An intriguing, unusual book. About 2/3 of the novel is set on the island of Patmos, with John as an exceedingly old man with a small community of disciples in exile long after he has recorded his Revelation; the last third takes place in Ephesus, as their exile is ended and they try to renew their evangelizing efforts in that hotbed of new religions. The likely fluidity of the Christian faith in those early years is effectively portrayed, as is the fervent expectation that Christ's Second Coming was imminent. The author also effectively weaves in familiar (and not so familiar) passages from John's Gospel, his letters, and the Book of Revelation. Ultimately, the message is the same as in Williams's earlier novel, As It Is in Heaven, that the really important thing is not so much the details or large visions that religious communities vacillate about focusing on, but the small expressions of love in community. This is all expressed in very poetic language. For example, as the small band travels from Patmos to Ephesus on a fishing boat, we read, "As has been their way for years, they pray the twelfth hour, and, bent in the boat travelling the sea waves, are as in the side gallery to an invisible altar. The blue is unbroken above them. Seeing them so the fisher captain is moved and steadies the sail. Abashed by the reverence and being witness to the peculiar intimacy, he looks away into the wake. In the trailing white water he sees a silver school of fish. It glitters just below surface, a great wide V, following, fleet, as if pulled in undertow. In all his years of throwing nets he has never seen so great a number. He studies the waters about them, what might betoken this uncaught catch, what manner of thing is happening. But the sea on all sides is as ever and reveals nothing. He takes a step on to some wooden crating for a better view outwards and down. In the full scope of his vision, as far as the furthest ripple they have left in the sea, is this gleaming arrow of fish. It comes in their after-waters catching light, then shadow, then light again. [Such images of light are prevalent throughout.:] Though the boat moves cross-current toward Ikaria, the fish follow, a silent suite, opaque as souls, profound as mystery. Such might last a moment, might in ordinary fish life be the happenstance of tide and timing, a brief meeting of man and creature in the sea hectic, but this is something other. The fish follow. While the disciples pray, bowed in the boat, the multitudinous school swims after and grows greater until it seems a portion of light itself fallen from above and by means unknown attached to this strange cargo of Christians."
Or, during a storm near the end of the novel:
"The storm proper comes in the night. The sky over Ephesus booms with thunder. Such noise as is makes shake stone jars and statues. The moon and stars are taken. The sea comes inshore on a high tide, throws boats like toys, makes mud of dust and slides it elsewhere. In the dark all huddle and pray. . . . What is thrown about but entire kingdoms? one tells. Here in the heavens is battle engaged. How the sky holds it is mystery. Something must fall through.
And at first this is lightning. A rend is cut and forth flashes a white spear. Of jagged edge a sky javelin flies. The city is illumined, made small by the vastness of light; its antique history, its fabled greatness are as nothing beneath the force loosed from the dark.
Again the thunder. Now with it further javelins. A first she of rain pelts down. Drops larger than the eyeballs of camels. Wind whips, takes down what is upright. Cloths, coverings, poles, lengths of netting, rope, stools, crates, all fly.
The storm does not stop. Unabated in the dark is the fierce conflict. A hundred crashes of thunder, more are counted. Lightning whitens the arrows of the rain.
And in this broken night, the disciples come to the bedside of the Apostle. They, too, are fearful and seek assurance.
What happens? Is this weather only? Or is it now at last that the end of time comes?
The thunder crashes. The lightning illumines their frailty.
'Master?'
'We pray,' John says.
They pray then the Introit of their community. The words that may be their last in this ending of the world.
'In the beginning was the Word,' John says, and the others are enjoined. 'And the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.'
If the ending is now, it will come on the words of the beginning. If it is now, it will be on their profession of faith."