"Only Begotten Daughter" by James Morrow
Aug. 24th, 2015 07:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chuckroWhen a daughter is born (via “inverse parthogenesis” and an artificial womb) to reclusive lighthouse keeper Murray Katz, she demonstrates miraculous abilities and knowledge that her mother is God. Her path then takes a number of twists, turns and mutilations as she decides what divinity means to her and “her mother’s oldest friend” Mr. Wyvern calls the shots.
I read several of Morrow’s books years ago and liked them, so I decided to give this a shot when I spotted it on KindleUnlimited. It's a bit ham-handed and preachy, but I expected that both from his style and the synopsis. The problems go deeper than that, though.
Morrow's political worries as he world-builds remind me a bit of Atwood's: In that there's a particular thing that he thinks is the real threat to the world, and that streak dominates the narrative. (No matter how realistic that is or isn't.) Billy Milk the “revelationist” preacher is clearly that worry, who leads his small congregation in a massive terrorist attack, then somehow manages to turn around and get elected mayor of Atlantic City, then from there lead an increasing massive congregation of nutjobs in having New Jersey secede from the US and build New Jerusalem. Which is infeasible, to say the least, even if Julie had done a few miracles in the midst of it.
I was repeatedly annoyed with Julie’s willingness to listen to and trust the devil, even after it had been made clear that he lies. I was also annoyed that the devil was our only source of exposition for more than half the book…and he lies. But not all the time. And for that matter, Jesus doesn’t give a lot of straight or useful answers either, and we have no reason to believe He’s entirely truthful!
The book is overall a bit of a mess that tries to focus on the profundity of human life while pointedly refusing to answer any theological questions. All of the divine players (Satan, God, Jesus) are thoroughly unreliable and give conflicting information when they give any at all. The book of revelation comes true, sorta-kinda; Julie’s path follows Jesus’, sorta-kinda. In the end, Julie might still have powers or might not (but given what she survives, my money's on yes), and the devil might be beaten or he might be faking it for Phoebe/Julie's sake. (Given his status before that conversation, there's no reason to believe that he's actually taken a downturn.)
But more than that, we never get a clear idea of anybody's goals or intentions. Julie guesses at everything. For that matter, it seems like the author couldn't decide whether Jesus was doing his divine tasks or just winging it under Satan's nose. The only real driving takeaway from the world of the book was, “If God didn’t exist, we’d have to invent Her.”
(For years, Mithrigil has been talking about possibly writing a story about a modern-day Jesus raised by a lesbian couple. Julie Katz isn't quite that character, and her virgin Jewish father and radical hippie lesbian "aunt" make a good showing towards it, but I suspect I’d rather read her version of the events that followed.)
Overall: I fear to reread Blameless in Abaddon now, which I loved when I read it in late high school. Because this is clearly trying to be profound but is mostly just a frustrating tease. If you want to do theological worldbuilding, you need to own up to it and actually do it. If God has a daughter, you owe it to your readers to at least address the issue of why.
I read several of Morrow’s books years ago and liked them, so I decided to give this a shot when I spotted it on KindleUnlimited. It's a bit ham-handed and preachy, but I expected that both from his style and the synopsis. The problems go deeper than that, though.
Morrow's political worries as he world-builds remind me a bit of Atwood's: In that there's a particular thing that he thinks is the real threat to the world, and that streak dominates the narrative. (No matter how realistic that is or isn't.) Billy Milk the “revelationist” preacher is clearly that worry, who leads his small congregation in a massive terrorist attack, then somehow manages to turn around and get elected mayor of Atlantic City, then from there lead an increasing massive congregation of nutjobs in having New Jersey secede from the US and build New Jerusalem. Which is infeasible, to say the least, even if Julie had done a few miracles in the midst of it.
I was repeatedly annoyed with Julie’s willingness to listen to and trust the devil, even after it had been made clear that he lies. I was also annoyed that the devil was our only source of exposition for more than half the book…and he lies. But not all the time. And for that matter, Jesus doesn’t give a lot of straight or useful answers either, and we have no reason to believe He’s entirely truthful!
The book is overall a bit of a mess that tries to focus on the profundity of human life while pointedly refusing to answer any theological questions. All of the divine players (Satan, God, Jesus) are thoroughly unreliable and give conflicting information when they give any at all. The book of revelation comes true, sorta-kinda; Julie’s path follows Jesus’, sorta-kinda. In the end, Julie might still have powers or might not (but given what she survives, my money's on yes), and the devil might be beaten or he might be faking it for Phoebe/Julie's sake. (Given his status before that conversation, there's no reason to believe that he's actually taken a downturn.)
But more than that, we never get a clear idea of anybody's goals or intentions. Julie guesses at everything. For that matter, it seems like the author couldn't decide whether Jesus was doing his divine tasks or just winging it under Satan's nose. The only real driving takeaway from the world of the book was, “If God didn’t exist, we’d have to invent Her.”
(For years, Mithrigil has been talking about possibly writing a story about a modern-day Jesus raised by a lesbian couple. Julie Katz isn't quite that character, and her virgin Jewish father and radical hippie lesbian "aunt" make a good showing towards it, but I suspect I’d rather read her version of the events that followed.)
Overall: I fear to reread Blameless in Abaddon now, which I loved when I read it in late high school. Because this is clearly trying to be profound but is mostly just a frustrating tease. If you want to do theological worldbuilding, you need to own up to it and actually do it. If God has a daughter, you owe it to your readers to at least address the issue of why.
