Jesus Christ Kinski

by Benjamin Myers

November, 1971. Berlin, Germany. Opening night.

Klaus Kinski, Germany's most controversial actor, steps into the spotlight to a crowd of thousands.

After years of making movies abroad, he has returned to the stage for a much-publicized one-man performance about Jesus Christ. As the crowd turn on him and violence is threatened, it is also very nearly his last. After this week, he will never perform on stage again.

Exactly fifty years later, a hypochondriac writer, housebound by winter snowstorms, becomes fixated with video footage of Kinski at his most manic.

In this forensic analysis, he strays into the darker corners of modern culture, and finally begins to understand the compulsive urge that drives artists to the edge of sanity in their pursuit of perfection.

Jesus Christ Kinski is a novel about a film about a performance about Jesus. It is a daring act of literary ventriloquism, a meditation on censorship, creativity, loneliness – and just how far our tolerance is tested by bad people who make great art.

Genres: Fiction, Germany, Literature, Contemporary, Audiobook

208 pages, ebook

First published January 1, 2025

About the author

Benjamin Myers was born in Durham, UK, in 1976.

He is an award-winning author and journalist whose recent novel Cuddy (2023) won the Goldsmiths Prize.

His first short story collection, Male Tears, was published by Bloomsbury in 2021.

His novel The Offing was published by Bloomsbury in 2019 and is a best-seller in Germany. It was serialised by Radio 4's Book At Bedtime and Radio 2 Book club choice. It is being developed for stage and has been optioned for film.

The non-fiction book Under The Rock, was shortlisted for The Portico Prize For Literature in 2020.

Recipient of the Roger Deakin Award and first published by Bluemoose Books, Myers' novel The Gallows Pole was published to acclaim in 2017 and was winner of the Walter Scott Prize 2018 - the world's largest prize for historical fiction. It has been published in the US by Third Man Books and in 2023 was adapted by director Shane Meadows for the BBC/A24.

The Gallows Pole was re-issued by Bloomsbury, alongside previous titles Beastings and Pig Iron.

Several of Myers' novels have been released as audiobooks, read by actor Ralph Ineson.

Turning Blue (2016) was described as a "folk crime" novel, and praised by writers including Val McDermid. A sequel These Darkening Days followed in 2017.

His novel Beastings (2014) won the Portico Prize For Literature, was the recipient of the Northern Writers’ Award and longlisted for a Jerwood Fiction Uncovered Award 2015. Widely acclaimed, it featured on several end of year lists, and was chosen by Robert Macfarlane in The Big Issue as one of his books of 2014.

Pig Iron (2012) was the winner of the inaugural Gordon Burn Prize and runner-up in The Guardian’s Not The Booker Prize. A controversial combination of biography and novel, Richard (2010) was a bestseller and chosen as a Sunday Times book of the year.

Myers’ short story ‘The Folk Song Singer’ was awarded the Tom-Gallon Prize in 2014 by the Society Of Authors and published by Galley Beggar Press. His short stories and poetry have appeared in dozens of anthologies.

As a journalist he has written about the arts and nature for publications including New Statesman, The Guardian, The Spectator, NME, Mojo, Time Out, New Scientist, Caught By The River, The Morning Star, Vice, The Quietus, Melody Maker and numerous others.

He currently lives in the Upper Calder Valley, West Yorkshire, UK.

Reviews

[Meike · Rating 2 out of 5]

Make no mistake: This is not a book about German actor Klaus Kinski. This is a book about Benjamin Myers in which Kinski serves as a projection surface. In it, we get a (fictionalized) Myers who wrote a novel that was a surprise success in its German translation (The Offing / Offene See) and thus earned him a very welcome amount of money, but the author himself judges his work as "twee" and easily digestible (I haven't read it), so now he claims to daringly venture into commercial suicide in order to prove his artistic guts: He writes about "cancelled" Kinski, which is ... a daring feat?! Nope, this premise is of course complete nonsense: Kinski was never cancelled, he is widely perceived as a crazy, controversial genius, and to be fascinated by Kinski does not exactly exhibit any shock factor in Germany, as the text insinuates: Who isn't fascinated by Kinski, his antics and his talent? And that's the problem of the text: It is in itself a performance in which a writer, apparently rattled by his own success, poses as an edgy, fearless artist by trying to establish the false claim that writing about Kinski, one of the greatest and best known German actors of the 20th century, somehow amounts to ballsy outsider art. What?!

This is particularly tragic because the quality of Myers's writing is stellar: In the first part of his book, he takes us inside the mind of Kinski during his performance of Jesus Christus Erlöser (Erlöser = Redeemer), a public recitation in the form of a declamatio staged in Berlin in 1971. Kinski wrote the text himself, a very serious work based on the New Testament - but the show was a desaster, as the audience kept heckling, interrupting and provoking him, pushing him to lose his temper and show the scandalous Kinski, the enfant terrible. And Kinski fell into the trap. The outrage was so massive that the whole tour had to be stopped and the organizer went bankrupt. By now, some critics have pointed out that the audience never gave Kinski a chance, and pondered what the inicient said about the political climate at the time. If you really want to punish yourself, you can see clips of the event on YouTube, but it is painful to watch. But Kinski wasn't cancelled after that, as Myers maintains; in fact, some of his biggest works like "Fitzcarraldo" came afterwards, the guy continued to be immensely relevant and taken seriously as an artist in Germany.

But was Klaus Kinski a violent tyrant and probably also a sex offender? Oh yes, but we all know whether this gets a rich white guy cancelled. When Kinski was young, he was committed to a psychiatric facility after trying to kill himself, and it seems like his anger management issues and his extreme demand for attention were at least partly due to mental health problems. To be clear though: This does not excuse his aggressive behavior towards the people around him, and there are also accusations of sexual violence (not only, as Myers mentions, by his daughter Pola in Kindermund, but also in hints by his daughter Nastassja who has also stated that she's glad he's dead, as well as by director Werner Herzog in Eroberung des Nutzlosen where he reveals what Kinski told him, plus by Kinksi himself, in Ich bin so wild nach deinem Erdbeermund: Erinnerungen, which, to be fair, seems to be a seriouly fictionalized account).

Still, when Myers imagines himself in the shoes of Kinski during the controversial "Jesus Christus Erlöser" performance, it's spectacularly crafted: The oscillating mind, intrusive thoughts ("you"), and out-of-body experiences, the flashbacks alluding to his strained relationship with Werner Herzog, his three-day-stint at the Wittenau sanatorium (which also features in Zoo Station: The Story of Christiane F.), him becoming a soldier, his storied career in public recitation, how he feels connected to Jesus, his disdian for the audience. ("They want to see you weep, they want you broken.") etc. pp. Nothing new about Kinski here, but great writing.

But then, the part called "Intermission" follows when the fictionalized Myers chimes in, explaining why in the post-Brexit climate of 2021, he decided to write abut Kinski without much research - and Myers is not kidding when he says that he only spent two nights in Germany, doesn't speak the language, only did some cursory reading to get a hunch of German culture and is overall far from an expert. He writes: "Devoting a significant portion of one's life to attempting to transcribe the innermost thoughts of a widely disliked - some might even say despised - figure is usually a short cut to poverty (at best) or ostracisation amongst one's peers (at worst)." This love fest for one's own poetic balls and artistic integrity is unfounded: Kinski is one of the highly problematic white men celebrated for their art whose criminal and violent endeavours are still largely excused as quirks. To be intrigued by Kinski is not exactly unusual in Germany, contrary to what the text tries to maintain (and one could start the very worthwhile Monsters: A Fan's Dilemma discussion here, but this review is already too long).

What offends German sensibilities are the gratuitous Nazi comparisons though: "Defaming Kinski's character felt akin to defaming a Nazi commander". What the actual fuck, this is so obviously stupid. When Kinski rages, he of course reminds the fictionalized author of Adolf Hitler. Hitler had a very specific enunciation, and Kinski sounds nothing like him, he also moves nothing like him, this is just lazy "man rages in German = Nazi" BS. You feel like all of this isn't stupid enough yet? Okay, how about this: "But didn't Kinski, the writer thought, display the same unhinged and narcissistic tendencies as a man who might invade a country and mercilessly murder its most vulnerable and marginalised citizens? If one saw a photograph of him as a young man wearing an SS uniform, would one really be surprised?" Two things here: Being a mentally unstable asshole of an actor is not the same as committing the Holocaust, and those Nazi comparisons do nothing but take away from the vastness of their crimes by putting them in random relation. Then, you will not find a picture of teenage Kinski in a SS uniform, because he was drafted to the Wehrmacht in 1944. Another teenager from Kinski's city of birth Gdansk was drafted into the elite Waffen-SS in 1944 though: Internationally beloved literary icon Günter Grass - a man just as canceled as Kinski himself. One could start a very worthwhile Nazi soldier / Nobel Prize / celebrated actor discussion here, but again, this review is already too long.

Overall, I read this as a text by an obviously extremely talented writer, who for some reason seems to feel like lackluster research, lazy Nazi nonsense and an invented provocation is the punk rock he needs after making too much money. I don't think good writers can make too much money. I want good writers to make insane amounts of money, and then write good novels which aren't rooted in dubious self-involved struggles with self-image.

[Paul · Rating 5 out of 5]

“To make matters worse, soon all the authors would be publishing their pandemic novels, written during lockdown – as if everyone’s lives weren’t already hard enough.”

Yep, this is a pandemic novel, well sort of. The idea was conceived during lockdown when Myers watched the infamous recording of Kinski doing a one man show about Jesus Christ in Berlin. A show which had to be abandoned owing to the controversy he caused and his own very strong reaction to audience hecklers. In the novel the protestors heckles are in italics. It wasn’t actually published until 2025.
Part of the novel is written in the second person from Kinski’s point of view: an increasingly troubled point of view. Sandwiched between the two sections is one about the author sitting in his home in West Yorkshire: the novel also concludes in this way. Myers recognizes his choice of subject will be problematic. Kinski was notoriously volatile. He did produce some critically acclaimed films with Werner Herzog, but countless others too: many of them very forgettable. He was a serial womaniser and was posthumously accused of abuse by his two daughters. The show in 1971 is on YouTube and Myers spent a considerable time watching and making notes. Given the nature of Kinski he is aware it may not be the best choice for his next novel:

“All of which made the writer’s decision, on that bleak and oppressive winter day, to begin to write about another dead German, but this time one most right-minded people preferred to forget about, all the more baffling. If he though about it long enough the writer might have reasoned that he had reached this decision because a) he had long been fascinated by a film clip of Klaus Kinski, in what would prove to be one of his last ever live performances, delivering an impassioned monologue to a hostile Berlin crowd in 1971 and b) he himself had a self-sabotaging streak which often resulted in him derailing his own creative endeavours, usually at a most critical moment. He was already known for cancelling his own book launches, appearing on TV and radio only very infrequently and under duress (and often while heavily sedated), and avoiding the literary festival circuit at all costs. Deep down inside he knew that he simultaneously wanted to both succeed and fail”

The author’s thoughts about the novel and the descriptions of the creative process are an interesting juxtaposition to the rantings of Kinski himself. Myers contrasts Kinski’s shoot from the hip style to today’s modern writer who has to consider his audience and the current state of the cultural world.

“One should judge a man mainly from his depravities. Virtues can be faked. Depravities are real.”

This is interesting and challenging for different reasons and as usual, for me, Myers hits the mark and manages to walk a tricky tightrope. There is a comedy element to the lockdown musings as well as insights into the writing process (obviously a significant amount of biscuits are involved).

“A reclusive writer might even write a book about this exact moment, this thought you’re having now. But your face and your eyes and your raving and your stories of whoring can only take you so far. Eventually you will become Nikolaus Karl Gunter Nakszynski one more, and you will rot in the soil with the other worthless worms. Well then. So be it.”

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 4 out of 5]

j : Very well. There have been rumours that this performance is nothing more than provocation and therefore has the potential to cause disruption and disorder.
kk : Hopefully.

[j a journalist, and kk Klaus Kinski]

Jesus Christ Kinski is the latest novel from the brilliantly versatile Ben Myers, winner of the Goldsmiths Prize (for Cuddy), the Gordon Burn Prize (for Pig Iron) and the Walter Scott Prize (for The Gallows Pole), among other honours, and this has to be a strong contender for repeat honours for the first two prizes.

This is both a meta-fictional novel, and an attempt to channel the inner voice of the actor Klaus Kinski, an audacious choice of subject, particularly in the light of revelations post his death, that raises questions of literary censorship and the separation of one’s appreciation of an artist’s life and work, particularly difficult to separate in Kinski’s case when his misanthropic persona was key to his art.

The novel centres on a stage performance given by Kinski at the Deutschlandhalle, West Berlin, on 22 November 1971. He performed - or rather attempted to perform - a self-written monologue “Jesus Christus Erlöser.”

However, almost from the start he was heckled by the audience, leading Kinski to react furiously and storm off the stage several times before finally completing the performance to a much diminished private audience.

His first attempt can be seen here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APTn9... - and I would recommend watching it alongside the novel. For those of greater stamina the whole “performance” can be seen here - https://youtu.be/HUHEbTLJQ2Q

The novel is told in two intertwined sections. The first, told in the second person, places us in Kinski’s thoughts, including transcriptions of the English translation of the performance, which are taken from the videos linked above.

The following quote is the point at which the first attempt disintegrated as the actor angrily invites a heckler on stage who, rather bravely, complies:

You beckon with a finger, say, Come up here.
(An earnest Christian enters stage left and takes the mic from Kinski.)
I’m no great speaker, and maybe some of you are looking for Christ. But I don’t think this is him. As far as I know Jesus Christ was patient. If people contradicted him, he tried to convince them. He didn’t say ‘Shut up!’
(He hands mic back, exits stage left. Kinski continues, shouting at full volume, facing the wings.)
No! He didn’t say ‘Shut up!’ He took a whip and bashed them in the face! That’s what he did! You stupid pig!
(The crowd heckles, whistles, boos.)
(Kinski turns to audience.)
And that can happen to you, too!
(more heckling)
There are two possibilities. Either those of you who aren’t part of that riff-raff throw the others out, or else you spent your money for nothing!
(Kinski throws down mic, storms off stage and down steps, stumbles, disappears behind the green curtain with a theatrical flourish.)
(Stage lights go down.)

Alongside the events, transcripts and also photographic images of the performance, the Kinski character also revels in his own self-assessed genius (here Myers has drawn on Kinski’s vainglorious and outlandish autobiography) and Bernhardian rants against the philistines with who he works, notably his agent Gino de Stefani and the director Werner Herzog.

The second section is auto-fictional, and tells, in the third person, how “the writer” (ie Myers) came to write the book, which he began in the January 2021 lockdown, while he was supposed to be researching and writing the book that would become Cuddy, and feeling more financially secure after the success, in German translation, of The Offing.

He was not so self-absorbed as to not recognise that Kinski was less relevant today than at any time in the century or so since he was born. Nor could he overlook the fact that allegations of sexual abuse made by his eldest daughter Pola meant that he was also widely reviled, especially in Germany, where he had, since his earliest theatrical and cinematic roles in the late 1940s and early 1950s, been a divisive and often derided figure due to his angry temperament, rampant egotism and depraved personality.
…
Devoting a significant portion of one’s life to attempting to transcribe the innermost thoughts of a widely disliked–some might even say despised–figure is usually a short cut to poverty (at best) or ostracisation amongst one’s peers (at worst). Or insanity (at even more worse).

Yet the writer had enjoyed some good luck of late. After twenty years of putting his words out into the world to decent reviews and aggressively modest sales, his most recent novel, a relatively gentle affair (harsh critics might call it twee) which he had written primarily as an antidote to his ongoing anxiety over the state of things, and with no publishing deal in place, had, against the odds, unexpectedly found a home–and gone on to become a bestseller–in Germany.

This section also allows Myers to explore the writer’s artistic and socio-economic challenges and the impact of the pandemic (both isolating and yet anxiety reducing). I think this should be taken as auto-fiction rather than auto-biography and notably the writer in the novel appears to endure (enjoy?) lockdown alone, whereas I assume Myers spent it with his wife, the writer Adelle Stripe.

As the writer comments, the contents of Kinski’s monologue were, of themselves, somewhat trite. The provocation of and interactions with the audience are - although Kinski’s anger at their inability to listen in reverent silence appears to be genuine - what makes this a compelling performance:

This didn’t excuse the fact that the content–the message–of Jesus Christ Redeemer was both tedious and unnecessary. Kinski was saying that Jesus was someone who lived amongst society’s most marginalised, and was not the blonde-haired blue-eyed boy of a thousand busts, paintings and effigies, but someone of simple virtues, whose associates were prostitutes, criminals and the dispossessed.

No Sherlock shit, muttered the writer with a smile at the wordplay that he took pride in having invented. Hadn’t the great book said that all along? Did the citizens of a Berlin reborn really need a ranting lunatic in bellbottoms to reassert this?

Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC.

[Kate O'Shea · Rating 5 out of 5]

Well that was a shock to the system.

I am pretty sure that this one will divide opinion. I certainly wasn't sure what to make of it in the beginning. Just when I think Benjamin Myers cannot surprise me one more time, he does.

If you are expecting The Offing or Rare Singles then you'll definitely be surprised. Jesus Christ Kinski gives us more of the raw work such as Pig Iron or Beastings but with the added (recent) historical part of the final stage appearance by Klaus Kinski in Berlin of Jesus Christ Saviour.

This short novel is divided into two timelines - that of the actual performance (1971) along with an internal monologue and haranguing the crowd etc by Kinski juxtaposed with the fictional Myers sitting in his office, in 2020, writing this book after being surprised by the success of The Offing (especially in Germany apparently).

The intensity of the Kinski monologue certainly grabs you by the throat and the writer section is a welcome relief. I did begin to watch the YouTube film of Kinski in Berlin but the book called me back. I plan to watch it then re-read the book.

I think I say this every time I read the latest Ben Myers but he does continually surprise. He's not a writer whose style I could describe to anyone because he changes from book to book. So far I've yet to find one that hasn't delighted/intrigued/challenged/shocked.

I'd definitely recommend this and I look forward to whatever comes next. I know it will not be more of the same.

Thankyou to Netgalley and Bloomsbury Publishing for the advance review copy. Very much appreciated.

[Tom Mooney · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is an act of obsession. An absurd undertaking. An act of self sabotage.

It is also as exciting and memorable as anything I've read all year.

Benjamin Myers again refuses to sit still, flexing his writerly muscles with this anti-commercial novel about the wild life and manic stage presence of Klaus Kinski, a work that must have his agent and his publishers sweating. Part novel, part memoir, it conforms to no script ever written, furrowing its own path through the life of this objectively awful, undeniably brilliant man.

A wild ride that might well earn Myers a second Goldsmiths Prize in three years. Against the odds, it's one of the books of 2025.

[Pedro · Rating 4 out of 5]

Oh, I really enjoyed my introduction to English author Benjamin Myers. Strong writing, an original concept, and a pair of big balls — bravo.

[James · Rating 4 out of 5]

'Jesus Christ Kinski' - subtitled: 'A Novel about a Film about a Performance about Jesus' (2025) is author Benjamin Myers book, primarily about the notoriously challenging and badly behaved German actor and muse of film director Werner Herzog, Klaus Kinski and his controversial 1971 one man theatre performance as Jesus Christ and as the title would suggest, the film production of same.

'Jesus Christ Kinski' is definitely a book of two halves - the main sections are written as though from Kinski's perspective are a powerful, impactful adrenalin rant, delivered and partially imagined through Kinski's troubling and complex mind, mostly set during the theatre performance itself, although not exclusively. It is these sections which form the basis of the book and are by far the most effective.

Included also are two sections from the perspective of Myers as the home bound (due to COVID) author, his musings concerning his fascination with Kinski and the nception of his book. Presumably deliberately so, but these passages are in stark contrast to the Kinski sections, decidedly pedestrian in tone and whilst this does provide some useful context, the book as a whole suffers and looses momentum by way of their inclusion.

'Jesus Christ Kinski' is a great book and a fascinating subject matter, but it is significantly flawed due to the length and nature of the author based passages.

It does however prompt me to rewatch...Fitzcarraldo and Aguirre, the Wrath of God at the very least.

[Vadi · Rating 4 out of 5]

also ja ich checke nicht was ich da gelesen habe es war verrückt aber verdammt gut und hier meine liebsten sätze weil weil weil



you chew the words over, feel them in your mouth, like morsels of meat, like oysters.

mouth dry, lick of the lips again. lips that have whispered a thousand declarations of love, heartfelt in each and every moment.

it was a beautiful day, the type of day that makes a person grateful to have hot blood in their veins and a beating heart; a day that diminishes the trivialities of living so that they become mere footnotes to be explored at a later date or, better still, ignored entirely.

satisfaction is bourgeois

[Curtis · Rating 4 out of 5]

It’s time to un-cancel Kinski and bring him back for a series of Netflix specials!

[Andy Weston · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’m a fan of Myers and have read all of his novels. Within them, there is a variety in genres he addresses and in his style, but this is something completely different.

Klaus Kinski is not an obvious choice for a philosophical study the future of the human race; it seems he was an angry man, who set himself apart as a rebel and nonconformist, and made unrealistic demands of those around him.

On one night in 1971, on a Berlin stage, he presented a furious one-man show about Jesus Christ. It collapsed into anarchy, as Kinski harangued the audience, they called ‘fascist’ heckles back at him. It was to be his last performance on the German stage, but one that fascinated the author when he came across it in the Covid lockdown. Here, he recreates that performance wonderfully well.

It’s a book of two parts though, as in two intermissions from the action on stage, Myers describes exactly how his attention was caught by Kinski, and something of the actor’s background. He doesn’t sympathise with Kinski, rather tries to explain his own investigation into what motivated him.
The Kinski sections are magnificently written, a brilliant rendering of the intense, almost insane and yet creative obsession of a genius and at the same time obstreperous, fractious and almost impossible to love.

Here’s a clip..

These youths. Look at them.
These useless, callow youths.
These worthless, bearded brave-boy Berlin babies barely born when the first bombs fell upon Dresden. With their beads and their imported beedi cigarettes and their claims to originality or liberalism or any other
-ism.
They have not suffered like you have suffered, nor screamed as you have screamed. Never understood that life is hate and war and little else.
Yet still they consider it their birthright to heckle Kinski.
To rattle Kinski.
To declaim the special one, the number one.
Upstage the master!
Is it not the case that their mothers are whores and their fathers are cowards, and that when whores and cowards breed their offspring are deformed, defective - subhuman, even?
Yes. These cross-legged pieces of shit who cower in the shadows; they will never know napalm. Never need to drink milk straight from the udder, or sleep weeping in frozen mud. Never sucked on carrots pulled from the soil.
Hate and war.

[Ruth · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is like an onion.
It's quite unpalatable raw and can give you indigestion. You can hide it in a curry but you'll not get rid of the taste of it in your mouth.

[Laura Garcia Moreno · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 I have read it cover to cover in a state of awe but the writer’s sections made me cringe a bit and even if writing sometimes is about shame it took away from my experience.

[Ruben · Rating 3 out of 5]

Interesting little book in which Benjamin Myers asks himself the question why on earth - after finally achieving some unexpected commercial success in Germany - he finds himself going down the rabbit hole of writing about the brilliant but awful, dead German actor Klaus Kinski: an almost guaranteed commercial disaster.

I enjoyed the autobiographical parts more than the sections where you are in the head of the disturbed actor... but enjoyment is not the point there.

It's about cancel culture, about talent and about how to separate it from personality, and about whether artists have a choice when it comes to what they work on.

Now, I wrote this review before reading Meike's review and - from her German perspective - she points out some very valid concerns/criticisms with this book, that I was blissfully ignorant of.

3,5

[Matthew Thomas · Rating 2 out of 5]

Jesus Christ, what the hell have I just read?

I first came across Benjamin Myers after a colleague recommended The Perfect Golden Circle, and I’ve kept an eye on his work ever since, reading both Cuddy and Rare Singles before this new one arrived. Jesus Christ Kinski is far closer to Cuddy: experimental, fragmented, strange. Myers braids together his own process of writing this book with the ranting, raving monologues of Klaus Kinski’s infamous stage show, Jesus Christus Erlöser. It’s a truly odd creation, at times reading like a Kinski biography written in the man’s own unhinged voice.

There are beautiful passages here, dense with meaning. Much like Hunger, the last book I finished, it feels like something to be studied and picked apart. But I’m not that kind of reader. Instead, I felt the friction between styles: Kinski’s sections are irrational, feverish, almost like the brain dumping its raw, rambling thoughts onto the page. It reminded me of the experimental layouts in Cuddy, where Myers plays with form to unsettle and engage. Even when he writes about writing this book (in third person, no less) the text splits into columns, like a newspaper gone mad.

This book is difficult. It’s bizarre. There are flashes of genius, moments of pure enjoyment when a sentence hits just right, and then whole pages where you’re just thinking, what the fuck did I just read? It’s exhausting. More than once, my eyelids grew heavy and I had to shake my head to stay awake.

It will reward some of you. Others might hate it. It’s polarising, which, I gather, is pretty much how Kinski was in real life. If you loved Cuddy, you might find this is for you. But if you preferred the clearer, cleaner prose of The Perfect Golden Circle or Rare Singles… maybe give this one a miss.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[Polly · Rating 1 out of 5]

A novel about cancel culture which comes across as utterly surface level and uninformed. The commentary in this book was essentially 'cancel culture is bad, it makes me very sad' which maybe a few years ago would have been relevant but with a more pronounced shift to conservative ideologies in younger people it is completely missing the mark. This book takes cancel culture as a mildly irritating force used to oppress maverick creatives while seemingly ignoring its reason for existing and its use as a political tool.

Other than that, I found the writing juvenile, particularly the incredibly grating sentence structures- they were either stupidly long or short. I presume this was a very on the nose reference to Kinski's oscillating mind but dear god it doesn't have to be every. single. sentence. This honestly felt like a GCSE student's creative writing where they just went ham with every single technique they could with no thought to producing a cohesive, readable result. Also the formatting on some of the pages with the fragmented sentences was very gimmicky, you shouldn't have to rely on literally fragmenting your sentences to portray a fragmented mind.

The only good thing about this book was that it was short which begs the question: why couldn't this have been an essay? An especially boring one though, what do I care about yet another tormented genius who was too rogue for society? In summary, if your novel is entirely made up of real people for characters and real events for plot, is badly written and has nothing interesting to say, maybe you should have listened and written the book about the saint.

[Conor Dooney · Rating 5 out of 5]

Chapeau. I always love a strange passion project and this was a particularly fun trip. Big echoes of 1923: The Mystery of Lot 212 and a Tour de France Obsession which I read earlier this year. A similar story of a covid fixation over a piece of media, going down the rabbit hole, and creating something unique and fascinating. Since I know Ben often reads these reviews I hope he will spot this one, and maybe him and Ned Boulting will share a pint to discuss their shared experiences.

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

The new book by Benjamin Myers is a really interesting blend of fictionalized biography/reportage and fictionalized memoir.
Using the final stage performance of notoriously confrontational German actor, Klaus Kinski, as a focal point, Myers writes of his experience of isolation during lockdown and his near-obsessive focus on completing his book about the troubled star of Aguirre, Wrath of
God and Fitzcarraldo
The book offers a fascinating insight into the precarious existence of even the most established of writers whilst depicting the behaviour of Kinski in a shocking, but unsurprising way.
A very thought-provoking exploration of both a troubled and controversial actor and the impact of enforced winter isolation.

[Sam · Rating 4 out of 5]

Klaus Kinski in Disco Elysium, with a sort of follow-up to (the fantastic) Under the Rock in the middle.

[Andy Crowder · Rating 4 out of 5]

The new stuff from your boy Benny Myers is proper weird and proper great. Immediately watching videos of Klaus Kinski on YouTube.

[Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

A clever read where the author goes creatively off-piste to deliver an engrossing and surprising book. Well played Mr Myers.

[Andrew · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is quite an intriguing 'novel', though I don't think that appelation is entirely appropriate for what Myers has written. In part a stream of consciousness rant, in part a dramatic monologue, in part a metafictional contemplation of the art of writing, and definitely a piece of experimental literature, all up Jesus Christ Kinski is a most impressive piece of writing. With its unique perspective on the infamous German actor Klaus Kinski this book impresses with its imaginative structure, the compelling voice of its protagonist, and the thoughts of Myers' in-novel persona. Whilst it has a few too obvious moments as to how the Myers' Kinski's awfulness is presented, or how his authorial alter-ego explores his writing, this is the kind of literary text that has more to offer than many other works of popular ficition. One doesn't have to be a devotee of Kinski to 'get' how good this book is.

The centre of the book's appeal is how the Klaus Kinski of the narrative, performing a theatrical piece in Berlin's Deutschlandhalle in 1971, is brought to life so vividly. Myers presents a realistic imago of Kinski, built up from genuine historical sources and 'true' recreations of his personality. The Kinski that Myers offers is definitely of a kind with the riotous and toxic actor railing against Werner Herzog as the film 'Fitzcarraldo' is made (as seen in the relevant YouTube clip), and the author has captured so much of the actor as seen in the video of his work in the aforementioned theatrical presentation. Myers then adds an internal voice that just seems 'right'. Take for example some of these quotes from Jesus Christ Kinski

“Tonight is reminiscent of Marburg in ’62, when some inconsiderate scumsucker interrupted your Franz Moor piece and you hefted a burning candlestick at his head (the pattern that the molten wax made across the stage looked like dried cum on the floor of some seedy bordello). Or there was that memorable night in Heidelberg when the mob had the good sense to rough up a not-so-tough student who had drunkenly taken umbrage at Expressionism.”

The obscenity and egotism that explodes in this obersvation from Myers' Kinski captures the emotional truth of the man, or at least what he often paraded in front of those who earned his displeasure or disdain.

“I would have been better than Adolf Hitler.
I could have delivered his speeches a lot better, that’s for certain.”

Considering the overweening ego of the real man, as well as how Kinski saw himself as a truly great actor, Myers surely is onto something right when having his version of the performer saying something like this.

“Of course, he’s here tonight. There’s a knock at the door and the boy says, Ah, Herr Kinski sir, there is a Herr Herzog and friends here to see you, but you leap from your seat in an instant – VERPSIS DICH! – and slam it shut. There’s a small commotion at the other side because evidently the boy has lost a little bit of finger, but we are each given ten of them for a reason and it’s a small sacrifice for him to prevent you having to spend a single second more with the cretinous camera-wielding Bavarian hick than you already have to. Then from behind stout oak you hear his nasal simpering to his coterie of arse-rimmers, producers and money men: Oh yes, but you see of course, Kinski is a man of violence whereas I am—”

Myers has made an obvious effort to integrate Kinski's real world rantings, as recorded on video and available online today, when writing this quote. Even the "Verpiss dich" has the veracity of historical footage to enforce its truthful. Again and again and again the author uses Kinski's own words, or words that have the integrity of his madness, his megalomania, his nauseating passions, to create a 'real' version of the man.

Another reason why Myers' take on Kinski is so provocative and engaging is because the actor's awfulness has something akin to black comedy about it. It's hard not to giggle at the incongruity of such a selfish and hateful prick trying to portray Jesus. Then there are passages such as the following:

“The Führer put this place up in ’36 for the Olympics; Riefenstahl filmed some of Olympia here. Now, you see, the youngsters of today dismiss her work as pornographic propaganda, but she was a technical genius was old Leni, one of the great formalists (intoxicating thighs too – you were ten when she appeared on the cover of Time, on her skis, bare-legged but for her socks and boots; you learned to masturbate over that image).”

The image of Kinski sating himself whilst perving on pictures of the great female apologist for the Nazis is laughably horrendous. Furthermore, it ties together a rather inescapable connection between the man and his nation's cultural and political past. This is crucial as Kinski, like so many who transitioned from the Third Reich to the prosperity of West Germany, still maintained attitudes that are scarcely disguised fascist thought.

“These worthless, bearded brave-boy Berlin babies barely born when the first bombs fell upon Dresden. With their beads and their imported beedi cigarettes and their claims to originality or liberalism or any other -ism.
They have not suffered like you have suffered, nor screamed as you have screamed. Never understood that life is hate and war and little else.”

Jesus Christ Kinski is dominated by the semi-fictional persona of Myers' take on Kinski, and it is a compelling characterisation. From his assuredness, his reminiscenes over past sexual conquests, his hatred of almost everyone, through to his gradual collapse and self-immolation of the stage this reinvention of Klaus Kinski is perhaps almost as fascinating as the real man.

The other significant element of the book is Myers' own voice, or at least the persona he adopts for the author of the text. It is intriguing to see him write of himself, or perhaps more appropriately a version of himself, as he recounts the experience of developing the idea for his book, then writing it, whilst contextualising it all with his life during COVID. Presented as an 'intermission' and then 'encore', breaking up the two 'acts' of Kinski's monologue, Myers explores all aspects of his creative process, and there are some rewarding and insightful points developed as a result. For example:

“And now, when he walked through the diminished drifts of snow and ice that gathered in the clefts where the drystone walls met the ground, he found himself thinking about Klaus Kinski and various topics relating to him. These included:

The pros and cons of writing a short experimental book about the man, something that clearly had limited commercial appeal.
- The morality of writing something semi-fictional from the perspective of a person who is dead.
- The morality of writing a book about someone who was almost certainly an abuser of women and children (and, to a lesser extent, men).
- The amount of background research on Kinski that he still needed to do.
- The amount of background research on Germany in 1971 that he still needed to do.
- Whether he had the energy....
- The look on his agent’s face when he told her that he was writing a book that was neither novel, biography nor memoir.
And who wanted to read that?”

Myers depicts the challenge of writing so effectively in such moments in his book, and then parallels the questions over his process with the day-to-day challenges and wonders of his real world. The contrast between imagination and the concrete, the mundane and the unique is cpatured to great effect, and it hard not to marvel at how insightful this depiction of the authorial experience is.

Having said that, there are occasions when I think Myers just goes a little too far. The following quote, coming from Kinski's second 'act', is maybe a bit too self-referential, a bit too obvious in its ironical humour:

“Yes, in years to come you will be a parasite that squats in the conscience of those who consider your work and your life, and in that respect you will still exert a modicum of influence. A reclusive writer might even write a book about this exact moment, this thought you’re having now. But your face and your eyes and your raving and your stories of whoring can only take you so far. Eventually you will become Nikolaus Karl Günter Nakszynski once more, and you will rot in the soil with the other worthless worms. Well then. So be it.”

It must also be noted that Myers is highly effective in manipulating the actual structure and voice of his fiction. In the former instance he has his text broken up into fragments, single sentences on a page, near-gibberish and great swathes of reflective prose. It's definitely a unique way to present his writing. Then there are the photos extracted from the footage of Kinski's stage play, and the manner in which they too are broken up and reconfigured, repeated or placed strategically to complement and supplement his words. Finally, the use of the second person narrative for much of Kinski's monologue is extremely effective, adding a deeper level of engagement for the reader. It's a rare thing to see this done in the first place, so Myers deserves commendation accordingly.

So, Jesus Christ Kinski is a very different and intriguing book that comes at the reader with its own unique and compelling elements. I am glad I read Myers' work, and would like to think it will appeal to anyone who wants to read highly literate and inventive fiction. Klaus Kinski may have been an A-Grade cunt, but that doesn't mean he can't be a source of fascination. Thankfully Myers has not just understood that, but integrated his vision of the man into a most creative book.

[Alex Brooks · Rating 5 out of 5]

10, perfect.

"I am a fucking genius, you pieces of shit!"

This novel is a work of dangerous obsession, a high-wire act of impersonation that is funny and terrifying in equal measure. The humour is blacker than black, the formal invention constantly entertaining. Myers' representation of Kinski's voice is enthralling, capturing manic psychosis in a thrilling but disconcerting manner. The intermissions in the voice of The Writer are amusing and self-deprecating, with the ethics of the project discussed in a postmodern manner. Despite the breadth of content here, I inhaled this novel.

TL;DR: Benjamin Myers is the first author with three novels in the Perfect shelf.

[Ana Pau De la Borbolla]

I found this book actually very funny. Intrigued to read more from this author

[Matthew Yeldon · Rating 3 out of 5]

Kinski was and still is akin to a morbid curiosity, an intriguing horror of a human being. In 2025, he’d be a hero to many just for being so openly flagrant. That’s the nature of the world we live in. For me he’s a mystery, a ball of barbed wire to be untangled, so I knew I had to read this. And for the most part, the book is entertaining; I genuinely admire Myers’s deep dive. The author uses an array of styles to entertain, even taking on Kinski’s voice for a significant portion of the text. But despite the creativity and his obvious talent, Myers doesn’t give us a story to latch onto, to make his Covid project memorable. I wanted more.

[Omar Girling · Rating 1 out of 5]

Benjamin Myres crowbars himself into a self aggrandising context that makes little sense. Shame, renders quite an interesting concept totally impotent.

[Reuben Brimicombe]

Went back and forth on this but ultimately enjoyed it. It’s so hard to categorise and I have neglected to give it a true ‘rating’ but it’s a fascinating piece of prose inspired by a fascinating incident and a fascinating (and reprehensible) man. It’s also hopelessly self indulgent on the part of Benjamin Myers, though I say that less as a criticism as that’s simply the intent here- a literary purging that’s basically written for himself and able to be published due to prior success. I would probably do similar if I was privileged enough to be in the position so I can’t blame him there.

[Ellen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Marmite! You are either going to love it or hate it! I loved it!

[Chris Jones]

a truly embarrassing pile of shit

[David · Rating 5 out of 5]

Jesus Christ indeed! Ben Myers clearly had a different Covid lockdown experience to the rest of us. As innovative and challenging as always. Thanks to one of the Associate Producers for the proof.

[Steven Pilling · Rating 5 out of 5]

a writer enjoying himself . funny wise and interesting . not to everyone's taste I think but a joy to read