As I wrote in my review of '1985', the fiction of Anthony Burgess appears to have suffered and languished in the years following his death in 1993 with his reputation sustained largely by 'A Clockwork Orange' (1962). This is not a welcome situation, as that slim volume, whilst clever, inventive and provocative, is but a small part of a far larger oeuvre.
Here Burgess explains that this book was written partly for its own sake, but also partly as a preparation for, and expansion of, his writing for a television series 'A.D'. Whilst this observation might seem unimportant, placed at the end of the book, it does point to one of the key characteristics of this novel, which is broad and sweeping in a highly cinematic manner.
The narrative, provided by Sadoc, son of Azor, seeks to write and complete the account, in Greek, begun by his father regarding "the career of Yehoshua Naggar or Iesous Marengos". However, whilst Jesus does appear at the beginning of the novel it is fleeting, intended to spur his disciples to begin their mission of.....
Of what? The novel begins to follow the attempt by the disciples to understand the nature of the task before them, and the question as to whom the message is to be taken to. This tension is clearly expressed in its relationship with Judaism, accelerated by the conversion and dominance of Saul, whose zeal dramatically impacts upon the direction of the new faith.
This process is neccessarily set against the machinations of the Roman Empire, and the wickedness of power and excess, fulfilling the promise made by Sadoc as the book begins "...You may expect to meet all manner of wickedness in what follows".
In character and execution this is typically familar Burgess, language twists and turns, meanings are distorted and exploited in a fantastically playful manner that propels the narrative at speed. Burgess seizes upon and plays with a motif taken from Catallus (una nox dormienda), setting the moral hope of the new religion against the absolute certainty of death, particularly where faith alone must justify and support the truth of the resurrection.
Whilst there is no questioning the intelligence of the polymathic Burgess, after two readings there is a sense that on this occasion this isn't (of itself) enough. Rome, as a symbol of wickedness and earthly uncertainty, provides a host of Emperors and paramours willing to pursue power and pleasure at any cost, but as the story progresses the character distinctions between the Emperors blur, as each excess is replaced by another in predictable fashion. In contrast the disciples offer a moral counterweight but little else, no character is sufficiently or fully realised to engage the reader, leading to a sense of superficiality in the presentation and execution.
This creative imbalance, further evidenced by the paucity of descriptive writing, is especially true of the physical environments through which the characters move. In contrast, the dialogue fizzes with inventiveness leading to complete enthrallment to Burgess the writer, a presence that never allows the characters to achieve the illusory narrative independence so critical to character engagement. Perhaps such apparent shortcomings might be ascribed to the circumstances informing the writing of the text.
Ultimately it is the dialogue that saves the story, as Burgess demonstrates the vitality of language. He was a writer of outstanding ability, and his warm intelligence abounds throughout the text. Whilst not his most engaging or convincing effort, it is a book worthy of your attention.
Recommended.