Review: The Tongues of Men or Angels - Jonathan Trigell

'If I speak with the tongues of men or angels, but have not love, what am I? I am just a clashing gong or a clanging cymbal'

Described by the author as ‘a Biblical road movie’, Jonathan Trigell’s fourth novel is an account of the early days of the Christian church, focussing on the conflicts between the words of Jesus as recorded in the gospels and the later teachings of St Paul. Trigell’s previous books have largely focussed on contemporary social issues, so it is a surprise to see him diving so deeply into a historical subject, but the overall effect is impressive.

In an introductory note, Trigell explains that the novel ‘proceeds as the author’s research has led him to believe that events most probably occurred’. The narrative spins around the events of the crucifixion (chapters are headed ’27 years after’, or ‘Nine hours before’), but the primary focus is on the actions of Saul (St Paul) rather than Yeshua (Jesus). Occasionally, the story alights in some strange places - condemned men fighting in a Roman arena, a lone man in the wilderness who hears voices in his head, a rock badger searching for food; you could call it the Terrence Malik approach.

Trigell uses an omniscient narrator, who employs anachronistic terminology when it suits, and avoids the language of the gospels: one disciple is referred to as someone who ‘only the very brave or very dumb would fuck with’. Despite this, he still conjures up a believable portrait of the ancient world. Trigell is not afraid to get to grips with the squalor of the Roman Empire, the ‘summer stink’ of ‘pit latrines and emptied bed pots’. The people of Jerusalem are suffering after years of colonial oppression: their ‘skin [is] baked dirt-brown from sun-blasted net-hauling’, while ‘sickness strides through the slums, splashing in the street sewers’. Meanwhile Pilate ‘bears his flab like a symbol of conspicuous consumption’.

In keeping with many modern interpretations, such as that put forward by Terry Eagleton, Trigell places Jesus in a radical context. Describing the political situation in Judea, he states that ‘property has been robbed from the peasant toiler,’ whilst ‘the Italian wolf gorges on extortion, tribute and taxes’. In a phrase that resonates today, he describes Rome’s ‘very presence and every act in the Holy City’ as a ‘blasphemy'. Rather than simply being the charismatic leader of a ragged band of followers, Jesus is depicted as the leader of a rebel organisation, capable of carefully stage-managing events such as the entry to Jerusalem on the eve of the Passover. Whilst this is certainly a collection of the dispossessed (his strongest support comes from ‘day labourers, beggars, boatless shore-fishermen, corn gleaners, ditch sleepers, tax absconders’), there is a structure and defined hierarchy to the group: Jesus has appointed a triumvirate to serve beneath him, judges, and a provisional Sanhedrin council. This is, to all intents and purposes, a government in exile.

However, whilst we catch glimpses of Jesus’ character, we rarely get a sense of his psychology. In keeping him at arm’s length, Trigell reminds us that Jesus was not an especially remarkable figure in Judea at the time. There was no shortage of potential messiahs or revolutionary leaders. Instead, the novel focusses on Paul, the driving force behind the expansion of Christianity across the Roman Empire.

 

Trigell’s Paul is a much more recognisably modern character. Driven by ambition, and slights he had suffered as a young man, Paul had ‘always felt a powerful sense of his own destiny’. We see a strong sense of self-curation, as he narrates his memoirs to his amanuensis, the escaped slave Useful, and his own language stands out as particularly modern, as in his comment to Useful that ‘to be honest, we probably don’t need to dwell too long on that year in Arabia’. Paul comes across as something of a social climber. Beaten and rejected by his own people, he finds himself increasingly attracted to the ‘urbane’ Greeks, until they too dismiss his teachings. He is happy to court the wealthy, and solicit donations. He also recognises the potential benefits of Roman citizenship.

As the novel progresses, we see splits opening up between Paul and the triumvirate of disciples appointed by Jesus. Driven by what has become an almost pathological hatred of the Jewish people, Paul continually looks for new congregations, spreading the message far beyond the borders of Judea. In the process, he makes dramatic alterations to the teachings of Jesus as reported in the Gospels. Trigell highlights the distinction between Jesus the man, whose memory is maintained by the ‘three pillars’ and the resurrected Jesus, who supposedly guides Paul’s actions following his revelation on the road to Damascus.

The latter stages of the novel highlight the fragility of the early church, with infighting and persecution threatening the survival of the nascent religion. None of the founders expected that their influence would extend beyond their own lifetimes (they believed that Jesus 'walked the earth as a peer of this generation, and will return within it too'), and as the political situation in Rome and Jerusalem becomes increasingly hostile, they are overwhelmed by a great sense of failure.

Novels like The Da Vinci Code might make us wary of attempts to retell the history of ancient beliefs, but The Tongues of Men and Angels is an insightful and gripping account of the early church, without any of the symbolic trickery of a Dan Brown. Trigell has researched his subject thoroughly and fairly, and is able to reinterpret events in an interesting light. Here, Jesus driving demons into a herd of swine becomes an act of violence against property, and the last supper is seen as a traditional Kiddush blessing. Trigell also shows how the vengeful Old Testament God of Dawkins and Hitchens was a source of solace for the weak and oppressed: ‘if you believe that God struck dead a million Ethiopians in a single day, for daring to attack Judah, it hardly seems possible that he would not assist at all in fighting Rome’.

Trigell is a little over fond of compounds like ‘dread-full’ or ‘vagabond-ragged’, and he does allow himself to editorialise at times: at one point, he interrupts the narrative to explain that 'the Paul revealed in his epistles is simultaneously self-deprecating and self-aggrandizing; kindly, contemptuous and venomous. At times he sounds like a genius; at others like a fool trying to throw away the basket he is standing in', which could do with a bit more show and a little less tell. However, these are minor diversions in what is otherwise a lively, engaging, ambitious, nuanced and thought-provoking novel, which may be an early highlight of 2015.