So I must start this review by clarifying that this book is a pretty long read with plenty of variation, both in plot and prose, so do not expect some neat novel you can rip through in an afternoon. It’s a slog and some may question whether it’s worth it at all. The fame of this book leads it to have many disciples and many detractors, both of whom can be alarming in their zealotry of defending or deriding it, so I shall attempt to give it a fair and even-handed review.
At some instance I must address the flagrant plagiarism of both plot and characters from the Torah in the beginning stages of this book. Indeed, fully the first five chapters seem to be lifted near-verbatim from the older work and I can’t imagine how that got through the editorial process without some query.
Which brings us neatly onto the editorial process itself: at some points it seems that the editors have let the authors free reign to say what they wanted and in the style they desired, the most blatant culprit being the ever so wild chapter, gnomically titled “Revelations” where the plot unravels almost entirely and the character-driven style of earlier chapters is abandoned in favour of bombastic set pieces coupled with attempted-epic global calamities that don’t quite ring true. At other times there appears to have been some fairly strident cuts in the editorial process, the best example perhaps soon after the introduction of the “Jesus” character whose plot, after arising as something of a child prodigy, is simply bisected with no indication of his actions between the age of 12 and 30. This may be a ploy by the authors to cash in on a surprise sequel that fills in the blanks, but I am not willing to speculate and, so long after first publication, it is unlikely that any sequel could really hold up to such a wild, varied, magnificent mess without decending into farce (an accusation that may indeed be leveled at some sections of this book, the worse offender being the four-time repetition of the whole “Jesus” saga without ever discussing these ‘lost years’).
I have to admit that this concept of internally progressing style is, at times, rather fascinating and is somewhat reminiscent of the wonderful chapter “Oxen of the Sun” in Joyce’s Ulysses wherein the entire history of English literature is obliquely recounted through varying prose style that, through the chapter progresses from latinate, through Anglo-Saxon all the way to 19th century realism and gothic and eventually decends into meaningless jibberish. The entire progression of the KJB reflects something similar, from Epic (with a capital E) world creating stuff, through those interminable descent lists, into those character-driven chapters (ultimately really hitting its stride during the marvellous David as shepard-King-adulterer plotline) before falling away by trying to reinvent the character “God” with a rather maudlin father-son affair and eventually into Revelations where the author tried, but couldn’t seem to quite face the final leap of style and so overran his gothicesque chapter, piling in more dragons and more beasts and more flaming swords until it sounds like a 12-year old goth’s fanfic. This is one of the vulnerabilities that is inherent in any multi-authored work, that weaker authors who do not realise it may get carried away, or that without proper editorial control authors may repeat or contradict themselves, a flaw this book is eminently culpable for.
And so we must discuss the elephant in the room, the characterisation. In some chapters and scenes the humanity really shows through: from the primal struggle of Caan and Able, to Delilah’s magnificent control of the stupid lug Samson, to David’s glorious rise and adulterous ways. Unfortunately this vital and fascinating, personable storytelling was not extended to the protagonist character, variously referred to as “The word”, “God” “Yahweh”, “Jesus” and “Elohim” (among many others), who evades the authors’ attempts to define him, is described contradictorily and persistently remains angry, sulky and in no way relatable. If this were the character’s prerogative I might be more understanding, but then suddenly, midway through the book he stops with the fire, chucks the brimstone in the cupboard, puts the smiting lightning under the bed and becomes a pacifist hippy. I realise that people change when they have kids, but this much? Really? In the first half of the book the protagonist gleefully oversees the massacre of thousands of people by his “chosen people” and at one point even purposefully floods the entire world – killing all but eight people in a truly incomparable hissy-fit when his project wasn’t going how he wanted. Then, he’s suddenly all non-involvement and no-smiting and no appearances: I feel there is more to the story that hasn’t been written – perhaps a UN resolution imposed to stop his wholesale slaughter of, well, everyone on a whim – perhaps he broke a hip and didn’t want to go out so much – perhaps he got obsessed with Modern Warfare 3; whatever the case, he went from a confident, smiting alpha character who’d stroll around with Adam and chat with Moses to pretty much a basket case, it feels like poor storytelling to not so much as even acknowledge this. When finally he shows his face again, he’s going by the name “Jesus” and the snatches of action are so irritatingly bland that it’s rather difficult to reconcile that it’s even the same character at all.
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Overall, it’s a good book with parts that are a ripping yarn that has a tenancy to get bogged down with the characters we don’t care about. The protagonist is a contradictory mess whose deep seated psychological problems are scarcely addressed except with some vague references to the “three within one” that may indicate a fairly severe multiple personality disorder. The writing is ok but varied and the abrupt change of pace and scope midway leaves the reader a little disoriented. I’d recommend it as a decent read but as a pretty long one you might want to skip some of the duller more repetitive sections in favour of the character driven second quarter which on it’s own might justify the buy. Unfortunately after hitting it’s stride about a quarter in, it can’t quite maintain and loses the thread towards the end in favour of bombast and spectacle, which with all it’s excess serves to remind us that this is just a fun book that, although it doesn’t quite know what it wants to be, is written with its toungue firmly within its cheek.
