he is also a good herbalist.” Her final conclusion? You’ll have to read the book to find out.
All in all, I think that anyone writing a research paper on the Brother Cadfael books or Ellis Peters in general will find this book is an excellent resource. Someone looking for a lighter, fun read about a favorite series would likely be sorely disappointed; but that doesn’t seem to be the intended audience, so no loss there. For my part, I’ll keep it on my shelf as a valuable resource — just in case I ever decide to pursue that degree in English after all.
(Bowling Green State University Popular Press, 1998)
