The Fifth Gospel: A Novel, by Ian Caldwell
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The Fifth Gospel: A Novel, by Ian Caldwell
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The instant New York Times bestseller from the author of the international sensation The Rule of Four combines a lost gospel, a contentious relic, and a dying pope’s final wish into a “deliciously labyrinthine” (Providence Journal) intellectual thriller that “kicks off at ninety mph and doesn’t slow down” (Associated Press).A mysterious exhibit is under construction at the Vatican Museums. The curator is murdered at a clandestine meeting on the outskirts of Rome a week before it opens. That same night, a violent break-in rocks the home of Greek Catholic priest Father Alex Andreou. When the papal police fail to identify a suspect in either crime, Father Alex decides that to find the killer he must reconstruct the secret of what a little-known, true-to-life fifth gospel known as the Diatessaron reveals about the church’s most controversial holy relic. But just as he begins to understand the truth about his friend’s death and its consequences for the future of the Christian church, Father Alex discovers a ruthless stalker is hunting him—an enemy with a vested stake in the exhibit that he must outwit to survive. Rich, authentic, erudite, and emotionally searing, The Fifth Gospel is a riveting novel of suspense and a feast of biblical history that satisfies on every level.
The Fifth Gospel: A Novel, by Ian Caldwell - Amazon Sales Rank: #19148 in eBooks
- Published on: 2015-03-03
- Released on: 2015-03-03
- Format: Kindle eBook
The Fifth Gospel: A Novel, by Ian Caldwell Review “Spectacular . . . Caldwell knows his Vatican, and in his detailed descriptions of hidden gardens, underground car parks, piazzas, dark lanes, tunnels and corridors, conjures up a strange and alien realm where hierarchy is all, secrets fester and multiply, deals are spun behind closed doors, and a murderer may be on the loose. . . . This superb Rubik’s Cube of a novel is the best of its kind, right up until the final shock and the pope’s dying wish. . . . Deliciously labyrinthine.” —Providence Journal“A stunning and addictive read . . . Part murder mystery, part family drama, part religious history, this keep-you-on-edge literary thriller doesn’t miss a beat. Caldwell’s elegant language combines with a truly provocative plot . . . Obsessively readable.” —Library Journal, Editors’ Spring Picks“A novel of betrayals and cover-ups, but mostly of sacrifice, of commitment and of love, with credible characters, twists and turns of plot, and a fascinating theological rationale . . . Although the mystery and the tension mount inexorably throughout the novel, there’s none of the cheap end-of-chapter cliffhangers beloved of hack thriller writers. Everything in The Fifth Gospel rings true because Ian Caldwell spent ten years researching and writing the novel.” —The Catholic Herald“The second novel from Ian Caldwell, coauthor of the bestselling The Rule of Four, kicks off at 90 mph and doesn’t slow down. Caldwell’s skill as a writer is evident in his ability to weave detailed descriptions of Biblical scripture, Catholic history, and Vatican geography into the story while keeping the action going. . . . He has created memorable characters with complex relationships, deep love, and longstanding hurts. . . . Ultimately, Caldwell’s novel is about faith—in God and in family.” —Associated Press“This beguiling, brainy thriller . . . integrates pulp plotting and scholarly speculation . . . A mixture of courtroom drama, whodunit, and alternative history.” —Sunday Times (London)“It’s been ten years since Ian Caldwell co-wrote The Rule of Four. The Fifth Gospel was more than worth the wait. For those who might compare it to The Da Vinci Code, don’t. This marvelous book stands alone and will become the very high standard for any novel in this genre. Masterfully plotted and extraordinarily researched, and written in a voice that never rings false, The Fifth Gospel is that rare story: erudite and a page-turner, literary but compulsively readable. It will change the way you look at organized religion, humanity, and perhaps yourself.” —David Baldacci“You are going to hear a lot about how this book took ten years to write and how it’s minutely researched and erudite. Forget all that. This thing reads like a rocket. Jump on and hold tight.” —Mary Doria Russell, author of The Sparrow“An amazing achievement: The Fifth Gospel is a gripping thriller rich with human drama and forbidden knowledge.” —Lev Grossman, author of the Magicians trilogy“The Fifth Gospel is nothing short of groundbreaking—a literary feast wrapped around an intriguing murder mystery. Caldwell writes with precision and passion as he takes us on an emotional journey deep into the workings of the Vatican and deeper into the hearts and souls of the men and women who have devoted their lives to the Church. The Fifth Gospel is a cathedral where skeptics and believers alike may enter and all will leave transformed.” —Nelson DeMille“Under Caldwell’s deft hand, the Vatican becomes a setting both real and surreal, utopian and dystopian by turns, a tiny, walled country where the switchboard operators and nannies are nuns, the cops are Swiss Guards, and a priest suspected of murder is tried not for his life but for the meaning he has given it. In such a setting, small and seemingly arcane details of scriptural interpretation are clues to the mystery, driving the interlocking dramas of family and history in ways that aren’t just plausible but compelling. There is passion in The Fifth Gospel, and a tremendous depth of knowledge; the fruits of Caldwell’s obviously extensive research are served up in perfectly timed portions that propel the action in surprising ways.” —Kate Braestrup, ordained minister and author of Here If You Need Me“Captivating . . . This thriller is, at its heart, a story of sacrifice, forgiveness, and redemption. Peppered with references to real-life people, places, and events, the narrative rings true, taking the reader on an emotional journey nearly two thousand years in the making.” —Library Journal (starred review)“A brilliant work . . . Extraordinarily erudite . . . Caldwell makes intriguing literature from complex theology.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)“Here motives are nuanced shadows that are as hard to grasp for Alex as they are for readers. It is this very elusiveness, juxtaposed against a strong sense of place, that intrigues, making this the best kind of page-turner, one about which you also have to think.” —Booklist (starred review)“A superior religious thriller, notable for its existential and spiritual profundity . . . An intelligent and deeply contemplative writing style, along with more than a few bombshell plot twists, set this one above the pack, but it’s the insightful character development that makes this redemptive story so moving.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)“Captivating . . . Punches all the right twisty buttons to lead readers on a fascinating and compelling religious adventure . . . A sparkling thriller.” —Shelf Awareness“This smart, suspenseful thriller by the coauthor of The Rule of Four is a must for Dan Brown fans.” —PeoplePraise for The Rule of Four: “Profoundly erudite . . . The ultimate puzzle-book.” —The New York Times Book Review“One part The Da Vinci Code, one part The Name of the Rose and one part A Separate Peace . . . A smart, swift, multitextured tale that both entertains and informs . . . As much a blazingly good yarn as it is an exceptional piece of scholarship.” —San Francisco Chronicle“Ingenious . . . The real treat here is the process of discovery.” —The New York Times“This debut packs all the esoteric information of The Da Vinci Code . . . with lovely writing reminiscent of Donna Tartt's The Secret History. . . . A compulsively readable novel.” —People (Critic's Choice, 4 stars)“A stunning first novel; a perfect blend of suspense and a sensitive coming of age story. If F. Scott Fitzgerald, Umberto Eco, and Dan Brown teamed up to write a novel, the result would be The Rule of Four. An extraordinary and brilliant accomplishment—a must read.” —Nelson DeMille
About the Author Ian Caldwell is the author of the New York Times bestsellers The Fifth Gospel and (with Dustin Thomason) The Rule of Four, which sold nearly two million copies in North America and was translated into thirty-five languages. He lives in Virginia with his wife and children.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. HISTORICAL NOTE TWO THOUSAND YEARS ago, a pair of brothers set out from the Holy Land to spread the Christian gospel. Saint Peter traveled to Rome, becoming the symbolic founder of Western Christianity. His brother, Saint Andrew, traveled to Greece, becoming a symbolic founder of Eastern Christianity. For centuries, the church they helped create remained a single institution. But one thousand years ago, west and east divided. Western Christians became Catholics, led by the successor of Saint Peter, the pope. Eastern Christians became Orthodox, led by the successors of Saint Andrew and other apostles, known as patriarchs. Today these are the largest Christian denominations on earth. Between them exists a small group known as Eastern Catholics, who confound all distinctions by following Eastern traditions while obeying the pope. This novel is set in 2004, when the dying wish of Pope John Paul II was to reunite Catholicism and Orthodoxy. It is the story of two brothers, both Catholic priests, one Western and one Eastern. PROLOGUE MY SON IS too young to understand forgiveness. Growing up in Rome has given him the impression that it comes easy: strangers line up at the booths in Saint Peter’s, waiting for a turn to confess, and the red lights on top of the confessionals blink on and off, meaning the priests inside have finished with one sinner and are ready for the next. Consciences must not get as dirty as bedrooms or dishes, my son thinks, since they take much less time to clean. So whenever he lets the bath run too long, or leaves toys underfoot, or comes home from school with mud on his pants, Peter asks forgiveness. He offers apologies like a pope offers blessings. My son is two years shy of his own first confession. And for good reason. No little child can understand sin. Guilt. Absolution. A priest can forgive a stranger so quickly that a boy can’t imagine how hard he will find it, someday, to forgive his own enemies. Or his own loved ones. He has no inkling that good men can sometimes find it impossible to forgive themselves. The darkest mistakes can be forgiven, but they can never be undone. I hope my son will always remain a stranger to those sins much more than my brother and I have. I was born to be a priest. My uncle is a priest; my older brother, Simon, is a priest; and someday I hope Peter will be a priest, too. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t live inside the Vatican. There has never been a time when Peter didn’t.There are two Vaticans in the eyes of the world. One is the earth’s most beautiful place: the temple of art and museum of faith. The other is the sausage factory of Catholicism, a country of old priests who wag the eternal finger. It seems impossible for a boy to have grown up in either of those places. Yet our country has always been full of children. Everyone has them: the pope’s gardeners, the pope’s workmen, the pope’s Swiss Guards. When I was a kid, John Paul believed in a living wage, so he paid a raise for every new mouth a family fed. We played hide-and-seek in his gardens, soccer with his altar boys, pinball upstairs from the sacristy of his basilica. Against our will we went with our mothers to the Vatican supermarket and department store, then with our fathers to the Vatican gas station and bank. Our country was barely bigger than a golf course, but we did everything most children did. Simon and I were happy. Normal. No different from the other Vatican boys in any way but one. Our father was a priest. Father was Greek Catholic rather than Roman Catholic, which meant that he had a long beard and a different cassock, that he celebrated something called Divine Liturgy instead of Mass, and that he had been allowed to marry before being ordained. He liked to say that we Eastern Catholics were God’s ambassadors, middlemen who could help reunite Catholics and Orthodox. In reality, being an Eastern Catholic can feel like being a refugee at a border crossing between hostile superpowers. Father tried to hide the burden this put on him. There are a billion Roman Catholics in the world and just a few thousand of our type of Greek, so he was the sole married priest in a country run by celibate men. For thirty years, other Vatican priests looked down their noses at him as he pushed paper back uphill to them. Only at the very end of his career did he get a promotion, and it was the kind that came with wings and a harp. My mother died not long after that. Cancer, the doctors said. But they didn’t understand. My parents had met in the sixties, in that blink of an eye when it seemed anything was possible. They used to dance together in our apartment. Having survived an irreverent time, they still prayed together with feeling. Mother’s family was Roman Catholic, and had sent priests up the Vatican ladder for more than a century, so when she married a hairy Greek, they disowned her. After Father died, she told me that it felt strange to have hands anymore, what with no one to hold them. Simon and I buried her in a plot beside my father, behind the Vatican parish church. I remember almost nothing from that time. Only that I skipped school, day after day, to sit in the graveyard with my arms around my knees, crying. Then Simon would be there, somehow, and he would bring me home.We were only teenagers, so we were left in the care of our uncle, a Vatican cardinal. The best way to describe Uncle Lucio is that he had the heart of a little boy, which he kept in a jar by his dentures. As cardinal president of the Vatican, Lucio had devoted the best years of his life to balancing our national budget and preventing Vatican employees from forming a union. On economic grounds he opposed the idea of rewarding families for having more children, so even if he’d had time to raise his sister’s orphaned boys, he probably would’ve objected on principle. He put up no fight when Simon and I moved back into our parents’ apartment and decided to rear ourselves. I was too young to work, so Simon left college for a year and found a job. Neither of us knew how to cook, or sew, or fix a toilet, so Simon taught himself. He was the one who woke me for school and handed me money for lunch. He kept me in clothes and warm meals. The art of being an altar boy I learned entirely from him. Every Catholic boy, on the worst nights of his life, goes to bed wondering if animals like us are really worth the dirt God shaped us from. But into my life, into my darkness, God sent Simon. We didn’t survive childhood together. He survived it, and carried me through it on his back. I have never escaped feeling that my debt to him was so great it could never be repaid. It could only be forgiven. Anything I could’ve done for him, I would’ve done. Anything. CHAPTER 1 “Is Uncle Simon late?” Peter asks. Our housekeeper, Sister Helena, must be wondering the same thing as she watches our dinner of hake overcook in the pan. It’s ten minutes past when my brother said he would arrive. “Never mind that,” I say. “Just help me set the table.” Peter ignores me. He climbs higher in his chair, standing on his knees, and announces, “Simon and I are going to see a movie, and then I’m going to show him the elephant at the Bioparco, and then he’s going to teach me how to do the Marseille turn.” Sister Helena does a little shuffle in front of the frying pan. She thinks the Marseille turn is a kind of dance step. Peter is horrified. Lifting one hand in the air, the posture of a wizard performing a spell, he says, “No! It’s a dribbling move! Like Ronaldo.” Simon is flying from Turkey to Rome for an art exhibit curated by one of our mutual friends, Ugo Nogara. Opening night, still almost a week off, will be a formal affair to which I wouldn’t have a ticket myself except for the work I did with Ugo. But under this roof, we live in a five- year-old’s world. Uncle Simon has come home to give soccer lessons. “There’s more to life,” Sister Helena says, “than kicking a ball.” She takes it upon herself to be the feminine voice of reason. When Peter was eleven months old, my wife, Mona, left us. Ever since, this wonderful old nun has become my life-support system as a father. She’s loan from Uncle Lucio, who has battalions of them at his disposal, and I have trouble imagining what I would do without her, since I can’t pay what even a reasonable teenage girl would expect to earn. Fortunately, Sister Helena wouldn’t leave Peter for the world.My son disappears into his bedroom and returns holding his digital alarm clock. With his mother’s gift for directness, he sets it on the table in front of me and points. “Sweetheart,” Helena assures him, “Father Simon’s train is probably just running behind.” The train. Not the uncle. Because it would be hard for Peter to under- stand that Simon sometimes forgets fare money or becomes absorbed in conversations with strangers. Mona wouldn’t even agree to name our child after him because she found him unpredictable. And though my brother has the most prestigious job a young priest can hope for—he’s a diplomat in the Holy See Secretariat of State, the elite of our Catholic bureaucracy—the truth is that he needs all the grueling work he can get. Like the men on our mother’s side of the family, Simon is a Roman Catholic priest, which means he’ll never marry or have kids. And unlike other Vatican priests, who were born for the desk and the ample waist, he has a restless soul. God bless Mona, she wanted our son to take after his dependable, unhurried, satisfied father. So she and I made a compromise when we named him: in the gospels, Jesus comes upon a fisherman named Simon, and renames him Peter. I take out my mobile phone and text Simon—Are you close?—while Peter inspects the contents of Sister Helena’s pan. “Hake is fish,” he announces, apropos of nothing. He’s in a classifying stage. He also hates fish. “Simon loves this dish,” I tell him. “We used to eat it as kids.” Actually, when Simon and I used to eat this dish, it was cod, not hake. But a single priest’s salary stretches only so far at the fish market. And as Mona often reminded me when planning meals like these, my brother—who is a head taller than any other priest inside these walls— eats as much as two ordinary men. Mona is on my mind now, more than usual. My brother’s arrival always seems to bring with it the shadow of my wife’s departure. They are the magnetic poles of my life; one of them always lurks in the other’s shade. Mona and I knew each other as children inside the Vatican walls, and when we met again in Rome, it felt like God’s will. But we had a cart-and-horse problem—Eastern priests have to marry before they’re ordained, or not marry at all—and in retrospect Mona probably needed more time to prepare herself. The life of a Vatican wife isn’t easy. The life of a priest’s wife is even harder. Mona kept working full-time until almost the day she gave birth to our blue-eyed baby who ate like a shark and slept even less. Mona nursed him so often that I would find the refrigerator empty from her attempts to replenish herself.Only later would everything come into focus. The refrigerator was empty because she had stopped going to the grocery store. I hadn’t noticed this because she’d also given up eating regular meals. She prayed less. Sang to Peter less. Then, three weeks before our son’s first birthday, she disappeared. I discovered a bottle of pills hidden under a mug at the back of a cabinet. A doctor at Vatican Health Services explained that she had been trying to bootstrap herself out of depression. We must not give up hope, he said. So Peter and I waited for Mona to come back. Waited, and waited. Today, he vows that he remembers her. These memories, though, are really details from photographs he’s seen around the apartment. He colors them with knowledge gleaned from television shows and magazine advertisements. He hasn’t yet noticed that women at our Greek church don’t wear lipstick or perfume. Sadly, his experience of church seems almost Roman Catholic: when he looks at me, what he sees is a lone priest, solitary, celibate. The contradictions of his own identity are still in his future. But he names his mother constantly in his prayers, and people tell me John Paul behaved in a similar way after he lost his mother at a young age. I find comfort in that thought. At last the phone rings. Sister Helena smiles as I hurry to answer it. “Hello?” Peter watches anxiously. I’m expecting the sounds of a metro station or, worse, an airport. But that’s not what I hear. The voice on the other end is faint. Far away. “Sy?” I say. “Is that you?” He doesn’t seem to hear me. The reception is poor. I take this as a sign that he’s closer to home than I expected. It’s hard to keep a signal on Vatican soil. “Alex,” I hear him say. “Yes?” He speaks again, but the line is swimming in static. It occurs to me that he might’ve made a detour to the Vatican Museums to see Ugo Nogara, who’s been struggling with the pressure of finishing his big exhibit. Though I would never say so to Peter, it would be just like my brother to find an extra soul to tend on his way in. “Sy,” I say. “Are you at the museums?” Down at the dinner table, suspense is killing Peter. “He’s with Mister Nogara?” he whispers to Helena. But on the other end of the line, something changes. There’s a burst of hissing I recognize as wind blowing. He’s outdoors. And here in Rome, at least, it’s storming. For a moment, the line clears up. “Alex, I need you to come get me.” His voice sends an uncomfortable tingle up my back. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “I’m at Castel Gandolfo. In the gardens.” “I don’t understand,” I tell him. “Why are you there?” The wind sets in again, and a strange noise slips through the ear- piece. It sounds like my brother moaning. “Please, Alex,” he says. “Come now. I’m—I’m near the east gate, below the villa. You need to get here before the police do.” My son is frozen, staring at me. I watch the paper napkin slip off his lap and drift through the air like the pope’s white skullcap caught in the wind. Sister Helena, too, is watching. “Stay right there,” I tell Simon. And I turn away, so Peter can’t see the look I know is in my eyes. Because the sound in my brother’s voice is something I don’t remember ever hearing there before. Fear.
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153 of 163 people found the following review helpful. The best novel of the year - a novel of faith, discovery, truth, and forgiveness By Scott Schiefelbein Ian Caldwell has written my favorite novel of the year - "The Fifth Gospel" sets a high water mark for intellectual thrillers not through its ingenious mystery/solution, but also through its thorough exploration of the complex interplay between faith and truth."The Fifth Gospel" will surely be compared to Dan Brown's juggernaut, "The Da Vinci Code." Both novels delve into the deepest mysteries of the Catholic Church and Christian belief - Brown takes on the Holy Grail, while Caldwell focuses on the Shroud of Turin. But while Brown writes a perfect airplane book, focusing on short chapters revolving around taut action scenes seasoned with some enjoyable tidbits and arcana about the Grail, Caldwell has written a less thrilling but infinitely more emotionally powerful novel . . . which somewhat paradoxically makes it more thrilling.Caldwell surpasses Brown in one key area - while Brown's hero, Professor Langdon, is an emotional cipher who's really there to solve clues and get into scrapes, Caldwell's protagonist is a simple man of the cloth who gets under your skin and stays there. Father Alex Andreou is an unusual man in many respects - he is a Greek Catholic priest working in the Vatican. Greek Catholic priests are allowed to marry, and Father Andreou has a young son, Peter. Yet he is working in the Vatican, where the Roman Catholic priests have slightly different obligations in the area of celibacy. So he's an outlier, but he's nevertheless a popular instructor of the Gospels. Father Andreou and Peter are struggling, as Alex's wife Mona abandoned them a few years ago in a fit of depression. Raising a son as a single parent in the Vatican is a unique experience, to say the least.Despite these domestic struggles, in the opening chapters, he is called on a dark and stormy night by his brother, Simon, whom he finds standing over the dead body of Ugo Nogara. This is troubling, not only because Simon and Ugo were extremely close, but also because Ugo had been working like mad to open an exhibit on the Shroud of Turin that threatens to blow the socks off all those who see it.For those who don't recall, the Shroud of Turin is the legendary funeral cloth of Jesus - it bears a likeness of a crucified man who has an uncanny resemblance to the popular understanding of what Jesus looked like. However, a few years ago, carbon dating appeared to dash any hopes that it was actually Jesus's burial shroud - the cloth was reported to be several hundred years too young. But Ugo claimed to be able to explain that problem, which was explosive enough, but he also claimed that the Shroud had other more powerful lessons to teach.And so Father Andreou gets caught up in both a murder investigation and an exploration of what Ugo had discovered about the Shroud. What follows is a deep exploration of the meaning of the Gospels, where to look for legend and where to look for fact, and a deeper understanding of the schism between the Catholic and Orthodox churches. Caldwell has done his research, but this book is never boring.What is refreshing about "The Fifth Gospel" is the depth of the faith of all the parties involved. In our modern, cynical age, we all too often dismiss the Church and its officials as obsolete at best, power-seeking conservative hypocrites at worst. Caldwell's characters are men and women of deep faith, conviction, and intellect, and without the undying support of their faith in God and the Church none of them would make it through the novel's crisis unscathed. All the action builds to a fantastic climax of discovery, confession, and forgiveness at the very center of modern Catholicism.I can't recommend this novel highly enough - and a perfect holiday read.
76 of 79 people found the following review helpful. Intriguing Mystery Involving the Church and Family ... By delicateflower152 "The Fifth Gospel" is unusual in the genre of mysteries involving Christianity and the Church. Rather than attempting to alter fundamental beliefs about Christ's gender, marital status or divinity, Ian Caldwell has written a thoughtful and erudite novel that proposes a plausible alternative to the status quo.Two brothers, Simon and Alex Andreou, represent the two different branches of the Catholic Church. Father Simon Andreou is a Roman Catholic priest; Father Alex Andreou is a Greek Catholic priest. The sons of a Greek Catholic priest, the brothers become deeply involved in the mystery of the murder of Ugo Nogaro, curator of an exhibit that may reveal the truth about the Shroud of Turin. Nogaro has been investigating the four gospels and the Diatessaron a fifth, little-known gospel that synthesizes the four.Because Father Alex Andreou narrates "The Fifth Gospel", the story becomes personal and more compelling than it would have been as a third person narrative. His emotional connection to Father Simon Andreou and his frustration at the development of events is palpable. The political games of various members of the Roman Catholic hierarchy and their impact on others' lives affect the progress of the murder investigation and the ensuing trial. Each twist and turn in the investigation serves to heighten the reader's interest.In "The Fifth Gospel", Ian Caldwell explores the history of the Church and of the split between the Roman Catholic and Greek Catholic beliefs. Using scriptural references and citations, Caldwell provides the reader with their own individual opportunity to research and evaluate the information. Church politics and interpersonal relationships, canon law, and insights into life at Vatican City serve to make the story being told in the novel real and engaging. The book is educational as well as entertaining. I particularly that Caldwell did not attempt to propose some outrageous and controversial alteration of Christian beliefs, but showed restraint and respect to those beliefs throughout this novel.
92 of 101 people found the following review helpful. Five stars plus Five Stars!!! By Quixote010 The universal success of the author Dan Brown's "De Vinci Code" introduced readers to not just a mystery, but one that wrapped the history of the church (specifically the Catholic Church) in a modern conundrum. Since Brown's success with Robert Langston and his search for symbolism in the "De Vinci Code" (and earlier in "Angels and Demons"), others have brought forth tales with connections to the history and the Church. None, in my opinion, as well structured as Ian Caldwell's "The Fifth Gospel".The story is told through the eyes of Father Alex Andreou, a Greek Catholic who is a Biblical scholar. When his priestly brother introduces him to a friend who is trying to determine the authenticity of the Shroud of Turin, it sets forth a series of actions that goes beyond another murder at the Vatican.The Fifth Gospel is filled with information regarding Christianity. You don't have to immersed in theology to appreciate the historical inter-weavings of the formation of the Bible and the evolution of the Catholic Church. Caldwell expertly uses the modern structure of the papacy and the connections between the Catholics and the Orthodox to present an interesting tale that transcends the crime. There is yet another element that lifts this book, however. It is the presentation of the strength and commitment of complete and unwavering devotion... father to son, brother to brother. It is an uplifting story on many levels.Read it for the history, read it for the mystery, read it for a better understanding of the conflicts and associations between Eastern and Western religion. By all means, read it.
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The Fifth Gospel: A Novel, by Ian Caldwell
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