I can be a bit like Charlie Brown with the football when it comes to fictional reimaginings of the New Testament. No matter how many times I'm disappointed, it's a conceptual template I continue to seek out, hoping against hope that the next one will be the one that connects. As such, when David Scott Hay first sent me The Butcher of Nazareth, I was both excited (as a fan of both the form, and his previous work), and a little worried (as a reader already let down by the more famous likes of Philip Pullman and Christopher Moore). But fear not, brothers and sisters - followers of the good books - for I bring you glad tidings of great joy. This one is rad as hell.
Now full disclosure, I ended up writing the introduction for this book, so I'm necessarily biased, and much of what I have to say about it went into that work (which I hope you'll all read). But still, speaking strictly as a reader, The Butcher of Nazareth is a wicked good time. Revolving around Titus, a man conscripted into Herod's mass infanticide (here dubbed "the culling") and subsequently plagued by visions of the future apocalypse he believes will result from that project's failure to eliminate the Christ child, this is a dark, deft, and at times sinfully clever traipse across the shifting desert sands of myth and history in which he sets out to finish the job (with a bigass goat in tow).
In the hands of a lesser author, this whole idea might well have resulted in a one-note polemic against the church, or worse yet, a string of mindless, naughty boy sacrileges, but Hay takes great pains to imbue his characters, both real and imagined, with nuance and depth. His depiction of the young Jesus as a potbellied hippie frolicking with his beloved Mary Magdalene feels sweet and sexy in ways even Kazantzakis wouldn't dare, and in contrasting the small, lunatic horrors of Titus's damaged psyche with the rampant, global horrors still being wrought in the name of a corrupt, crusading religious movement, he offers us a vessel for all our lost and broken faiths.
These characters sense their own importance - their place at the dawn of something bigger than themselves, and The Butcher of Nazareth uses them to ask big questions - namely, would the world be better off if someone had just smothered baby Jesus in his manger? - without insisting on solid answers (as all good Biblical speculation should). And while I've still got a few more Charlie Brown kicks at the New Testament football in my reading plans for this year (Robert Graves, I'm lookin' at you), I feel confident in saying that no one will ever approach the greatest story ever told quite like David Scott Hay. At the risk of a little naughty boy sacrilege myself, I'd say he fuckin' nailed it.