The Padre From Chicago

"He canonizes himself a Saint in his own lifetime."
—Samuel Butler

Exhibitionism is a sin yet to be legitimized in Father Andrew Greeley's ongoing excursion into soft porn (or those novels which he euphemistically christens his "comedies of grace"). But Greeley, the exhibitionist, is on full display in his venture into autobiography (or this book which he wrongly labels "confessional").

Father Greeley (or "Greels" to his teenaged, water-skiing, Arizonian sidekicks) has done everything in this autobiography but kiss and tell. He is too much in love with himself to have risked the former—whether it be a woman's lips or a prelate's ring. And the latter? Father Greeley is too much concerned with preserving the mystique of the Irish (American) priest to be blurting any secrets out. Then again, there just might not be all that much to tell.

Secrets or no, there is little doubt that Greels has carried on a lifelong love affair with at least himself We all do, I suppose, but not many of us would inflict our most private passions unto others via the printed page; and darn few would pursue their self-appointed task of intellectual narcissism quite so relentlessly. On one level Greeley has written a very candid book. The Greeley persona does come blasting forth on every page. Bursting from between these covers is...

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