From The Canterbury Tales, to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, to National Lampoon’s Vacation, the road trip genre has found a wide array of cultural expressions in Western history. Just as the open road is a perfect canvas for hijinks and comedic situations, it is also often a space for sober reflection and revaluation. Road trip novels, such as Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, often draw on the themes and functions of religious pilgrimages, with the characters searching for a holy object or experience. 

Whether stirred by a mid-life crisis, a religious upheaval, or some other existentially destabilizing event, the pilgrimage affords us the opportunity to reinvent and reorient ourselves. The act of traveling, either in solitude or with others toward a common goal, often opens us up to encounter the world in novel ways. The pilgrimage also enables us to interrogate and reevaluate the stories we tell about ourselves, and how we may find new paths forward in life. It should come as no surprise why the literary form has stuck with us for centuries. As the latest addition to the genre, in his debut novel, Via Negativa, Memphis writer Dan Hornsby utilizes the form of the pilgrimage to offer us a theologically meditative and sharply incisive reflection on contemporary Catholicism. 

Overview:

The novel follows Father Dan -- a former priest who was ousted by his conservative diocese -- as he lives out of his Camry while making the journey from Indiana to the Pacific Northwest. The book opens with Father Dan witnessing a wild coyote getting hit by a minivan, and he takes it upon himself to nurse the creature back to health while on the road. Along the way, with the new coyote companion in tow, Father Dan stops at an assortment of eclectic roadside attractions as well as a few random diners and bars, interacting with residents and listening to their stories. As they open up about their pasts and regrets, we also slowly come to know more about Father Dan’s past, as well as a few secrets and regrets that he’s been keeping over the years. 

Whether he’s throwing fireworks down “Martin’s Hole to Hell” with a group of teenagers, connecting with the teenage runaway who stowed away in the trunk of his car at “The World’s Largest Ball of Paint,” or, armed with a bone-handled pistol, stopping by a retirement home in Montana to exact revenge on the retired, senile pedophilic priest Father Bruno, Father Dan cannot help but have a wide array of religious experiences along his pilgrimage to Seattle. Throughout the journey, we are also given flashbacks into Father Dan’s time in seminary, his intimate, if rocky friendship with fellow seminarian Paul, and the events that led him out of the Church. Dan also reflects on the mystic experiences of his past and ruminates on the theological works of mystic thinkers and saints such as Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, Origin, Simone Weil, Julian of Norwich, Ignatius of Loyola, Thomas Merton, and many more. 

Theologically, the concept of via negativa (negative way), is a branch of Christian theology that attempts to approach the Divine through negation, or what cannot be said or articulated about the Divine. Essentially, this apophatic form of mysticism emphasizes God’s transcendence and unknowability; God, as “wholly Other” always eludes being contained by the limitations of our language, and thus can only be described or experienced as what the Divine is not. On Father Dan’s via negativa, we see him grappling with the regrets, doubts, and emptiness he feels about his time as a Catholic priest, a force that threatens to swallow him whole. With a feral, injured coyote -- named Bede -- in his backseat keeping him anchored to the material world, Father Dan ventures forth on his quest. The choices he makes along the way, however, will determine whether his pilgrimage is one of resentment, revenge, or redemption. 

Commendations: 

First of all, Hornsby has produced a beautifully written and deeply reflective book, especially for a debut novel. There are so many little slices of lucid insight and poignant imagery throughout the novel, and Hornsby beautifully captures the loneliness that not only accompanies the open road, but also the religious profession. While balanced with a healthy dose of sardonic humor, there’s a soft melancholy that haunts the book. The narrative passes by like a mystic vision or dream, which beautifully reflects the subject matter contained within Father Dan’s journey. 

Just as Bede the Coyote serves as both a source of comfort and terror throughout the book, there is likewise a deeply ambivalent air of anxiety and resignation emanating from Hornsby’s prose. Just like the elusive God of via negativa, there’s an ominous, looming presence always just out of sight, on the periphery of our vision. It’s a difficult balance to maintain, and yet Hornsby accomplishes holding this tension beautifully. 

The narrative is slow-burning and purposeful, vacillating between various roadside escapades and revealing flashbacks of Dan’s past. There’s certainly a distinctly Midwestern feel to the prose as it balances gentle reflection and a quirky, offbeat sense of humor. Hornsby’s vivid descriptions of the Midwestern landscape and local bars are strikingly on-point and apt, revealing his roots of growing up in Indiana. The narrative never gets too bogged down in overly descriptive detail, and Hornsby keeps the story flowing at a steady and immensely readable pace. 

Hornsby also touches on issues within the Catholic Church such as discontent, ambivalence, mourning, and sexual abuse in an unabashedly direct, yet thoughtful way. There is a litany of religious references throughout the book that nearly any lapsed Catholic would recognize, and it serves as a sober meditation on theological disenchantment, as well as the history and role of the Catholic Church in contemporary society (both its merits and glaring faults). As a scholar of religion -- and one especially fascinated by mystic and negative theology-- I found the references and reflections on theological issues to be quite delightful and handled tactfully. 

I also deeply identified with Father Dan’s penchant for somehow getting into deep conversations with no way of getting out. Throughout the book, various characters, upon learning of Dan’s former profession, open up to him, revealing the gritty details of their personal lives, whether Dan wants to hear it or not. Yet, he always patiently listens and engages with them with gentleness and compassion. This is a common experience that many of us who study religion or who are religious ministers share, and it made Father Dan relatable in some ways. 

Critiques: 

On the other hand, I otherwise found it very difficult to connect with the central protagonist of the novel, Father Dan. While the narrative is slow-burning, it also can seem detached at times, like the characters are always at an arm’s length away. Dan is rather introverted, flaky, and is a confessed coward; he often frustrates those closest to him, and he doesn’t make much effort to ever change or grow in any meaningful or significant way. While these negative characteristics are often played off with an offbeat, eclectic sense of humor, it doesn’t always land, and it sometimes makes it difficult to root for Father Dan. To be fair, this is also a matter of personal taste, so I fully recognize that this may be more of my relation to the character than Hornsby’s intentions. 

Although not nearly as apparent as in most debut novels, the conversations between characters can feel a bit stilted and unnatural at times, especially when compared to the complex inner monologues and struggles that Father Dan mulls over throughout the novel. This characterization is most likely purposeful, but the lack of depth or development of many of the characters made many deeply emotional moments lose a bit of their potential steam. That being said, Hornsby does a phenomenal job in drawing you into the narrative and making you wonder what’s going to happen next, so it is easy to let go and just go along with the ride. 

The narrative also bounces around in time, vacillating between roadside curiosities, strange encounters with locals, and flashbacks that flesh out Father Dan’s backstory. The book seems like a series of vignettes that pass by, like the various billboards and roadside attractions that Father Dan passes on the highway. While this never really gets too in the way of the narrative flow, its sporadic and meandering nature can disorient readers at times. Furthermore, the frequent references to Catholic history, obscure figures, and iconography, while delighting my religious-studies academic heart, can also be foreign to many readers. 

Finally, some might find the final chapters to be a bit too anticlimactic and vague. While I appreciate the open-ended nature of the ending (and all the possibilities therein), it is also rather abrupt. Perhaps I was looking for more closure or a larger payoff, but I must also admit that the ambiguous ending still kept me thinking about it days after I closed the book. 

Conclusion: 

Overall, Via Negativa is a quirky, offbeat, and deeply meditative novel that wrestles with the quintessential questions of life with both riveting vivacity and melancholic gentleness. It is an immensely self-reflective book and one that balances theological insight with a compelling revenge story that will keep you hooked to the end. It is a book that will resonate deeply with those who have struggled with their religious faith and will appeal to the faithful and irreligious alike. While it’s not a novel for everyone, it is still a gem of a book that is full of insight and intrigue. Hornsby has given us a phenomenal debut novel with Via Negativa, and I cannot wait to see what he will write for us in the future.