ext_49307 (
jamie-dakin.livejournal.com) wrote in
crack_van2007-08-23 09:12 am
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Entry tags:
Whose Faces I Do Not Recall by Epigone (PG)
Fandom: BAND OF BROTHERS
Pairing: None, gen
Author on LJ:
likethesun2
Author Website: Finishing the Hat
Why this must be read:
'Crazy fools, the Irish!'
That's how we're first introduced to Father Maloney, with two soldiers watching on in awe as he moves fearlessly and selflessly through the rain of bullets and mortars falling on the streets of a French village, giving last rites to the dead and the dying.
Religion in general is often a tricky subject in fic but Epigone tackles questions of faith and its loss with such grace and respect that everything falls into place.
The men open their hearts to him, and Maloney doesn’t mind. It’s the job. Their trust touches him, but also unnerves him: these young killers-to-be confide in him as guilelessly as the altar boys back home, without even the shield of a confessional screen. Sometimes he looks at them, grimy and grinning under their helmets, and thinks they can’t be much older than those altar boys.
The dead are far simpler.
Whose Faces I Do Not Recall
Pairing: None, gen
Author on LJ:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Author Website: Finishing the Hat
Why this must be read:
'Crazy fools, the Irish!'
That's how we're first introduced to Father Maloney, with two soldiers watching on in awe as he moves fearlessly and selflessly through the rain of bullets and mortars falling on the streets of a French village, giving last rites to the dead and the dying.
Religion in general is often a tricky subject in fic but Epigone tackles questions of faith and its loss with such grace and respect that everything falls into place.
The men open their hearts to him, and Maloney doesn’t mind. It’s the job. Their trust touches him, but also unnerves him: these young killers-to-be confide in him as guilelessly as the altar boys back home, without even the shield of a confessional screen. Sometimes he looks at them, grimy and grinning under their helmets, and thinks they can’t be much older than those altar boys.
The dead are far simpler.
Whose Faces I Do Not Recall