Blasphemy at Its Best: The Liars’ Gospel (2012)
Photograph by Helena Carvalho
By Helena Carvalho
“Storytellers know that people enjoy tales that explain to them the origin of things, the way things came to be the way they are. This story is no different. Every story has an author, some teller of lies. Do not imagine that a storyteller is unaware of the effect of every word they choose. Do not suppose for a moment that an impartial observer exists” (The Liars’ Gospel, 259).
In the words of Hilary Mantel, Naomi Alderman’s The Liars’ Gospel (2012) is a visceral retelling of the events surrounding the life of Jesus. We are now in the Lent term and Easter is approaching soon. As the world wrestles with a pandemic, people are staying home and trying to make sense of the uncertainty of what the short-term future holds: Will the company manage to pay my wage for the months to come? When will the recruitment process resume? Will I be home for Easter this year?
Uncertainty about the future, a worldwide pandemic—all in a time of religious reflection. Alderman’s book has been staring at me from the bookshelf for almost a year now. I purchased it because it was a bargain—only two pounds, how could I resist? Last week, I glanced over it and something possessed me to grab and open it. It seemed like it would be a good companion for Lent, something to ground and maybe challenge my beliefs and fluid Christianity. I am glad that I did.
The first sentence grabbed me:
“This is how it happened.”
Surely, a blasphemous beginning. It summarizes what the book is: A romanticized retelling of the life of Jesus (Yehoshuah), where the focus is not on Jesus himself but on those who loved him and on those who, without knowing, shaped his path and in doing so shaped the destiny of the whole world.
The book is divided into five main sections: Miryam, Iehuda from Queriot, Caiaphas, Bar-Avo, Epilogue. Each section follows the character it is named after.
The first part follows Miryam, the mother of Yehoshuah. Miryam is in anguish. Her love for her son has not disappeared and she grieves the son she lost, a son she lost much before his death. The chapter is her recollection of events, of how her son grew distant and difficult to understand, even for a mother. It is a beautifully human rendition of what it means to love unconditionally a child who has grown into a stranger.
The second part follows Iehuda from Queriot, or as we know him, Judas: a smart and hardworking man who starts following Yehoshuah and in doing so rediscovers meaning and purpose. Unable to quench his critical spirit, he cannot help to notice how fervent the other followers are becoming, naming him the Messiah, the true Son of God. A worm grows in him, as he doubts Yehoshuah’s miracles and fears that Yehoshuah is listening to the flattery of his sycophants.
The third and fourth parts take place in Jerusalem. First, we follow Caiaphas, the diplomatic High Priest as he astutely struggles to keep peace while leading the Romans and Pilates to believe they are in control. The fourth part follows Bar-Avo, Barabbas, the murderous rebel who was saved over Yehoshuah.
As a Catholic, I listen to the tale of Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection every year, and even though I do so with an open heart, I cannot shut off my brain. Truth is, I was never able to accept without question the miraculous nature of many of the pivotal events of Christianity. The best I could do was to accept that there exist limits to my understanding. Who am I to say what is or is not possible? Eager to preserve my faith, I cling to the parts I believe in and I try to extract wisdom from the teachings of a remarkable man. Maybe it is okay that I don’t believe it possible that someone has resurrected, and maybe it is okay if I am right.
The Bible exalts and praises the sacred nature of Jesus, the Son of God. Alderman does the opposite, by focusing on the man and on those around him. To deconstruct and humanize a holy man is not an easy task; doing so with respect, intelligence, and historical accuracy is an incredible feat. Naomi Alderman’s expertise in Anglo-Jewish history manifests itself, as do her religious doubts. The author rejected the Jewish practice while writing her first book, Disobedience (2006). In her own words, she wrote herself out of it. Accordingly, the book is uncomfortable.
The success of this book relates to the author’s grasp of subjectivity and the limits of individual perception. There is no such thing as impartiality. Each character sees a different person, where some see a holy man others see nothing but a madman. The son is not the friend, the teacher is not the enemy. Ambiguity is crafted through the presentation of multiple versions of the same event and it leaves the reader with a beautiful feeling of uncertainty.
The book is not perfect. It starts bright and painful but slowly loses its pace and sheen. While the two first sections are achingly human, the last two sections falter. I am still wondering what the author was trying to achieve with the third section. Caiaphas is, at best, a mildly interesting character and I am not sure he adds all that much to the story. I understand that the goal of the chapter is to share with the reader the difficulties in maintaining peace, entertaining the whims of polytheist Rome without causing outrage in the good Jewish people of Jerusalem. Sounds interesting, but the execution is not fully there. All the humanity was spent in the other characters that Caiaphas was left with some meager specks of jealousy and lust. Disappointing.
The book is beautifully written, with clear and fluid prose—I read the whole thing in a couple of nights. Alderman teaches and questions, something not many authors can accomplish. It is not Quo Vadis (1895) by Henryk Sienkiewicz—not quite. It lacks the stature of the great classics, it lacks the tragedy and the depth of a great book. Still, I do recommend it, especially as Easter approaches. It is a healthy confrontation, an alternative narrative of a familiar tale. I hope it makes you think.
Helena Carvalho decided to become a professional reader since the day she realized the ratio between writers and readers is quickly slipping and is unlikely to recover its former glory. She is currently based in Lisbon, Portugal, but has also lived in the United Kingdom and Sweden. She works at an energy company during the day to support her passion for acquiring more titles than what she can read in a lifetime.
