by Bryan Taylor
About The Author
Author LinksWebsite: http://www.threesistersnovel.com/ Blog: http://www.threesistersnovel.com/blog/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BryanTaylorAuthor
The Three Sisters is a humorous, adult satire about three former nuns who just want to have fun, but when they get in trouble with the law, they become nuns on the run. The three nuns in the novel are Coito Gott, the rebel, Theodora Suora, the intellectual, and Regina Grant, who loves mirth, movies and music. For this guest blog, rather than providing advice for the millionth time on how to write and get published, I have asked one of them to talk about one of their favorite nuns of the past. Your turn, Regina.
Jean Donovan is a nun I admire. Since I was a nun down in Central America, I can understand the sacrifice that Jean Donovan made. Here is a woman who, if she had stayed in the United States, would have been incredibly successful. She earned an M.B.A. at Case Western Reserve University and got a job at the accounting firm of Arthur Anderson.
She could easily have been a supermom and been successful with both her career and family, but while she was helping the poor through the Cleveland Diocese Youth Ministry, she got the calling to join the Diocesan Mission Project in El Salvador. She got her training through the Maryknolls and went down to El Salvador in 1977, working as a lay missioner, and helping refugees from the Salvadoran Civil War.
She was a follower of Archbishop Oscar Romero and often heard him preach at the Catedral Metropolitana de El Salvador. Despite the fact that Archbishop Oscar Romero was assassinated in March 1980, she persevered and stayed on, even as others left. Even the Peace Corps departed the country. Part of her told her to leave El Salvador for her own safety, but then she thought of the children, the poor, the refugees and put them first.
On December 2, 1980, she and Dorothy Kazel picked up two Maryknoll nuns who had flown in from Managua, Nicaragua. Five national guardsmen of the National Guard of El Salvador stopped them on a jungle road several hours later. The guardsmen beat them, raped them, and murdered them.
Their murders became international news, and their murders forced the U.S. Government to face up to their responsibilities in supporting the military regime that ruled Nicaragua. The murderous culture of the National Guard was laid bare. The perpetrators were eventually found and were imprisoned. Nothing like that had ever happened before in Nicaragua.
I’m sure Jean Donovan never wanted to die this way, who would? She was dedicated to her mission, despite the dangers, and ended up doing more for the people in El Salvador than she ever could have imagined. She followed her conscience, did what was right, and that is why I admire her.
About The Book
Genre: Humor, Satire
Publisher: Dragon Tree Books
Release Date: July 23, 2013
The college I was at had a small Newman Club for committed collegiate Catholics, who still spent most of their youthful years behaving more like St. Augustine than Cardinal Newman. Some of my friends and I set up a Joyce Club as a refuge for lapsed Catholics, and during our years there, we successfully filched several members of the Newman Club and got them to join our own. Whenever this occurred, I could share the great joy the father in the Bible must have experienced when the Prodigal Son returned home, or the shepherd had found his lost sheep. Working with this close-knit group of friends and learning from each other made college worthwhile. Moreover, there were hundreds of naïve young freshmen each year ripe for corrupting whom I could gird up my loins for, exchange jelly for juice, and turn them into cynics with amazing ease.
Academic life also gave me the opportunity to express my artistic talents in ways that impressed my coterie of college friends. When it snowed, a not infrequent event in Chicago, we created chionic masterpieces that lasted until the sun melted them away. Some were conventional, like Marie Antoinette Gets the Guillotine, but when the college was too cheap to build new sidewalks for its students we put together a column of legless snowmen and snowwomen sitting on their carts and pushing themselves along with paper signs on them saying, “Chicago’s disabled demand new sidewalks!” Thus we married the avant-garde to social activism.
We would also create living art, recreating and transmogrifying great works of the past. The one that got me and my fellow artists into real trouble was when we recreated Da Vinci’s Last Supper with me in puris naturalibus as The Naked Maja recumbent upon the table in front of Christ and his disciples. If the college officials had complained about the anachronistic juxtaposition of Da Vinci’s Cenacle and Goya’s Ode to Pubic Hair as the Christ and his disciples argued over who was going to pay thirty pieces of silver for me, I would have understood their objections, but instead they complained about my full frontal nudity, even though I was as faithful to Goya’s original as I could be. Sure, Billy Sunday wouldn’t have liked it, but he had died decades before. We referred to our masterpieces as Mama Art, the indirect descendent of Dada Art.