The Sparrow: Terribly close to home

Hello everyone:

I just wanted to start my post in a fairly unique way: all of the Ohioan locations in this book are within 20 minutes of my house. I have been up around John Carrol, and the Jesuits there are friendly, and not even exclusively Jesuit for that matter - I know Lutherans and Methodists who work there and fit right in. That said, I feel like fact checking a secretive trip on an asteroid probably wouldn't go down at John Carrol, at least not very easily. East Cleveland is not in fact a very nice place at all; that hasn't changed from the writing of this book 12 years ago. Cleveland Heights does have an odd array of brightly colored young people that array themselves in coffee shops (by color it seems sometimes) and then take root there for 4-6 hours. That said, I know a bunch of people from there: many of them are great cooks, a fair amount are doctors, and a few even own a piano. I just needed to get my personal connection to the book out there, because it was odd reading a Science Fiction book partially set in locations right near my house; it made me connect with this book in a different way than I usually connect with any book. How many supposed trips to visit alien life have originated in YOUR part of town?

I also want to build upon what Jen said about Jesuits - having been accepted into Fordham, I went to visit that school and was amazed at the odd dichotomy of most professors and administrative staff being priests but only as a slight spice to their personality, rather than an upfront article of clothing (of course, names like Father Reinert were a give away). They were in fact able to mingle about the crowds of prospective students

All of that said, there was a point in the book that really bothered me a whole hell of a lot, much more than most books ever have (and probably ever will). On page 285, Sandoz bitterly poses to Behr that "Have you ever wondered about Cain, Ed? He made his sacrifice in good faith. Why did God refuse it?" This line haunted me for the rest of the book; I was bothered by many of the subsequent (all-too-human) atrocities that occurred, be it the murder of the children, or the forcing of Sandoz into sexual slavery, or the violence that was stirred up between the Runa and the Jana'ata because of the gardens. It was that one line that bothered me throughout, and bothers me still. The story of Cain and Abel centers around Cain's offering of the average fruits of his labor being held in lower regard by God than Abel's offering of the prime of his flock - this angers Cain, and he murders Abel out in the fields. In the context of the story itself, I detect at least two implied meanings: in the specific conversation, I believe Sandoz is referring to his willingness to be celibate and not fall more deeply in love with Sophia, and then is subsequently raped by the Jana'ata repeatedly. More generally, the sad reference here seems to be referring to Sandoz's entire life, spent doing the right thing in a veritable sea of bad things (based on his upbringing and later improvement of the part of Puerto Rico he comes from), only to have this all be apparently seemingly rejected by God. Now, a slew of images assaults me - this sentiment reminds me of every zombie movie I have ever seen, when one IDIOT in the party of survivors lets their guard down for a moment and as a result dooms several/all of the others to death: the viewer can see it coming, and it is infuriating (at least to me). Or, perhaps to reference the book itself again, the utter frustration that Sandoz experiences in the dichotomy of the starving children in Africa and then the empty-headed, self-centered and essentially inconsequential people in the coffee shops in Cleveland Heights (but you could substitute any rich suburb or urban area here) - I will end my comment alluding to a quote from the book (the page now forgotten): the effects of trying to do good and then having it not be enough and/or being surrounded by those who do not try the same is like vomiting poison. This story tires me out, almost makes me want to shake my fists in despair... but for some reason I do not.

I am looking forward to two things: tomorrow's discussion, and then reading the sequel to this wonderful, yet haunting, novel



-Mike