I came across this paperback copy of the late Anne Rice’s novel in a thrift store. I had heard about it some years ago and knew she was a popular author, though I had never read anything by her. I’m not really into the whole vampire genre, which she was best known for. It seems that this novel, and the subsequent books in the series, were a departure for her. Rice was a boomerang Catholic, raised in a strict Irish Catholic community until college, at which point she left it all behind and drew on the deposit of Christian ideas and images only to adorn her novels. But then she says she lost faith in her atheism. Her old skeptical certainties started to crumble, leading eventually to a full-hearted return to Catholicism and to belief in Christ. Rice says that she then devoted her subsequent writing efforts to portraying the life of Christ, and this book was the first fruit of that endeavour.

So what about this book, then? Well, it’s a bit difficult to rate. Like most readers, I come to the book with some preconceived notions about the person and life of Christ. But this is not like a book about Caesar, who I also have some notions about. Christ is a singular figure, and for Christians like myself, he steps out of history and into the depths of my inner being. I say this to underline the fact that it’s not possible to sit down and read this book like I might read any other piece of historical fiction. So perhaps I’m not really the ideal audience for this book, seeing as I already have strong convictions about Jesus; perhaps the book is better suited to moderns who think they know who Jesus was, swayed by modern liberal scholarship that claims to have scientifically determined the truth about the Jesus myth. More on that liberal scholarship in a bit.

The book opens in Egypt, with a seven year old Jesus living with his family in Alexandria. The plot follows the family’s migration out of Egypt and back to Israel, featuring brushes with both Israelite zealots and ruthless Roman soldiers. The central intrigue surrounds the unanswered questions that young Jesus has about his early childhood. He knows there was something special about his birth, and he knows that something happened in Bethlehem. The plot then develops as he puts together the pieces and grows in his self-understanding.

The prose is, if I’m honest, a bit clunky and bare. It’s not a book that draws you in by it’s beautiful descriptions or its eloquence. Was this an intentional choice, trying to capture the inner voice of this special 7-year old child? I don’t know, but aside from a couple of moments in the book where Jesus was interacting with some of the Rabbis and teachers, the character didn’t really sound or feel like the Jesus of the Scriptures. But then again… how could he? This is an impossible task, and in this regard the book could never succeed. The person of Jesus, as captured by the gospel writers, is the single most compelling literary character ever put to paper. Obviously I believe that he is far more than a literary character, but he is not less than that.

There were a few ways in which Rice wove future characters from the gospels into the family’s network of relationships such that the reader with knowledge of the New Testament would recognize that a deeper connection was being forged such that when the critical interaction occurred later, this extra freight of history would deepen the meaning of the event. For example, Rice has the family meeting the future high priest Caiaphas as a young man. He would, of course, later be involved in the trial and execution of Christ.

This is a plot device that is used a lot by the popular show, The Chosen, whereby familiar events in the gospels are retold with imagined backstories that make the stories feel deeply layered with extra significance. It’s effective on an emotional level, and when done well it doesn’t do violence to the text by changing anything. It simply adds details that the gospel writers left out, details which are no doubt wrong in their specifics but perhaps correct in a broader sense. What I mean is that each person encountered by Jesus in the gospels really had a full and complex life story like we all do. And no doubt some of those stories and specifics made their encounters with Jesus so powerful that they were never the same. I think that a reverential and imaginative exploration of what some of those backstories might have been is well within the bounds of legitimate Christian art, as long as it’s clear that the fictional additions are not Scriptural or authoritative.

But this brings me to Rice’s use of apocryphal material, such as the legends of Jesus discovering his own miraculous abilities as a child: turning clay birds into living ones, causing the weather to change, healing people, and even, as in the opening pages of the book, supernaturally taking the life of a neighbourhood bully (before miraculously resuscitating him). This was an inauspicious start, immediately signaling to me as a reader that the book was comfortable departing sharply from the Bible. Given the fact that this theme faded as the book progressed, I feel like it was used as a way to hook readers more than anything else. Ultimately, however, it cheapened the book, reminding me far more of a superhero origin story, where a character discovers their super powers and unique destiny, than of an episode from Holy Writ. This underscored an important principle that Christian artists must remember: when it comes to the Scriptures, to add to them in this way is automatically a deterioration; by trying to change things we only end up taking away from their own mysterious power.

It’s true the Bible’s style is to leave out many details and to leave many questions unanswered. The hidden things belong to the Lord. What inevitably happens when some well-meaning writer or artist deems to fill in some of the details is that the work takes on a ham-fisted, all-too-human quality. It takes true genius and a measure of restraint to avoid this result. Perhaps we can say that Milton achieved it in Paradise Lost and Samson Agonistes, and many others through the years. Anne Rice’s Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt is a mixed result, with some elements succeeding well and others falling short.

The real surprising delight of this book however came after the narrative was done. In a lengthy Author’s Note, Rice goes into great detail about her own testimony and the journey of her extensive research into the New Testament era. There are some real gems in this text, which I will quote at some length. The great value to me was Rice’s recounting of her encounters with both liberal New Testament scholars and the more conservative ones. I came away impressed at the breadth of her research and reading, and also at the sensitivity with which she read and interpreted these works. She writes:

I had taken in a lot of fashionable notions about Jesus – that he’d been oversold, that the gospels were “late” documents, that we really didn’t know anything about him, that violence and quarreling marked the movement of Christianity from its start. …

New Testament scholarship included books of every conceivable kind, from skeptical books that sought to disprove Jesus had any real value to theology or an enduring church, to books that conscientiously met every objection of the skeptics with footnotes halfway up the page.

Bibliographies were endless. Disputes sometimes produced rancor.

And the primary source material for the first century was a matter of continuous controversy in which the Gospels were called secondary sources by some, and primary sources by others, and the history of Josephus and the works of Philo were subject to exhaustive examination and contentions as to their relevance or validity or whether they had any truth. …

Having started with this skeptical critics, those who take their cue from the earliest skeptical New Testament scholars of the Enlightenment, I expected to discover that their arguments would be frighteningly strong, and that Christianity was, at heart, a kind of fraud. I’d have to end up compartmentalizing my mind with faith in one part of it, and truth in another. …

These skeptical scholars seemed so very sure of themselves. They built their books on certain assertions without even examining these assertions. How could they be wrong?

What gradually came clear to me was that many of the skeptical arguments – arguments that insisted most of the Gospels were suspect, for instance, or written too late to be eyewitness accounts – lacked coherence. They were not elegant. Arguments about Jesus himself were full of conjecture. Some books were no more than assumptions piled upon assumptions. Absurd conclusions were reached on the basis of little or no data at all.

In some, the whole case for the non-divine Jesus who stumbled into Jerusalem and somehow got crucified by nobody and had nothing to do with the founding of Christianity and would be horrified by it if he knew about it – that whole picture which had floated in the liberal circles I frequented as an atheist for 30 years – that case was not made. Not only was it not made, I discovered in this field some of the worst and most biased scholarship I’d ever read.

I saw almost no skeptical scholarship that was convincing, and the gospels, shredded by critics, lost all intensity when reconstructed by various theorists. They were in no way compelling when treated as composites and records of later “communities.”

I was unconvinced by the wild postulations of those who claim to be the children of the Enlightenment. And I had also sensed something else. Many of these scholars, scholars who apparently devoted their life to New Testament scholarship, disliked Jesus Christ. Some pitied him as a hopeless failure. Others sneered at him, and some felt an outright contempt. This came between the lines of the books. This emerged in the personality of the texts.

I’d never come across this kind of emotion in any other field of research, at least not to this extent. It was puzzling.

Rice describes then encountering a different kind of scholarship, written by believing, conservative, orthodox, and even Evangelical scholars. She heaps praise upon many familiar names, from Larry Hurtado and Craig Blomberg to Craig Keener and D.A. Carson; singling out N.T. Wright as preeminently helpful. The author’s note made me very sympathetic to what she was trying to accomplish in this book. Her experience of reading the voluminous (endless) scholarship is instructive and helpful, for she was a kind of curious neutral observer of the space, something which is rare. But she discerned this consistent undercurrent of both shoddy work and personal animus against Christ in the books by people who had dedicated their careers and lives to this topic.

The fact is that Christ, because of his all-encompassing claims to Lordship over every one of us, leaves very few people on the fence about him. The stakes are too high. Anne Rice’s note makes that clear in a surprising and very helpful way. I am sure that many readers found themselves following her towards a proper reexamination of the Scriptures without the jaundiced eye of the skeptics. That alone is reason enough to be thankful for the book, despite its flaws.