The Inquisitor's Tale

It was clear from the text, author's note, annotated bibliography, author's bio, and multiple reviews that the author (and also, or, more accurately, because of, the author's wife) spent A LOT of time researching the Middle Ages. He and his wife could probably be described as obsessed with the Middle Ages, even. It's clear that one of his objectives in writing the book is to convince the reader that the Middle Ages are a fascinating time in the history of the world, worthy of much study. I must admit that the Middle Ages are no more fascinating to me nor am I any more likely to study them now than I was before reading The Inquisitor's Tale. But he wrote a good story with interesting characters, and that is all I really need.

I thought the organization of the book was a fun, unique approach - hearing the tale from a variety of people who had all experienced parts of it. But as is the case with most books written supposedly from multiple perspectives that I've read (The Help being a notable exception), I thought all the story-tellers sounded the same. The Jongleur does have a bit of a poorer vocabulary than the other narrators, but he still tells the story the exact same way. And all the story-tellers included parts of the story there is no way they could have known (the thoughts and feelings of other people) which made the coolness of different perspectives much less cool.

My favorite part of the book is a conversation between Michelangelo - a compassionate monk - and the three children (all with special abilities) he is shepherding. He is trying to explain the voice of God and how they can discern it in making decisions (a lifelong endeavor for me). I'll omit parts specifically related to the story (too complicated to explain) and just include his powerful advice:

"This is what I believe," Michelangelo agreed. "When I see you and William and Jacob laughing together - a peasant girl, an oblate, and a Jewish boy - I think, This is good. When I see petals fall from a pear tree at the end of spring, spinning like dancers to the ground, I think, This, too, is good. But what have they in common? And when a Jew is struck by a Lombard in the street, I think, This is very bad. And when a book is destroyed, I think the same thing. But what have those in common? What does a Jew have in common with a book? Children with petals spinning to the earth?"

A log cracked and fell into the fireplace. The smell of roasting wood wafted out into the room.

"I don't know, " Michelangelo said. "But I believe that it is the voice of God, telling me what to love and what to hate." 

 ...

But Jacob, suddenly, had doubts. "King Louis hates Jews," he said. "He probably feels that in his gut as well. And peasants, too. Is that God, telling him to hate me [a Jew] and Jeanne [a peasant]?"

Michelangelo sighed. "God is mysterious and works in mysterious ways. But Louis held Jeanne aloft and carried her around a room. He sat beside you both on our trip to Paris. I do not think he hates you. I think he has been taught to hate the idea of Jews and peasants. By his mother, by the church, by his lords - who benefit from exploiting their peasants and confiscating the Jews' money on the flimsiest pretenses. Distinguishing the voice of God and the voices of those around us is no easy task. What makes you special, children, beyond your miracles, is that you hear God's voice clearly, and when you hear it, you act upon it." He fixed Jeanne with his beady red-brown eyes. "So, will you act now?"

Well? Will you?