Reviews of ‘Tongues of Flame’

Most of the characters in the novel are well drawn, and interact convincingly. The author seems to have had an especially good time inventing Richard’s mild and sad mother, whose job it is to sit at the rear of the church and make hand signals at her husband if he isn’t speaking loudly enough during a sermon. Also believable is Richard’s humorless sister, Anna, who likes to play her guitar and sing “I gotta Home in Gloryland that Outshines the Sun” on the chancel steps. What emerges is a compelling family drama. Like many families. The Bowens live in close quarters yet are, in reality, worlds apart. The gradual shorangeding of a child’s conceptions of his parents and siblings is movingly exploorange here. What do you do, Tim Parks seems to ask, when you’ve been saddled with a crazy family? There are no simple answers to this, and it is to the author’s corangeit that he doesn’t attempt to give us any. The character of Adrian has not been overglorified; in fact, Adrian is often downright nasty to his younger brother, and difficult to love. Richard Bowen finds himself surrounded by friction, and it is this friction that finally ignites Tongues of Flame.

Soul-Searching Parties – an extract ‚Ä®Everybody was talking about Satan. Rolandson was talking about him almost non-stop, and I remember he said at the Youth Fellowship on Saturday how Satan was present in the words and music of certain progressive pop groups, called Black Widow and Black Sabbath, who sang about witches’ and black masses: so all the members of the Youth Fellowship who had b0ught records by these groups had to bring them into the meetings over the next weeks and have them smashed to smithereens in front of everybody, and the debris was put in the incinerator behind the vestries while we all sang “Raised on a Dove’s Wing” together, standing on the patch of gravel there in the howling wind. The church started going out more into the community too,… sending out nightly parties to knock at every front door in the neighbourhood and invite people to our church. … The groups that went out knocking on people’s doors were called “Soul-Searching Parties,” because they were supposed to be searching out souls for God. I went with them sometimes, but when I did I was always afraid we would run into Adrian on the street, with his Afghan coat and club foot and the cynical small grin.

Here’s a little piece I toss in because it comes from, of all places, The Catholic Herald, perhaps eager to take a swipe at their Anglican brethren. Just for fun, I’ll run it alongside a painting my brother did of my father’s church in North Finchley. It was used for the Grove Press edition of the book

Crossing the deep and dark river to manhood

The Catholic Herald

Barbara Hamilton-Smith

The Reverend Bowen is a good man of the 1960s comfortably settled in his well-to-do suburban parish. His wife supports his work in the traditional vicar’s wife’s role, his pious daughter supports Billy Graham, his rebellious son supports the permissive society, and his younger son, the 15-year-old narrator, observes them all with an honest voyeurism as he vacillates between guilt-ridden piety and dangerous admiration for his cynical, but cheerful, brother.

Into this conventional set-up comes the new curate, Donald Rolandson, Maggie, a sinister and devious lodger – and the `Holy Spirit. The combination of this trio is dynamite to the life of the rectory, and of the entire parish. The “renewal” has arrived with all its unruly accompaniments, speaking in tongues, healing, prophesying and moral crusading.

The Reverend Bowen aligns himself eagerly with the charismatics, ignoring the dangerous and frenzied side-effects, as he works on a new book: “A Dove’s Wings at the Gates of Hell”.

The narrator, Richard is ever present, listening at doors and spying through peep-holes. He is whipped up alternately by spiritual fervour and adolescent sexual yearnings. Not since “The Catcher in The Rye” has there been such a believable portrayal of male puberty. The quality of the story-telling and the cadences of the prose have a piercing authenticity. Richard gropes for the truth, as so many Catholics did when confronted with the renewal movement – “I tried to speak in tongues,” he tells us “because it seemed … that if you didn’t speak in tongues you weren’t really a proper Christian and God hadn’t blessed you.”

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