I am, by all accounts, not a religious person. As such, it’s not very often (if ever, really) that I dive into pointedly religious books or stories. Granted, when religious themes have a lighter influence in fiction, they can add an interesting level of depth to characters and narratives as a whole. Daredevil is a great example, given Matt Murdock’s Catholic faith and how it directly competes with his vigilante persona. On the flip side, though, stories that are too deeply engrained in the philosophy of any single religion run the risk, I think, of seeming preachy or biased toward whatever religion is in play. So, generally, whenever religion comes up in a story, I cast a cautious eye toward whatever it is I’m reading and hope the story remains sincere and honest in its telling.
With all of that in mind, I decided to give Robert Harris’ Conclave a shot. The film adaptation of this novel is releasing soon, and the trailer made a strong impression on me, with the likes of Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, and John Lithgow leading the star-studded cast. I figured, “Hey, why not actually read the book first before I see the movie for a change?” I honestly can’t recall any time I’ve been able to do that, so this seemed like a great opportunity. Thankfully, diving into this one was well worth it.
As the title implies, Conclave depicts a heated election to choose the next pope of the Catholic church, following the previous pope’s death from a heart attack. Almost immediately, metaphorical battle lines are drawn, and sides are chosen, with several key candidates vying for control of the papacy. Jacopo Lomeli, the dean of the College of Cardinals, serves as the overseer of the conclave. He also serves as our lens into all the events of the book, as he struggles to manage the proceedings and his own inner conflict of faith.
Conclave plays out much more like a political drama or thriller than anything else, and while it certainly has its Catholic connections, they’re never overbearing. If anything, the focus on faith works well to enhance the story’s core themes of connectivity and belief—not in any particular god, but in our fellow man. I ended up listening to the audiobook, narrated by Roy McMillan, and the narration perfectly captures the wonderful cadence of Harris’ prose, which expertly links interesting historical and character details with the gripping, well-paced drama and action.
No drama is complete without a compelling cast of characters, and Conclave has those in abundance. The focus character, Lomeli, is an interesting protagonist of sorts. Throughout the novel, he’s dealing with his own inner conflict of faith, as he is unsure of his connection with God and whether or not the titular conclave will yield a fruitful result for the church. This then perfectly mirrors the outer conflict of faith within the Vatican, as various figureheads try to coax their way into the papacy. The conflict deepens further as several other conspiracies reveal themselves as the story progresses.
From the characters to the individual story beats, everything here serves a purpose toward enriching the broader narrative, at least for the most part. The competing cardinals are each given their own moments to shine in the story, as they each represent different failures in leadership and character. Not to sound melodramatic, but in some ways, they even represent the deadly sins, with one cardinal’s hopes of becoming pope dashed by his past lust, and another failing to rise to the Catholic throne due to immense pride.
Much of this ties back to Lomeli’s early speech regarding certainty and faith. “If there was only certainty, and if there was no doubt, there would be no mystery, and therefore no need for faith.” This is a great encapsulation of the novel’s ideas, I think. Of course, there’s a literal mystery playing out in the pages, but it’s also wonderful to see how certainty is indeed foiled by faith on several occasions. Most notably, there are several points when the conclave seems decided, but new factors arise to influence decisions and change opinions of the cardinals, and so the cycle continues. Altogether, there’s a very interesting philosophical interplay going on here.
There are a few items that maybe aren’t expounded upon enough, though. For instance, toward the end of the story, the cardinals learn of several coordinated terrorist attacks by Muslim extremists on Catholic institutions, including the Sistine Chapel. I imagine this was meant to play on the concept of fear versus faith, which is a very interesting idea, but in this case, I think that’s all it is—an idea. Sure, the cardinals have a brief debate on the matter as to how they should respond, but it’s not given nearly enough time to breathe. As soon as it happens, it’s essentially dealt with, at least in the capacity that the cardinals can deal with it. They simply rush themselves to conclude the conclave, so as not to have the church appear weak in response to these events. Sadly, there’s not much beyond that. Given the point where this happens in the story, though, it does still help to elevate the already present tension, so it’s not unwelcome.
If there’s any one particular issue I might have with Conclave, it’s the ending. In a surprise victory, Cardinal Benítez of Baghdad—who had been made a cardinal in secret by the previous pope—is elected as the new pope. It’s a cathartic and conclusive moment. Immediately after this, though, Benítez reveals to Lomeli that he was born intersex and raised as a male by his parents. This revelation comes as something of a shock to Lomeli, who had otherwise been investigating Benítez throughout the story, as he arrived under strange and sudden circumstances. As Lomeli then points out, this is sure to turn into a scandal of sorts at some point in Benítez’s time as the pope. Nevertheless, Benítez is happy to leave it in God’s hands, to which Lomeli begrudgingly agrees, and the story ends. So, in conclusion, a nonbinary individual was elected pope.
The point is made several times throughout Conclave that the church should give women, in particular, a greater say in Catholic affairs, which it absolutely should. This is why Sister Agnes plays such an important role in the story, as she’s the most powerful and present representation of this idea. Given that, this final reveal about Cardinal Benítez should work a lot better, especially since the story has already conditioned us to expect the unexpected and believe that faith will positively guide us forward. Also, given the real-world social implications of this, it should feel way more important than it does—it should have more immediate, palpable consequences in the context of the story. Unfortunately, it hardly has any weight, as it mostly feels tacked on at the very end for the sake of adding further shock value when the story didn’t need it.
Even with some vague allusions to this reveal, it doesn’t land quite right. We don’t learn enough about Benítez earlier in the story or see enough of his character, so it doesn’t feel entirely natural. I worry it runs the risk of coming across as a disingenuous attempt at inclusivity. Given what this story is about, this reveal deserved much better care and attention—especially if the point was to draw attention to it—rather than being used just to spice up the ending at the last minute. If anything, I wish this aspect of Benítez’s character had been integrated in a more organic manner and explored in other subtle ways throughout the book. That way, the character could have provided more meaningful representation to those nonbinary and intersex peoples who deserve it.
Now, of course, the last thing I want to do is accuse the author of purposefully writing something offensive or harmful. I promise, that’s not what I’m trying to do, and I don’t think that’s actually what has happened here. Yes, I think Harris closed out the story in an odd manner, and I would have liked to have seen this more carefully woven into the narrative, but it hardly damns the novel as a whole. On the contrary, I believe this book is ultimately a resounding success, despite the somewhat shaky ending.
In the end, Conclave is a consistently gripping novel, featuring a wonderful cast of characters and offering many thoughtful insights into the concepts of faith and belief. Put in simpler terms, it’s a great page turner that offers plenty of tasty food for thought. I also think it’s a fairly accessible book, despite it’s obvious ties to Catholicism, as it’s never biased toward any one particular philosophy or method of thinking. All-in-all, it’s got my recommendation, for sure. And, if nothing else, it’s a wonderful primer before seeing the film later this year.