In recent years Evangeline had been assigned to work in the St. Rose library as assistant to her prayer partner, Sister Philomena. It was an unglamorous position to be sure, not at all as high-profile as working in the Mission Office or assisting in Recruitment, and it had none of the rewards of charity work. As if to emphasize the lowly nature of the position, Evangeline’s office was located in the most decrepit part of the convent, a drafty section of the first floor down the hall from the library itself, with leaky pipes and Civil War-era windows, a combination that led to dampness, mold, and an abundance of head colds each winter.

That’s from page nine of Angelology (which isn’t very good overall). Even nuns have hierarchies, which might not involve money, but they nonetheless involve what the organization is designed to optimize—in this case, conspicuous charitability. But Evangeline doesn’t have that option: she has an “unglamorous position” that she appears to know is unglamorous, and the position doesn’t even have “the rewards of charity work,” which presumably include the recognition on the part of those being helped that you are helping them, or, if those being helped feel resentful or ashamed, the sense that one is able to rise above the circumstances. But books aren’t people and can’t provide the recognition that people can.

And the office itself is “located in the most decrepit part of the convent,” yet Evangeline doesn’t gain recognition from other nuns for the hardship that entails—including “dampness” and “mold,” although the “abundance of head colds” is a mistake on the part of either Evangeline, through free indirect speech, or Trussoni, since colds come from viruses, not from temperature drops. Still, the overall effect of privation without the recognition that would make up for the privation is apparent, as is the fact that money isn’t the primary mover of status in the nuns’ economy or society: it’s something else, something more vital to the organization’s purpose.

In recent years Evangeline had been assigned to work in the St. Rose library as assistant to her prayer partner, Sister Philomena. It was an unglamorous position to be sure, not at all as high-profile as working in the Mission Office or assisting in Recruitment, and it had none of the rewards of charity work. As if to emphasize the lowly nature of the position, Evangeline’s office was located in the most decrepit part of the convent, a drafty section of the first floor down the hall from the library itself, with leaky pipes and Civil War-era windows, a combination that led to dampness, mold, and an abundance of head colds each winter.

That’s from page nine of Angelology (which isn’t very good overall). Even nuns have hierarchies, which might not involve money, but they nonetheless involve what the organization is designed to optimize—in this case, conspicuous charitability. But Evangeline doesn’t have that option: she has an “unglamorous position” that she appears to know is unglamorous, and the position doesn’t even have “the rewards of charity work,” which presumably include the recognition on the part of those being helped that you are helping them, or, if those being helped feel resentful or ashamed, the sense that one is able to rise above the circumstances. But books aren’t people and can’t provide the recognition that people can.

And the office itself is “located in the most decrepit part of the convent,” yet Evangeline doesn’t gain recognition from other nuns for the hardship that entails—including “dampness” and “mold,” although the “abundance of head colds” is a mistake on the part of either Evangeline, through free indirect speech, or Trussoni, since colds come from viruses, not from temperature drops. Still, the overall effect of privation without the recognition that would make up for the privation is apparent, as is the fact that money isn’t the primary mover of status in the nuns’ economy or society: it’s something else, something more vital to the organization’s purpose.