Inspired by the true story of a priest murdered in the slums of Rio de Janeiro, Andy Fowler’s “The Condemned” tells the tale of an American priest in a small, northern Mexican town beset by cartel violence. But running throughout all of it is the peace of God that may seem hidden and passes understanding, saving those who dare to turn away from the dark to the Light that came into the world and never left it.
The Condemned by Andy Fowler (198 pages, independently published, 2024)
If you’re looking for a short, punchy thriller with a spiritual component as well as physical action, Andy Fowler’s 2024 novella, The Condemned is probably for you. Inspired by the story of a nameless priest murdered while ministering in the slums of Rio de Janeiro, this tale of an American priest in a small, northern Mexican town starts with cartel violence and ends with cartel violence. But running throughout all of it is the peace of God that may seem hidden and passes understanding, saving those who dare to turn away from the dark to the Light that came into the world and never left it.
The story begins with the unnamed protagonist, always referred to as “the Priest,” arriving by bus with a single battered suitcase in San Juan Diego, a desert town largely surrounded by mountains. While there was once vibrant farming (presumably in the mountains’ foothills?), the town is now largely depopulated. The last priest departed years ago, most likely bribed by the local cartel to “abandon his mission.” San Juan Diego now houses only a few residents, mostly older. The young, having few prospects, have largely joined up with the local cartel. It is a desolate place.
The Priest meets up with one of these young men on his arrival. Or, rather, he finds him dead, a victim, the narrator tells us, of a common fate. Having joined a cartel, he was convicted, rightly or wrongly, of “treason” and “condemned” to death by the gang he had joined. He now lies along the path to the dilapidated rectory.
Having carried the boy’s body to the rectory, he tries to figure out whom he should notify. Because the story is set in the time before cell phones (probably the 1980s or 1990s), the Priest can only guess whom he should dial on the single phone in the rectory. While he is figuring out what to do, a young woman named Maria barges in, assuming that this is just another thief. When she finds out that the dead boy is her cousin Antonio, she opens up. She becomes one of the Priest’s main allies in trying to bring back life and faith to this community.
The young men left in town are almost exclusively employed by the cartel. Francisco, in whom Maria is clearly interested romantically, and his younger brother José, are currently in the local cartel headed by the notorious Lobo (“Wolf”). There is hope for Francisco—he feels shame about how he has treated his grandmother, who keeps the two boys. He protects his younger brother from his own foolishness, not limited to drunkenness. He develops a respect for the Priest, who seems fearless in dealing with him, his brother, and Roberto—his immediate supervisor in the cartel.
The Priest is not in fact fearless. He is, however, courageous. He has taken this calling to a forlorn place intentionally, for reasons connected to his past that are made clearer at the end of the book. He himself has a prodigal brother whom he hopes to find, no matter the cost, to bring back to the Father’s House. Helping the young men he has just met and helping his own brother will require the Priest to penetrate further into the cartel, perhaps even coming into conflict with Lobo himself. It will require him to put his own life on the line. It will also require him to deal with painful parts of his own past.
The Priest’s own character is one that has been forged by the reception of divine grace that brought peace after he had tried the ways of the world and lost hope. Dealing with the hopeless souls out here in a lawless place will require him to make the case that faith and love are worth it. The title, The Condemned, gives us one of the main questions asked by sinners who know they are such: what’s the use?
In an important scene, one of the cartel members chastises the Priest: “What do you know about saving? If I throw you off the cliff right now, do you think a band of angels would catch you? No. The more likely, your head would be split open. And you’d enter the darkness for all eternity. You see, there is no one here to be saved. Why even try when we’re already condemned?”
“Hope,” Chesterton wrote, “means hoping when things are hopeless, or it is no virtue at all.” The Priest has the virtue, but can he, through love, communicate it to wild, young, fatherless men who rage because they do not have it? Can he do so before they themselves enter eternity? Or before he enters eternity at their hands? Can he convince them that “we are not orphans lost to time and misery by an absent God.”
As he writes in an introduction, Fowler began this story as a screenplay but turned it into a book because “movies are expensive and time-consuming.” As a first book, it is a very good read. Short enough to read in an afternoon or two, it is properly balanced between interior action in the characters’ minds and hearts and exterior action that involves danger. And it is productive of thoughts about Christian hope when it comes to lost and wayward sons and brothers—it reminded me, at various points, of Ron Hansen’s splendid novel Atticus.
But, given its briefness, plenty of room remains for greater development of the characters and the stories that lie behind the action given here. The brisk pacing, the relatively limited cast of characters, and the spareness of the telling make it an ideal book to turn into the movie Fowler wanted to write.
If wealthy conservatives would be a bit more imaginative about how they use their money, they might consider that pictures are worth a thousand words—and moving pictures done well and promoted are often priceless. While Hollywood is obsessed with its endless sequels, reboots, and remakes (I have just had the distressing news that they are now going to remake Indiana Jones), Andy Fowler has a fresh story that, in the hands of a good director, could be made into something beautiful, something that hints at the hope against hope that can thrive even in desolate, lawless places.
Till then, I recommend you read the novella.
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