The first indication that all might not be as expected where Hope: The Autobiography of Pope Francis, co-authored by publisher Carlo Musso, is concerned came with its arrival. It is, surprisingly, a book of just 302 pages about the life of an 88-year-old man who is also one of the 21st century’s major world figures. Something not quite right there.
Then that opening prologue: a dramatic retelling of how the SS Principessa Mafalda, described as “the Italian Titanic”, sank en route to Brazil taking with it more than 300 mostly Italian emigrants to South America. It had left Genoa on October 11th, 1927.
We are told its story because the grandparents of Francis and their only child, his father Mario, could have been on that ship but, well, they weren’t. They had booked tickets but had to delay their departure for another 16 months, to February 1st, 1929.
It is difficult not to conclude that opening the book so dramatically is a device deliberately chosen, and hardly by the pope, to draw the reader in to Hope, despite the flimsy pretext.
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The book is described as “The Autobiography”, but is neither the autobiography nor an autobiography. Rather it is some recollections from his life by Francis which act as a springboard for his reflections on current events. Most of these are already in the public domain or are available on the Holy See website, at Vatican.va.
The unmistakable feeling is that the hype before publication of Hope is yet another example of the triumph of marketing over substance. This is hardly helped by a realisation that it is not the “first [autobiography] by a sitting pontiff”, as billed by the publishers.
There was another less than a year ago. In March 2024 another publishing house, HarperCollins, published Life: My Story Through History by Pope Francis, co-authored by Fabio Marchese Ragona, to whom Francis recounted “for the first time the story of his life”.
That 230-page book was described in reviews as “offering little that is new” but where Francis “leans on historical events as backdrops to make appeals relating to current, sometimes similar, situations”.
That book, we were told last year, was “filled with memories of a pastor who, from his very personal point of view, recounts the Nazi extermination of the Jews, the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the great economic recession of 2008, the collapse of the Twin Towers, the pandemic, the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI, and the conclave that elected him as Pope Francis”.
It continued that Francis “reopens the treasure chest of his memories to recount these moments that changed the world with the candour that distinguishes him. At the same time, Francis shares important messages on major current issues including social inequalities, the climate crisis, war, atomic weapons, racial discrimination, and pro-life battles”.
Those two paragraphs would be an accurate description of Hope too.
You do have to wonder about the point of all this. Are we to expect such a “revelatory first-ever autobiography to be published by a sitting Pope” on an annual basis from now on – as Hope is described by its publishers?
All that said, the cost of the book is probably worth it for Francis’s remembrances of growing up in a comfortable family among Jews and Muslims in the multi-ethnic Buenos Aires barrio of Flores with its population of prostitutes, particularly “la Ciche” and “la Porota”. The latter told him when he was a bishop years later: “I’ve whored around everywhere, in the United States too. I made money, then fell in love with an older man, he was my lover, and when he died, my life changed.” She said, “with four swear words out of every five” that she had “done everything with my body, but now I want to take care of the bodies that nobody cares about”. She became, he said, “a modern-day Magdalene”.
He recalls the moment on September 21st, 1953, when he first felt a strong call to the priesthood and how it took his mother a long time to warm to the idea. She wanted him to be a doctor while his grandmother – his spiritual inspiration – was delighted.
His love of soccer goes back to matches he attended with his father, a book-keeper, supporting their favourite team San Lorenzo, though this has been hampered since 1990. On July 15th that year he was watching TV with fellow Jesuits in Buenos Aires when “a sordid scene appeared on the screen, which deeply offended me. I got up and left”.
We are told no more, but later he took a vow not to watch television again as “it did me no good”. Since then he has only watched TV on rare occasions, such as 9/11.
Where his predecessor Benedict is concerned, he is at pains to note the deeply affectionate relationship they had and how wounding it has been for him to see this misrepresented.
In the book he never discusses the idea of women priests. He does refer to ongoing discussions on women deacons but very much emphasises how he has posted women to the most senior positions in Vatican governance.
There is more detail provided by him of the conclave that elected him in March 2013, which, there can be no doubt, came to him as a most unexpected surprise. Much of this too is already in the public domain.
He did not expect to live so long, not least as both parents died young as have all his siblings except his youngest sister, and he has already planned a simple funeral for himself with his remains to be buried at the basilica of St Mary Major in Rome, rather than at St Peter’s where all recent popes are buried.
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One of the few revelations in the book concerns his visit to Iraq in 2021. British intelligence informed Iraqi authorities of two suicide bombers who intended to assassinate Francis during the trip. When he inquired later of his own security team what had happened to them, he was told “they’re not there any more” and that Iraqi police had “intercepted and exploded them”. He said, “this also shocked me deeply”.
In general, the man’s humour, compassion and ease in his own skin are everywhere in the book and is its most attractive feature. He remains among the most charismatic and appealing of world figures today and hardly needs another “first-ever autobiography”. Indeed, he would probably prefer that, rather than buy it, you would give the money to a charity such as the St Vincent de Paul.
Patsy McGarry is a former religious affairs correspondent for The Irish Times
