I have recently read Genesis. When I say Genesis, I of course mean the first book of the Bible, not the biography about the band, Genesis: Behind the Lines. And when I say 'read', I mean listened to a dramatic audiobook version by an American evangelical organisation, where God sounds something like G.O.B. from Arrested Development. What follows here is my review, but to save you needless suspense, I'll tell you now that I give it three stars out of five.
Before I get into the story, allow me preliminary remarks on interpretation of the Bible. Whether your church encourages it or not, those of us raised Christian inevitably find ourselves in the game of exegesis. We all bring our own redacting pen to the text. Those who hold the good book dear will find themselves glossing over chapters, smudging verses, while lending precious weight to others. All agree that the Bible contains parable; exactly how much is often where religions diverge. As a writer, I am forever trying to pry into the untold story. Hence, I have foregone reading any interpretive texts on the book. In Genesis, I see a writer grappling with alcoholism. Like all addictions that have seduced us, we struggle to let go in spite of all the ills, because we know that our vice once brought us so much joy.
Genesis starts well enough with our protagonist, a fellow named God, bringing the universe into existence. God labours lovingly, for six long days, bringing forth all from nothing — an unparalleled act of productivity and creativity. All without hands to speak of; he seems to have an invisible touch. On the seventh day, he rests, and, what goes unsaid — but must certainly be factored into the story — is that he had a quite a few tipples during his downtime. Some might say that is too great an interpretative leap, but I wouldn't be the first to jump so far. In any case, we never see the inebriation of the man who drinks alone at home. What follows from this now makes perfect sense. We behold the ugly stupidity and aggression of drunkenness, as well as the rib-tickling jibes and antics.
In the midst of paradise, God, with drunken logic, plants a tree that nobody is allowed to touch. With mischievous reverse psychology, he tells Adam and his fully-grown rib woman that they are absolutely forbidden from eating the tree's fruit. "Oh, think twice," Adam tells Eve, who covets the apple, "it's just another day for you and me in paradise." They both are seduced by temptation, and God banishes them from Garden. Like an inebriated joke taken too far, God condemns generations to hardship and misery in the harsh reality outside of Eden.
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| Being chased naked by a fire demon seemed like a funny prank at the time. |
Naturally enough, crime manifests in the disadvantaged environment. In melancholic despair, God wipes clean the whole Earth in a massive flood. "Ooh, I wish it would rain down on me," declares a broken deity. "Noah," he says to a man he hardly knows, "build a giant ship and I'll save you." Intimidated, Noah does as he says, but has doubts about being able to save two of every creature on the planet.
We then get a very tedious, drunken ramble about the generations that followed from Noah and all his incestuous descendants. Eventually, we meet Abraham, a pious man whom God slaps on the back and assures him that he likes him. Squeezing him intimidatingly, the toxic smell of alcohol on his breath, God tells Abraham that he will strike a special arrangement with his people. Abe's people will worship God, and God will assist them. "Follow you if you follow me," as it were. Abraham agrees, and then God tells him it's time to have babies with his nonagenarian, barren wife. Abraham reluctantly complies. Realising that his new friend Abraham will do just about anything to humour him, God pushes his luck.
"You want me to do what?!" asks Abraham.
"Cut off your foreskin."
"I'm a little confused as to why you want this."
"Why not?" retorts God, growing irritated. "It's not like you need it for anything"
"Okay. Okay. Just let me find a clean knife."
"Oh, Abe…", God calls him back, with a grin on his face.
"Yes, Lord?"
"Make sure all of the males in your household do the same."
"That might take some convincing. I mean, the lady folk won't like it, and it's a very weird re…"
God begins to frown.
"Never mind."
God finally sobers up and reels it in, when, having asked Abraham to kill his own son, he realises that Abe's actually going to go ahead with it. Embarrassed with his foolishness, he gets aggressive in his drunkenness, and decides to pick a fight with Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham, his only real pal, tries holding him back. He reasons that there must be fifty men in Sodom who don't deserve a smiting. God, seemingly open to reasoning, promises he won't destroy the city if there are fifty good men there. Quickly realising that there may not be fifty men in Sodom living up to God's standards, Abraham haggles with God to get the number down. After some wrangling, they finally agree on ten.
Despite Abraham's best efforts, the whole situation quickly becomes a mess. Women get raped by angels, the whole city gets destroyed, and the wife of Abraham's nephew gets turned into salt. God tells her and her husband, Lot, not to look at him while he is destroying Sodom. However, the city of Sodom calls to her, saying, "take a look at me now", and she cannot not restrain herself. As she crystallises into sodium chloride, Sodom laments, "you coming back to me is against all odds", before God wallops the city, slurring "c'mere you little bugger".
Then comes Jacob, who was a complete alcoholic. He get so drunk one time that he fucks two of his daughters. "I can't dance, I can't talk," he once bleated to by-passers as he drunkenly tried to climb a ladder that apparently went to heaven. "The only thing about me is the way I walk." Like the textbook drunken dad, he doesn't really like any of his sons. His youngest, Joseph, is perhaps the exception.
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| He was a pretty cool guy after all. |
But then again, Joseph has it all: the coat, the mastery of disguise, the prophetic visions, the high-powered position. Towards the end of the book, Egypt survives the great famine because of his insights. "I can feel it coming in the air tonight," he whispers to himself about the impending catastrophe. But Egypt was not prepared. "Can't you see, this is a land of confusion?", he implores the Pharaoh, who eventually allows him to govern the Empire. In the land of Canaan, where the famine hits hard, Israel (aka, the patriarch formally known as Jacob) and his family are suffering. God falls asleep from having one too many, and fails to save them from their desperate plight. Young Joseph, who had previously survived his brothers' murder attempt, decides to save all the Canaanites. But not before mischievously putting his brothers through an elongated guilt trip. It is this prankish abuse of power which so charmed God, and convinced him Joseph was one of his favourites.
After some toing and froing, Joseph manages to bring all his tribe to Egypt to survive the famine. "We're up and leaving for Egypt with the entire crew", they laugh. "Even our hungover deity is coming with us." And with that felicitous ending, the book comes to a close.
What, you might ask, is the moral of the story? Well, there are many morals: don't look at your city as it's being destroyed, lest you turn to salt; don't pull out while you're doing your sister-in-law, or God will kill you, as he did nonchalantly to Onan; always haggle a murderer down to get the lowest number of murders possible; and don't eat the forbidden fruit, especially if a serpent tells you it's a good idea. Most of all, however, Genesis is a cautionary tale about the tragedy and misadventure that can be found at the bottom of the bottle. Genesis's perceptive and empathetic author knows well that the enchanting seduction of alcohol cannot be understood by looking at the sun-worn wino on the pavement, but through the affirming, bacchanalian whirlpool of inebriation. The joyous mischief, the laughter, and the alleviation of responsibility are what call us back to drink. The certitude of our actions, which is undoubtedly what allowed the insecure God character to be seduced by alcohol, must also be a factor in explaining his frequent (and angry) acts of immorality.
How will this character progress? Join us next time for Exodus, where God lets Egypt know all about his hangover, and Moses desperately jots down the detailed specs his master requests of his religious artefacts.
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| The Egyptians have no idea what they're getting themselves into. |
