The Color of Blood

Gerald Noonan was Associate Professor of English at Wilfred Laurier University in Waterloo, and co-editor of A Public and Private Voice.

In this intricate onrushing tale of the forces of Church and State warring within the bosom of a single Soviet satellite, Brian Moore’s rich lean prose and point-counterpoint plot achieve new levels of masterly urgency. From the moment (in the second paragraph) that Cardinal Bem’s car is attacked by a would-be assassin, the story unfolds with all the implacable speed of — as Bem occasionally says — “God’s will.”

Under the guise of Security Police, church members kidnap Bem, whom they consider too co-operative with the will of the Soviet regime, in order to create an incident that will cause the restless faithful to…. But wait — the Cardinal suspects, walks away from custody to freedom, and discovers that the national union agrees with his restraint. At that point, he is apprehended by the real Security Police, and manages to face down two rebellious bishops as he prepares for a national religious festival at which he will call for patience and peace. But his rebellious archbishop, following his own dictates of conscience, is about to make one last defiant effort from the altar steps — despite the proximity of the police, the prime minister, the cardinal, and Holy Communion. The Cardinal counters, and....

That the novel has depth beyond its thriller pace is due to the quality of the prose and Moore’s deft analysis of conflicting forces. The union leader (modeled from a Lech Walesa) tells Cardinal Bem, disguised and smuggled in, that they’re “in the same boat.” Once the cause is joined, he “can’t change the unions.” Bem, in his domain, exercises more absolute control —“I am the Church” — but cannot restrain national fervour. And the Polish-born prime minister is both powerful and powerless as he tries to define “the national good” and the will of the people and keep both within bounds tolerable to the supreme Soviet authority.

Brief descriptive passages evoke a consistent feeling of life in a Poland hemmed by stricture and fearful shadow. “In the provinces few people went out after dark. From unlit windows there flickered the blue pools of television screens” (p. 114).

Moore has not entirely solved the problem of Cardinal Bem’s good character; he is the good man that fiction seldom deals with. When all events are acceptable and anticipated as the working out of God’s will, the normal peaks of suspense and anguish become somewhat muted. So, it seems, does personal discomfort: when the 56-year-old Cardinal spends a night sleeping under a bridge with only newspapers to ward off the chilly damp, he rises in the morning and walks off to find a bus stop with nary a creak, cramp, or cringe. Did Moore forget? or is Bem stoically suppressing his personal pain?

Ultimately, in this novel of a nation under tight control (from the Cardinal to the homeless), Moore’s plot artfully undercuts the concept of implacable power and will with opening and closing irrational acts.