| | Between packing and sorting out last minute things, I've spent the past few days rush-reading (ie. trying to finish) a novel I bought that was on display at Page One, James Robertson's "The Testament of Gideon Mack", shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize. I finished it today (and used up lots of time I should have spent packing before the frenzy that will swarm most of tomorrow) and was left breathless and silently lamenting, that familar sense of heartache and realization and em/sympathy that characterizes a truly good book. It's been a while since something so gripping has made me think and feel so much. I highly recommend this book. I even feel kind of sad that I have to part with it now that I'm done with it. I feel that way at the end of every good TV series or novel or comic, I suppose it just shows that I get attached to things easily. Anyway, there's a passage I want to share. Food for thought. "Where's God in all of this?" I said.
"Now that is a good question," said the Devil.
"Maybe you are God," I said. "Maybe you're God, and this is one big test."
"Yeah, maybe."
"You wouldn't tell me if you were, would you?"
"I'd probably want to hear what you had to say for yourself first."
"That's the trouble with God. He's always one step ahead."
"What would you say to me if I were God?"
I thought about this for a while. The Devil passed me the bottle meantime.
"I'd say I was sick of apologizing for you. I'm sick of the bloody mess. Something like that."
"You'd blame me for it?"
"Well, ultimately, who else is there to blame?"
"Then you don't blame me? I mean, me the Devil. If that's who I am."
"No," I said. "I don't blame you. You're just doing what you do. What do you do?"
"That's another good question," the Devil said. "I used to have a purpose. We both had a purpose, God and me. Now? I just go from one window to another and stare out. Or stare in. Sometimes I do a few conjuring-tricks, push a button here, pull a lever there. But my heart's not in it. Basically, I don't do anything any more. I despair, if you want the honest truth. I mean, the world doesn't need me. It's going to hell on a handcart, if you'll excuse the cliche, without any assistance from me."
"And does God feel the same?" I asked.
"Probably. I feel sorry for him actually. What's in this for him? If things are going well, people forget about him. They unchain the swings, turn the churches into casinos and mock anybody who still believes in him. He's a very easy target. And who does he get left with? Fanatics and maniacs of every faith and every persuasion, who want to kill the heretics and blow themselves to pieces in his name. I feel sorry for God, I do. I mean, what a thankless fucking job. It's must be like running the National Health Service when nobody believes in it anymore. What are you looking like that for?"
I must have been frowning. The alcohol was making it hard for me to concentrate. "I'm trying to work out," I said, "if you are God, what my response to that should be."
He gave a long chuckle. "No more games, Gideon, okay? I'm not playing games. Like you, I'm sick of them. Do you think God would spend his time in a place like this? Okay, well, actually he might. He might like the solitude. The fact is, I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him for a long time."
I found I was struggling to keep my eyes open. The Devil's voice carried on in my ear.
"Maybe he's had enough. I keep thinking we're bound to run into one another again but it doesn't happen. I reckon he's gone, Gideon. Taken early retirement. Packed up, pissed off, vamoosed, vanished, desaparecido. I think he's done a runner. And you know what? I don't blame him. I don't blame him at all." Basically, I really loved this book. If you have the time and can be bothered, please read it. :) And with that, I take my leave and return to the joyous task that is packing. Whoopee. |
