Ordinary Devotion
Kristen Holt-Browning
Monkfish Book Publishing Company, 2024, $24.99
In this time of instant gratification, it’s nearly impossible to grasp the concept of an anchoress. During the Middle Ages, an anchoress (a female anchorite) would be confined in a cell adjacent to an abbey; the cell’s entry would often be bricked over. A small window (squint) allowed her to communicate with outsiders; slots provided food and chamber pot access. Upon entry into the cell, last rites would be given to the woman, signaling that she was essentially dead to the world. She would pray, read, and listen to visitor’s prayers and pleas.
In her debut novel Ordinary Devotion, Beacon-based Kristen Holt-Browning brings to ascetic life the anchoress Lady Adela, who emerges as only the third main character. Elinor, a 12-year-old, is consigned to serve as Adela’s child handmaiden, joining her in the tiny, dank cell. Elinor is from an ordinary family whose mother tragically (but not uncommonly) died in childbirth; the baby also died. Elinor’s sisters remain in the outside world to play and go to school, while her overwhelmed father promised her to the abbey in return for room and board, essentially, and the promise of a devout life.
Studying these characters is Liz Pace, an adjunct professor of medieval studies at the fictional University of Northern New York, near Albany. Liz’s area of expertise, purgatory, has fallen out of favor in the field of medieval studies. Her husband, Nick, is a professor of art history at UNNY. Despite this idyllic-sounding arrangement, Liz aspires to snag a tenure-track position, which would mean a pay raise, job stability, and her own health insurance. (As is often a sad truism of modern life, insurance is paramount; her pregnancy ends in a miscarriage.) Liz gets good news—her paper is accepted for presentation at a conference in England. There, she networks, and gains interest in anchoresses and their maidens, eventually working toward a book positing that anchoresses were the physical embodiment of purgatory—a third space, neither heavenly nor earthly.
Holt-Browning alternates between the ancient Adela/Elinor and the modern Liz. It is Elinor’s internal thoughts and actions that reveal the human aspect of religious asceticism, her swings between wanting to support Adela as best she can, and anger at her father for committing her and depriving her of her normal life. In the progression of Liz’s chapters, we follow her transformation from underappreciated adjunct professor and grief-filled would-be parent to an inspired—and inspiring—scholar making a breakthrough discovery. Elinor and Liz’s paths mirror one another at times, each undergoing suffering over which they have little control. In the end, they surmount obstacles and accomplish feats incomprehensible in their darkest moments.
The format set up by Holt-Browning—short chapters flipping between past and present—make Elinor’s austere story palatable. The descriptions of her torturous physical surroundings and her deprivation are chilling, even if she is lauded as devout and in service to a higher cause. Liz’s concern over modern daily survival yanks us back to the present time which, while stressful and wildly unpredictable, will most likely not demand the huge sacrifices of an anchoress or her helpmate.
Holt-Browning is novelist, poet, and editor, and these skills are evident in the clean, active prose and ability to propel the novel at a steady pace. Liz often questions the value of her work; she counsels a student that pursuing medieval studies is a sketchy career path, even imagining that they might one day compete for resources. She dismisses purgatory as fiction while dedicating her adult life to its scrutiny. By the book’s end, life changes for both Liz and Elinor offer hope for their previously dark paths, and hope for those who sympathize with them.
This article appears in February 2025.
