Review of “Sketches from a Sunlit Heaven” by Sarah Law

Score: 91+/100 (9.1+ out of 10)

Never judge a book by its first 100 pages. Ok, maybe never judge a book by its first 200 pages either.

Sketches from a Sunlit Heaven by Sarah Law is a historical-fiction novel that really grew on us over time and after a few readings. As we'll elaborate on later, it is well-researched and very eloquently written with some of the best quotes and passages this season. We have to get that out of the way because it needs to be said—credit where credit is due.

Now, it also has to be said that there were times when we just weren't feeling this book. Maybe it was the pacing. Maybe it was that it felt like we were being artificially teleported to different times or to different places as if we were traveling via map (or, perhaps, via TARDIS), but something just wasn't jiving with us for the first 100-200 pages.

Another consideration to explain all of that is just how oppressive this book feels. It feels like you're trapped along with the characters. On one hand, it's intimate in that sense. On the other hand, it kinda feels like you're caged in with nowhere to go. It's a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling that we usually only feel with things like dystopia and paranormal horror books. To experience that in a historical-fiction novel is unique to say the least. It definitely has an aura about it, for better or for worse.

The words “cloister” and “cloistered” occur probably dozens of times in this book, both in the literal sense (as in a convent or monastery) and as an adjective. It's exactly what it sounds like: the feeling of being stuck and trapped in an oyster or clam shell, stuck in the ocean and at the mercy of the currents and the waves. Perhaps that's intentional, and, if so, we commend the author for achieving that.

This is a book, after all, that emphasizes how small and “little” characters like Therese and Leonie are in the grand scheme of God's big, huge, marvelous universe. And yet, despite all of that, we still see the powerful impact that they have on the world, the key example of that being Therese being canonized as a saint and doctor of the church despite her small stature and short life.

And there's part of the beauty of this book. There are a lot of big, grand things and themes playing out in the background of this book—the lingering aftermath of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, the Roman Catholic Church continuing to cling to religious authority over Europe despite these shakeups, the Age of Enlightenment, the spread of deadly and incurable diseases like tuberculosis ravishing villages, the development of photography, the Civil War in America, industrialization, and more. Yet, despite all of those big, grand things, we find little Therese, her sisters, her cousin, and their cloister, seemingly insignificant, seemingly trapped, seemingly secluded from the rest of the world.
However, somehow, someway, something powerful and beautiful emerged from that cloister. It was incubating like a little caterpillar only to someday take flight: a saint and a doctor of the church emerged.

And it's with all of that in context that we really came to appreciate this book for what it was. It's not an epic. It's not an action-adventure novel. It's not a fantasy or sci-fi novel. It's not a mystery novel. It's just the story of young God-fearing women caught in the middle of extraordinary events in human history, somehow making a dent in that history.

And, with some poetic irony, just as we are looking at them wondering how the shined so bright in such darkness and in such a rigid, arguably-oppressive environment, these young women are looking right back at us almost as if to say: “You can be God's shining light too, shining in the midst of whatever situation you might be in.”

Gosh, when you step back and let that message sink in, it's really powerful! It's something we really grew to appreciate once we recognized it.

At the time when Therese was 4-years-old, her mother died. She and her five siblings, who also provide perspectives in this book, eventually found their way into a convent. Well, Therese's journey to the convent was a bit more rocky. In fact, upon being told she was too young to join, Therese joined a pilgrimage to the Vatican to directly ask the Pope, Leo XIII, to be allowed to join at her age. The Pope essentially told her to follow the instructions of her elders and that her time would come. However, she was so adamant and impatient about this that the guards had to carry her away. Little did anyone realize that she would be such an important figure in the church one day!

How cool is that? That's sorta like if a young Napoleon got to meet King Louis XVI and got told to wait his turn. That's like if a baby Tom Brady met Joe Montana. It's along those lines.

Anyway, a lot of this book is surprisingly... calm and mellow, which is strange considering what we said about the oppressive atmosphere, but hear us out... The middle of this book almost reads like a slice-of-life drama. There are also times when it just seems monotonous and like nothing big or exciting is happening. Then you have moments like when characters (i.e. Therese and Mother Xavier) get suddenly ill, and the tension rises to figurative and literal fever pitch. There's one moment in which there's believed to be an intruder lurking or hiding out in the monastery, finally giving us a high-tension moment and even some mystery.

You also get really tender, delicate, and touching moments. For example, in the segments following Celine, the painter and photographer among the sisters, you really get the sense of her passion for art and how she gains the inspiration to make her own.

This is likely where the title of the book comes from, by the way. And it's partly through this art and photography (along with Therese's writing) that Therese's legacy lives on.

Speaking of photography, it's awe-inspiring to read about how Celine was able to incorporate this both into monastery life and into her artwork. In fact, it's when we got to the parts about the photography that we finally started to appreciate and enjoy this book. But why? Well, remember when we said that this book made us feel trapped and oppressed? Well, Celine's camera liberated both us and the characters. There are subtle lines like how the women feel starved of sexuality or how they don't feel beautiful anymore. Well, the camera gives them an avenue or an outlet to show off their beauty and—dare we say—a bit of that womanhood. There's also a sense that the women feel a bit... insignificant. It's almost like they feel they're sacrificing everything for nothing, never to be remembered—forgotten on Earth and possibly footnotes in heaven. Well, the camera changes that. It gives them a way to outlast their natural lives—to be eternal, immortal, in a sense.

Imagine that.

For centuries, we couldn't capture a moment in time. Events would happen—weddings, battles, funerals—and all we could do was describe it in words or attempt to draw or paint it. The camera changed all of that. It captured a moment of time forever (or at least as long as humanity exists to preserve and circulate the picture).

This book is also good at showing that even thought Therese is now a saint and doctor of the church, she was also a girl, a woman, and ultimately human, same as her sisters. The women in this book develop crushes and even talk about how much they miss the men in their lives (i.e. Harold, Alfred, Henry, etc.).

Pauline the practical, Celine the painter, and Leonie “the least, the last, the littlest” are all candidates for “Best Character” along with Therese.

You may have noticed that “Pauline the practical” and “Leonie the least, the last, the littlest” are alliterative. This highlights one of the author's best tactics and how she so eloquently weaves together prose.

It needs to be emphasized that the writing is really eloquent and beautiful at times. For example:

“Death is still an abstract thing to me; something undrawable, therefore unknown.”

“The Louvre. This great hall of art houses images of horror. Nudity! Flesh: the sins of the flesh. My own skin flushes and shivers at the exposure. Here are women without shame: arms languorously extended above heads, beyond chaises longue. Legs exposed. Thighs spread. The artist’s studio is where these perversities flourish. The man paints, and the woman lies on the altar of his gaze, without the sacrament of marriage or confession, oh! My head spins with the thought. And Céline is schooled by these people?”

(If you've ever visited the Louvre in Paris, France, you can definitely empathize with what the character is witnessing and perhaps even feeling)

“We bleed together and we grieve together”

(The “E” sound is emphasized in the passage above)

“The past remains, like a photographic plate—or perhaps you would say a letter in its envelope.”

“It is too easy to exchange pious platitudes”

(Alliteration is used again with the “P” sound)

“I hold up to the night sky, hailing it, shielding my own soul from heaven’s dazzling darkness.”

St. Therese left a surprising yet undeniable impact on the Catholic Church and the world despite only living into her mid-20s. This is largely due to her three published writings, particularly her autobiography titled The Story of a Soul. One of the key things in The Story of a Soul and Therese's view on the faith is the idea of the “little way” or making “little sacrifices” every day. What does this mean? Well, it means that you don't have hinge your life and faith on big, huge heroic acts like trying to convert an entire kingdom or be martyred. Therese believed that you needed to place your faith and trust in God alone, not in huge heroic acts, and that you represent his love in the little ways you treat people and do good wherever you are and in whatever situation you're in. The key example of this is when Therese cared for and showed grace to the grumpy, angry nun who despised her. Therese believed that God, like the sun, is so big that he can touch the big trees and the little flowers all the same.

Anyway, we have to talk about our favorite part of the book (ok, other than the photography part)... The exhuming of Therese's remains. At first, we were like, “Ewwww, gross! Really?!” But then we realized it was the most exciting part of the book since the intruder and were morbidly fascinated by things like the character Caen keeping Therese's tooth like a pearl to remember her by. That's both cool and a bit creepy, but ok...

If you're a member of the Catholic Church and/or are interested in its history and its saints, this may be the book for you. Check it out on Amazon!