In Of Love and Other Demons, Marquez, or the narrator at least, seems generally critical of faith and religion. It is interesting that the most faithful (or faith-filled?) character in the novel is the atheist doctor. Late in the novel, when Delaura asks Abernuncio why the doctor is so kind to him, particularly given how critical the church is of atheists and of learned men (Abernuncio having a library of “forbidden” texts), the doctor responds, “because we atheists cannot live without clerics” (121). The retort might come across as flippant, except that Abernuncio soon explains that he cannot articulate his own beliefs and that his primary concern is for his patients, and whatever it is that they need in order to heal and be well. For his part, that’s treating them with science and medicine. But he also seems to understand that many of his patients require faith of some kind, too.
Perhaps Marquez is suggesting that faith and religion are characterized by the beholder. They are useful tools, but they are also damning ones. Faith and religion can be oppressive, even violent, as we see in this story’s treatment of characters who do not share the Christian faith; but they can also be forces that drive characters toward positive change, as might be the case for the Marquis, who couldn’t quite give up his faith, though he tried. A writing professor once told us, “themes usually grow out of the material in an organic manner.” That couldn’t be more true of how the thematic conversation over faith, religion, and science/medicine are treated in Marquez’s narrative. Each of the main characters begins and ends in a different place as regarding their original stance on faith, with the exception of the the Bishop, whose inability to change is, I think, repudiated by the way the narrator describes the Bishop’s performance during the exorcism. It is he who comes across as devilish.
If there is a battle between good and evil in Of Love and Other Demons, it might be organized Christian religion versus native/pagan religions. Sierva Maria seems to be the central character around which everyone else revolves. We learn most about the characters in the story, and their goodness or lack thereof, by how they treat Sierva Maria. For example, her father the Marquis, for all his faults, does what he needs to do in order to get her help. In this way, despite his lack of agency and weakness of character, he can be seen as heroic. So, too, Cayetano Delarua, who is the character who changes the most over the course of the story. His relationship with Sierva Maria causes him to question the Bishop, if not his own faith. He still repents when he thinks he has done wrong, but he doesn’t take the Bishop’s commands on instinct anymore. Bernarda, who does have a soft moment late in the narrative during her reunion with the Marquis nevertheless seems to end her life unchanged. We see this when Delaura comes to their home for help and she rebuffs him almost on impulse. Despite gaining some insight and understanding into her late in the story, which does create some empathy, she is ultimately unredeemed. Last is the Abbess, who is committed to viewing Sierva Maria as a demon and to treating her that way. Contrast this with the other inmate, who cares for Sierva as the child she is, and we find a clear distinction between the goodness of the common person and the drive toward inhumanity by those who represent the larger “Church.” The good, then, seems to be the simple human who is capable of changing based on exposure to new information; the evil, then, is religious dogma and those who adhere to it, who refuse to reassess a situation that they’ve already prejudged.
I am not sure the book is making a final judgement about the quest for love or what it will absolutely do; instead, I think it suggests that each of these–transformation, annihilation, insanity–is a possibility. Perhaps more importantly, though, is that the act of love is a catalyst for change. That change could be positive, negative, or neutral. It might depend on the motivations behind these acts. For example, the Bishop and the Abbess would call their actions “loving,” because in Christian terms, and in viewing Sierva as the do, they believe they are loving her by expelling her (non-existent) demons and saving her soul from damnation. Abernuncio’s actions as a doctor and his willingness to trust Delaura and invite him into his home, thereby exposing himself to severe punishment because of the illicit library he keeps, is another act of love, as are his attempts to care for his community. Can we judge the loving actions of these diverse perspectives the same way? None of these characters is transformed by their acts of love, but Delaura is. Delaura is perhaps the only one who changes in any significant way, and it is by exposure to acts of love from all sides, the religious, the pagan, the lover/protected, the citizen father. When he is reciting poetry with Sierva Maria, he says, “I reach my end, for artless I surrendered to one who is my undoing and my end” (126). He does not lament this surrender, though he does call it artless. I think it’s significant that the “undoing” and the “end” referred to here are not just his turning away from the Bishop and the Church, but ultimately his literal end, and Sierva’s too. Death is a kind of annihilation, but it’s important to note that his transformation happened first. He died being the kind of man, the loving person, that was otherwise absent from Sierva Maria’s life, except for the Black servants who cared for her as a child and taught her their ways, when no one else would teach her at all.
This one is a hefty little novel, tackling religion, science, slavery, power, atheism, race, and class.
Book Reviews ∙ Bookish Tags ∙ Book Discussions
For the ink-hearted
Dedicated to Emerging Writers