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I n I Alone Have Escaped to Tell You, Ralph McInerny's humorous memoir, this professor, philosopher, novelist, publisher, husband and father says he's a very lucky ordinary man, a normal product of a devout Depression Era Minnesota family, formed by a superior Catholic education, and still working.

Each delightful chapter has a theme. In "Paterfamilias" McInerny tells of his wife Connie, mentioned often throughout the book as the light of his life, and Michael, their first son, who died at age three. He gives Connie full credit that his family of six more children turned out well, and tells of her dying in a way to bring on tears. In "Europe" he recounts humorous bits about taking six children abroad, teaching philosophy seminars, and sightseeing - and always it was Connie who managed.

In "Author" he explains, he had an entry level dream job at Notre Dame. He couldn't apply elsewhere, but six children's many bills forced him to give up sporadic efforts and turn to writing seriously. He wrote every day for a year - standing at a bench in his basement, from ten at night 'til about two, teaching himself his craft. His slogan, taped over his workbench, was Nobody Owes You a Reading! If you want to be a writer, read this chapter. Admitting to luck and intelligence, as any humble Thomistic philosopher would, he says what made him a writer was discipline - going down to his workbench every day, and doing his pages. Producing a well-made story is what counts, but the author implicitly says something more. Father Dowling appeals to readers, but of course McInerny believes as Father Dowling does.

Are mysteries literature or only novels? C.S. Lewis said, "Literature is anything you would read again." Remember Melville's Moby Dick? McInerny would "gladly be a spear carrier in the opera of American fiction". His suggestion is, write about what is good, from a Thomistic philosopher's standpoint. Even unsold, it would still be a good book. He slyly suggests there might even be mystery novels one would read again - mentioning no names.

The meat of the book, "Learning How to Die" is the history of Dr. McInerny's education. Not all high schools teach the Organon of Aristotle and his Metaphysics with Thomistic commentaries, plus Brennan's Psychology, Joyce's Natural Theology, and a history of philosophy, but his minor seminary did, and he loved it. During a summer of study at Laval in Quebec, he worked under Charles De Konick, the Dean and best Thomist he'd ever met.

In 1951, McInerny left the seminary, enrolled in the graduate school at the University of Minnesota, but wrote papers answering his teachers with what he presumed St. Thomas would say. His master's dissertation was A Thomistic Evaluation of Kierkegaard. He studied logic - Bertrand Russell's Philosophy of Logical Atomism, and A.J.Ayer's sassier Language, Truth and Logic, noting that Ayer was twenty-five when he wrote it and, of course, knew everything. He finds that some of his best friends in philosophy seem to be in trouble with their thinking, while he seems to be standing on firm ground. Even after Vatican II, the works of DeKonick, Maritain and Gilson are respected throughout the philosophical world.

He returned to Laval in 1952, at home with other giants of the Thomistic Revival, married Connie in 1953, and received his doctorate in 1954. He tells of going through Laval like a bullet, with a family to support, and modestly describes taking masters and doctorate degrees as if it were natural. After a year teaching at Creighton, already recognized as a Thomistic philosopher, he was employed at Notre Dame. McInerny thinks modern philosophy is deeply incoherent, a radical alternative to common wisdom. He pleads for a return to reason in all universities, not just his own. Doing philosophy in a Catholic way answered an urgent cultural need, a tradition that stretched back to the dawn of western civilization. In "Notre Dame" McInerny summarizes the history of his beloved institution, but also tells them and us, what they must do to right the boat unless they want to line the rails of the Titanic. Like Job's messenger, he alone has escaped to tell us.

Regarding Vatican II, during which his friend DeKonick died, McInerny says if we could think only in terms of the sixteen wonderful concilliar documents, the church would be renewed, but describes the false spirit of Vatican II as "the council invoked to justify doctrines and practices clearly at variance with the whole tradition of the Church." Maritain called it kneeling to the world, fearing morality will become as irrelevant as religious belief in our public life. McInerny, however, calls to mind that the gates of hell will not prevail.

Involvement in publishing was a natural sequel to all McInerny's other works, and he tells of his ventures at the end of the book, as well as of illnesses which do happen as we get older, but since writing this outstanding book, he's published at least two more mysteries. May he keep going.