Another great read from the master of plausible evil.
The revelation of Saint John is a prophecy made in the 1st century CE about the times of Nero and the fall of Rome. The modern predilection to continue and elaborate on it, and ascribe it to some future end time (The Omen, Baal, Good Omens), is a conceit about a work that has outlived its time.
Vasyl Kazmirchuk’s take is much more sophisticated than these others. For him, the significant aspects of the Revelation- the division of families, the number 666, the signs and omens - are neither past nor future, but eternally imminent, a preferred tactic to which evil defaults when the time seems right. And they are themselves trappings- useful indices of the enemy’s progress, but incidental to its victory. That is the theme of this third novel in the Be Not Afraid series. The human desire for security and necessity for bureaucracy are weapons as powerful as greed or prejudice or ambition, but much subtler and more pervasive.
There is a curious uncertainty principle in evidence; to receive a number, and so to perfectly know one’s place in the new world, is to abandon all knowledge of one’s name of baptism. Random events, like the fall of fabric or dripping wax, create a recurring symbol in defiance of entropy. The attacks focus on the third hour, diverting human piety into rote, repetition, and the reflexive (I'm reminded of CS Lewis's Screwtape; "drumming of fingers and kicking of heels"). Time warps, clocks attempting to skip over the hour of sacrifice. The invaders demand not the names or allegiances of their exorcists, but their credentials, because they are forced to play by their own rules.
The Adversary wants to divert the essential elements of mindful worship into a “format”, empty of content and with no redemptive merit. (I wonder whether 'format' is doing quite what the author wants here? It reads as procedural rather than spiritual. Something like "formula", "platitude", or "placebo" might better convey the idea of a comforting but hollow practice that people fall back on when they’re uncertain or insecure. Perhaps no single term would do it and the author us right to commit, though some exposition would be useful.)
In the first and final parts the writing is as measured and evocative as we’ve come to expect, and the incidents just as human and realistic. However, much of the middle part of the book comprises a journal recounting a previous incursion, and the incidents here are repetitive. This is likely intentional; the impression is of a series of war dispatches, or perhaps the careful redundancy of the Book of Leviticus, and it does maintain tension. I think the author’s intention is not purely narrative here. Still, for a conventional reader like myself this middle part could have been related in much less time (and perhaps the journal could have been included as an appendix?). When we return to the present day, the prose tightens again with some excellent phrases (a favorite: "'God has poor internet,' she winked. 'And still gets through'"), but in the acceleration of events towards the denouement this is somewhat sacrificed, becoming a bit staccato.
Still, the message is as original and fascinating as ever; the danger is not the Beast. It is the method of the Beast that matters.