I have a very ambivalent feeling about nuns. I was taught by them for most of my school days and the experience was not a happy one. Even dismissing teenage angst and childish rages, I can look back objectively and realise that some of the nuns I came up against were sarcastic, unkind and downright sadistic. However, despite this, it wasn't all bad and there were times which were good. The routine of morning prayers, the Angelus at noon, Benediction in the chapel made me feel safe and on firm ground. What I could not understand and found difficult to reconcile was the attitude of the nuns towards some of the pupils in their charge. Of course, those pupils who were the target of their ire were the noisy, bolshy ones, the ones who challenged them and did not accept all they said as gospel, simply because they were nuns. Needless to say, I was one such. 'You are such a bold girl' was said to me so many times I felt like having a t-shirt with this phrase printed on it.
The teaching nuns were very clever women. We had a maths teacher who was quite brilliant, a French teacher ditto, and these were two of the most unpleasant and sarcastic nuns in the school. It seemed the higher up the intellectual pecking order you were, the nastier you became. There were nuns in the order who seemed blessed with serenity and calmness which was obvious even to a stroppy sulky teenager like myself, and these were the nuns who did the cooking, cleaning and those who taught us art and sewing. There was a slight air of dismissal from some of the teaching nuns towards their sisters who were in charge of what they obviously viewed as mundane chores, and I remember feeling this was wrong. Surely you were not supposed to feel like this and behave in such a way, you are meant to be holy and understanding, for heaven's sake you are a NUN.
Well, of course as I grew up I realised that nuns may be nuns, but they are women and human beings like everyone else and just because you have taken a vow of poverty and chastity, you do not become a saint overnight and life is a perpetual struggle. Lying Awake makes this abundantly clear.
Sister John is a member of an enclosed order. She has visions. These have come to her after years of struggling with her vocation within this order and she feels she has finally found God. She is taken ill and has to go to hospital for tests and is found to suffer a form of epilepsy, the symptoms of which are heightened awareness and visions. So, she finds that her closeness to God was a physical, not a spiritual, manifestation and finds her faith once more is tested to the limit. Having the minor surgery which will cure her of her illness also takes away these visions, these moments of spiritual awareness and she has to find a way back.
Sometimes reading can be an uncomfortable experience and certain books are not easy, with prose which is difficult to grasp. Presumably it is meant to do so. Lying Awake is the polar opposite. Without wishing to sound too fanciful, I found when reading ths book that a sense of peacefulness settled upon me, I wanted to be left alone and not be disturbed and reading this at 7 am in the morning meant that I had that blessing. The description of the daily life of the Order, the rhythms of the liturgy and the orderliness of it all reminded me of that childhood feeling of security that I have referred to above. It is a quiet book.
It is also short, under 200 pages, but every page counts. It would not have gained anything by being longer, it is perfect as it is. I read it straight through in one sitting and I would recommend anybody who reads this to do the same, not that I can imaging that anyone starting this book could bear to put it down.
Please read.
