DEATH IS ETERNAL #426

3,000 words

And after a short hiatus, DEATH IS ETERNAL is back to four reviews per newsletter. Why? Because the list grew again, that’s why. The list grows: the reviews grow. The list shrinks: the reviews shrink. It’s that simple.

Contents

1. LIBRE EXAMEN

2. Bye!

3. Life (from November 04 to 17, 2024)

4. Reviews #347, #348, #349, and #350: AIN’T NO GRAVE by Skottie Young, Jorge Corona, Jean-François Beaulieu, and others, CHALLENGERS, CROCODILE BLACK by Phillip Kennedy Johnson, Som, Patricio Delpeche, and others, and BATMAN: CAPED CRUSADER

5. The end

1. LIBRE EXAMEN

Photo by Marius Badstuber on Unsplash

In 1834, as the first chill of winter gripped Brussels, the air was thick with change and ambition. On a brisk morning in late November, two men stood before a grand building—a former palace, its grand façade weathered but stately. Pierre-Théodore Verhaegen and Auguste Baron had laboured for months to see this day arrive. With them was Nicolas-Jean Rouppe, the mayor of Brussels, whose presence lent an air of official blessing to the proceedings. The building would no longer be a mere relic of past aristocracy; it was to become the Free University of Belgium.

Verhaegen took a deep breath, savouring the victory. This university was born not out of tradition but rebellion. Its very existence was a statement against the oppressive grip of the Catholic Church on Belgian education. Just four years earlier, Belgium had won its independence, severing ties with the Dutch. But the new Catholic University of Mechelen had been a sharp reminder that intellectual freedom in Belgium was still at risk. With the foundation of the Free University, Verhaegen and Baron intended to build a sanctuary for free inquiry and secular thought—a haven for minds unshackled by doctrine.

Inside the building, sunlight filtered through high windows, casting a golden glow over walls lined with dark wood panelling. The smell of ink and parchment filled the air, along with the murmurs of a handful of young scholars gathering for the opening ceremony. A few professors, drawn by the allure of academic freedom, stood among them, hopeful yet cautious. Most had grown accustomed to tailoring their lectures to fit within the Church’s constraints. Here, for the first time, they could speak freely.

One of the students, a wiry young man named Henri Dupont, watched the proceedings with a quiet intensity. Henri’s family had long been devout Catholics, his father a lay preacher in the small village where he’d grown up. When Henri had first mentioned his desire to study at the Free University, his father’s face had grown dark with disappointment.

“They are heathens, Henri,” his father had said. “They question what is sacred.”

“I seek knowledge, not rebellion,” Henri had replied. But he knew, deep down, that he craved both. The Free University was an escape from the rigid life mapped out for him—a place where he could ask forbidden questions, read banned books, and perhaps, finally, be free.

As Verhaegen stepped up to the lectern to address the gathering, his voice carried the passion of a man who had sacrificed everything for his beliefs. He spoke of libre examen, the principle of “free inquiry,” a cornerstone of the university. Here, Verhaegen declared, students would be taught not what to think but how to think. No idea would sacred; no topic, off-limits.

Henri felt a surge of excitement as he listened. He had read about the power of free inquiry, but to hear it so boldly proclaimed was electric. He exchanged a glance with another student, a young woman named Isabelle who had travelled from Liège to study medicine. Her eyes sparkled with the same fervour, and they shared a small, conspiratorial smile. They were kindred spirits, caught in the same current of intellectual thrill.

For the first few weeks, Henri found himself lost in the freedom of the university’s library, a treasure trove of books that were often banned or restricted elsewhere. He spent hours pouring over Rousseau, Voltaire, and Spinoza, marvelling at their audacity. Ideas blossomed in his mind, ones he could scarcely voice back home.

Then, in December, the Church began to push back.

Rumours spread in the city that the Free University was a breeding ground for radicals and that it aimed to undermine the very moral fabric of Belgium. Henri heard of priests warning their congregations to steer clear of its students lest they become infected by the taint of heresy. Tensions simmered, and once-gentle exchanges between the students and city folk turned to pointed questions, then sharp words.

One evening, as Henri walked back from the university with Isabelle, a group of young men blocked their path. They wore simple clothing, but each had a wooden crucifix around his neck. The largest among them, a burly man with a rough beard, looked Henri up and down.

“So,” he sneered, “one of Verhaegen’s disciples, are you?”

Henri met his gaze with defiance, though his heart hammered in his chest. “We are students of the Free University, yes.”

“Ah, ‘free,’” the man mocked, twisting the word. “Free to turn your back on God, is that it?”

Isabelle stepped forward, her voice steady. “We seek knowledge, not rebellion. Can you not respect that?”

But her words only seemed to stoke their anger. “Respect?” The man laughed. “What you want is to tear down the Church and, with it, Belgium’s soul.”

Henri and Isabelle managed to push past them, but the encounter left them both shaken. As they walked in silence, Henri thought of his father’s words. He felt a pang of guilt but quickly brushed it aside. Knowledge, he reminded himself, was worth any sacrifice.

As the months passed, the tension only deepened. The Free University’s radical reputation grew, but so did its community. Verhaegen continued his campaign, raising funds to support more students and defending the university’s right to exist. Despite the hostility, students like Henri and Isabelle found solidarity and purpose within its walls. They became more than scholars; they became part of a movement.

On Saint-Verhaegen Day in November, the students gathered to celebrate. Verhaegen himself attended, and his presence was a reminder of their cause—a beacon amid the growing darkness around them. The students parade through the streets, carrying banners emblazoned with Libre Examen. Henri marched with them, his heart swelling with pride. It was a show of defiance but also of hope.

As the procession wound its way through Brussels, citizens looked on with a mixture of curiosity, approval, and scorn. The students chanted, their voices ringing out over the cobbled streets, echoing the ideals of the university’s founders. When they reached the town square, Verhaegen climbed onto a platform and raised his arms.

“Today, we celebrate not only our institution,” he declared, his voice booming. “We celebrate the right of every man and woman to think freely, to question, to explore!”

Henri looked around at the faces of his fellow students, at Isabelle beside him, at Verhaegen on the platform. At that moment, he knew he was part of something larger than himself. He had left behind the narrow life his family had planned for him and, in doing so, had found a new kind of faith—a faith in freedom.

As the sun set over Brussels, casting the streets in a warm, amber glow, Henri felt a sense of peace he had never known. He had chosen his path, and whatever the cost, he would walk it.

The end

2. Bye!

Here’s where we say our farewell to the free subscribers. If you want to read the rest of DEATH IS ETERNAL, consider becoming a paying subscriber. If you already are a paying subscriber, first of all, thank you very, very much! And second, I’ll see you on the other side of the paywall.