“My God, but he is ugly, the Padre! He must be very holy.”

There is something about the landscape of the American Southwest that seduces writers into superlatives. I’m thinking of Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour and Wallace Stegner and, yes, Willa Cather, as here in what I can only describe as a travelogue disguised as a fictionalized version of the life of Archbishop Jean-Baptiste Lamy of Santa…

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