It’s been months since I read it and I still think about this book. Unsettling in a brilliant way, there’s a creeping dread here that was really well done. Enjoyed the pro-spirituality bent also.

He was aware of his agnosticism, and patient with it. Rather than deny the existence of something he couldn’t perceive himself, he acknowledged the authenticity of his uncertainty and carried on, praying in the face of his doubt. After all, Ignatius of Loyola, a soldier who had killed and whored and made a thorough mess of his soul, said you could judge prayer worthwhile simply if you could act more decently, think more clearly afterward. As D.W. once told him, ‘Son, sometimes it’s enough just to act less like a shithead.’ And by that kindly if inelegant standard, Emilio Sandoz could believe himself to be a man of God.

Cover image for The Sparrow