FIRST OFF to the cavils that most Goodreaders have (the ones who have dared to review this thing at least) of Bloom’s failure to prove that the J Writer was a woman in Solomon’s court, I shake my head. I truly do. Were you skimming? Bloom says constantly throughout that this theory of his is a literary conceit:
“Since I am aware that my vision of J will be condemned as a fancy or fiction, I will begin by pointing out that all our accounts of the Bible are scholarly fictions or religious fantasies, and generally serve rather tendentious purposes. In proposing that J was a woman, at least I will not be furthering the interests of any religious or ideological group. Rather, I will be attempting to account, through my years of reading experience, for my increasing sense of the astonishing differences between J and every other biblical writer.”
That, my friends is on pages 9-10. The sentence starts on the first page of the Introduction! If you want to carry on disbelieving Bloom’s hypothesis like that is the point you should have quit right there. The point is not whether or not he has unearthed some archeological discovery à la Tom Hanks or Indiana Jones, but rather to focus on the writing itself in order to interpret a wildly awesome and controversial view of not only Judaism, but the universe. The Snake in Eden not being Satan, not representing carnal shame or original sin (these being, according to Bloom, Christian inventions); the Patriarchs being fundamentally less interesting people than the heroic women of the Torah (take that Patriarchy); the Jahwist being unconcerned with holiness… these are three quick examples of what the J Writer, especially in the updated translation by David Rosenberg, advanced with her highly ironic prose and her constant wordplay. The words themselves, by the way, which amount to a subsequent read through the first five books of the Hebrew Bible (I use this term instead of Old Testament, which is another Christian invention), are fantastic. I’m reminded of the skaldic poetry of the Norsemen, who manage to fit such vast worlds into so few words. In our day of demanding quick sound bites and hatred of “flowery” archaic prose, the J Writer should fit right in: she is straight to the point, and yet, tantalizingly enigmatic in the extreme. An especial favorite literary technique of hers is the use of the imperative:
Now look: the seven days and the flood water is on the land. Look: the rain would be on the land, forty days, forty nights. (stanza 23, pg 70)
There’s something vital in the technique, a subtle tool to integrate the reader into the text and make the story feel as if it is happening right now. Elsewhere the pure imagery is something that will stay with me, such as Yahweh (and to be clear, the J Writer had no qualms about naming the God of the Israelites) leading the people out of Egypt as a pillar of cloud during the day and pillar of fire at night. There really is something amazing about J; her words are simple, the plot turns often seem random, but all is somehow believable (the way we believe a plot point in a novel, not as in the gospel truth).
Yet another awesome thing this book did for me was to explain the origin of the word “Jewish”. I never knew where that word (Jew, Jewish) came from.
“Biblical scholars use the terms ‘Israelite’ (as distinguished from ‘Israeli’, meaning a citizen of the post-1947 state of Israel) to refer to the people of ancient Israel down to the Return from Babylonian Exile. ‘The Jews’ are thus Israelites from the Return until the present moment. ‘Jew’ comes the Hebrew Yehudi, meaning a Judahite, or Judean, a descendent of Judah, who was Jacob’s (Israel’s) fourth son and heir, the historical carrier of the Blessing of Yahweh, first given to Abram (Abraham).
That kind of concrete knowledge is pure gold. Bloom contextualizes the Bible in a way no one else had done for me before, and context in literature, is everything.
Still yet we find in this book the quintessential kernel of Bloom’s entire conception of poetry. What he finds interesting in J and how he interprets her is the foundation for how he looks at every writer, and literature in general. Understanding J is to gain a deeper insight into Bloom, and for Bloomiacs like myself, that is a joy in itself. Take this quote for example, Bloom on Freud, a central writer for him and someone that can be almost punishingly opaque:
“Freud’s overt views on Yahweh, in his Moses and Monotheism are rather weak and uninteresting, but that is not Freud’s true vision of Yahweh. J’s uncanny Yahweh erupts into late Freud as the Superego of Civilization and Its Discontents. The Freudian Superego just about is J’s Yahweh, and causes our unconscious sense of guilt, “guilt” being neither remorse nor the consciousness of wrongdoing… Yahweh and Superego are after all versions of yourself, even if the authorities have taught you to believe otherwise. To say it another way, J’s Yahweh and Freud’s Superego are grand characters, as Lear is a grand character. Learning to read J ultimately will teach you how much authority has taught you already, and how little authority knows.”
Phew… heavy stuff. I love it! The sacred and the profane, faith and heresy, as intertwined as scripture and the secular in literature, such a powerful theme in all of Bloom and one that resonates personally with me. Just because I don’t believe that Judge Holden or Dorothea Brooke did what they did in the novels in which they star, doesn’t mean what they say and do doesn’t affect me in spirit.
My advice is to read this book not as The Da Vinci Code nor as any other archeological non-fiction book about the Bible, but rather in the same vein as The Portrait of Mr. W. H. by Oscar Wilde, in which Wilde purports to know the true identity of the person to whom Shakespeare dedicated his Sonnets. Wilde knows that his theory is just that, and it has the rush of a websleuth who believes she has cracked a famous cold case. Bloom is a little less willing and a little less afraid of falling down the rabbit hole as Wilde however, firm in his idea of the material difference between metaphor and reality. A fine line, and one I don’t mind getting blended every now and then.