Warren Loveridge

After taking years to get around to reading Nevil Shute I'm left with mixed feelings. This is far from a flawless book. There's enough in here to make a modern feminist freak out and foam at the mouth, for example. And then there's the curious business of Dr Scott's apparent omniscience. Numerous chapters are narrated by him in the first person, and that's fine because he was there. But then we'd move to a different scene, often thousands of miles away from Dr Scott, and the narrative would switch to the third person, except for the odd comment from Dr Scott, weirdly just dropped in there. I couldn't figure it out.

Nevil Shute's writing is workmanlike. He is no great prose stylist in the vein of, say, Graham Greene. There is no great exploration of the human condition going on here. But he writes an intelligent, engaging story. I'd give it 3.5 stars but, and I'm sure I've said this before in a Goodreads review, I think it's fairer round it up to 4 rather than down to 3.

Typical Dennis Wheatley. Outdated and corny. Wooden prose, clunky dialogue. Bunch of toffs getting themselves in the poo. A rather abrupt denouement. But meanwhile Wheatley has taken you on a whirlwind ride, and it's been a heap of fun. Nothing like a Wheatley for a bit of undemanding fun when you need a break from “Ulysses” or “À la Recherche du temps Perdu”.

In the reign of Domitian, Sadoc, a pessimistic and slightly unreliable narrator succumbing slowly to the ravages of disease, chronicles the history of the very first Christians, beginning with the resurrection and ascension of Jesus (which here takes place in 37, shortly before the death of Tiberius) and ending with the destruction of Pompeii in 79.

The enormous scope of this novel is almost Burgess's undoing. We follow the Apostles in their work against a background of the machinations of the Roman Empire, and we are taken into the boudoirs and minds of Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, Nero, Galba, Otho, Vitellius and Vespasian as they indulge their excesses, and deal with the Nazarene existential threat. If I were to find fault, it would be the occasional jump in the narrative, and odd patches of descriptive thinness that contrast with Burgess's usual rich detail. Together with what seemed to me a rushed ending, this suggests that Burgess might have been constrained by page space and/or time. That the novel was written as preparation for a screenplay (for the television series A.D., also released in 1985) lends weight to this speculation.

A longer novel would have done the story greater justice, and Burgess's extraordinary writing certainly had the power to grip the reader through many more pages than 379. In fact, to descend from his lofty, sparkling prose to a less extraordinary writer is akin to going cold turkey - withdrawal is experienced.

I will not attempt an analysis of the novel. Others do a far better job than me. I can judge neither the themes and conclusions that Burgess explores, nor his choice of fact to blend with his fiction. I judge The Kingdom of the Wicked a success by other criteria. A book such as this is to be savoured and absorbed.

If ever I'm asked what my favourite book is, I now have an unequivocal answer. I cannot recall any greater pleasure from reading. This is a six-star masterpiece. I'm incapable of doing it justice in a review. Of course it's not for everybody. One must have patience, one must be prepared to stop and savour this book along the way, pause for thought, digest it, consider it. Joseph and His Brothers challenges the reader, but not in the way that, say, Ulysses does. Joseph and His Brothers is beautiful and erudite. It is a joy. Take the time. Read it.