Miller, Walter M., Jr. A Canticle for Liebowitz. NY: Bantam Books, 1997 (originally published in 1960 by Lippincott). 368pp. $11.95 (paper). 60-5735. ISBN 0-553-37926-7. C.I.P.
Somewhere in what used to be Utah, an ancient monastic order secretly hordes a hodgepodge of knowledge rescued from the radioactive ruins of 20th-century civilization. The monks treasure as sacred relics the blueprints of routine circuit designs, carefully copying them, inking in the entire paper except for the white lines.... Published at the height of the Cold War, when plans for backyard fallout shelters could be found in national magazines, A Canticle for Liebowitz is an inventive, imaginative, sardonic, and beautifully written meditation on humanity's ambivalent tango with the dangerous angels of technology. Liebowitz, an engineer who survived the "Flame Deluge," founded the monastic order that bears his name in an effort to salvage for future generations the remains of 20th-century science. The monks quietly carry on his work, for centuries lovingly preserving and embellishing their relics without really knowing why. The book is history, past and future, recounting humanity's slow and painful journey over nearly two millenia to reclaim its intellectual birthright. But the irrepressible human curiosity that inspires this long climb is chained to a corpse: the spectre of human violence and the atavistic terror of what technology has wrought in the past. In a story that rings as clearly and disturbingly now as it did in the 1960s, Miller brilliantly juggles these deep but conflicting psychological claims, leaving us in the end not with answers but with questions that will have to be answered if the human race is to survive. And, it's a great read!—Charles Hibbard, Lowell High School, San Francisco, CA
Miller's book, a bestseller in its time, is just as chilling a warning against nuclear holocaust now as it was during the years of the Cold War. The setting is Utah many years after the nations of the world have all but wiped out civilization with nuclear war. The Catholic Church is the only glue holding human civilization together-an obvious parallel to its role in Europe after the fall of the Roman Empire. A poor monk stumbles upon evidence of a better, more technically advanced era: a fallout shelter, and in it, a shopping list, a Racing Form, blueprints for some unknown electronic device, and the remains of one I. E. Liebowitz. The shelter becomes a religious shrine, Leibowitz is canonized, and the papers become religious relics. The blueprints, the best of any that still exist, are copied through the generations with the same care that earlier real-life monks copied Scripture. In short, the relics of St. Liebowitz provide the foundation for the rebuilding of a technically advanced culture over hundreds of years, with perhaps predictable results. Miller ends the book with monks loading a sample of the human race into space ships to leave their ravaged home world. (He has recently published a sequel, which I have not yet read.) In terms of scientific detail, this novel is not as rich as some others, but the progress of civilization from near-Stone Age to Space Age makes Canticle a rewarding and educational read. It is suitable for junior high and older readers.—John J. Wheaton, St. Francis High School, Louisville, KY
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