The Gospel According to the New World

by Maryse Condé, Richard Philcox (Translator)

A miracle baby is born on Easter Sunday, rumored to be the child of God. Award-winning Caribbean author Maryse Condé follows his journey in search of his origins and mission.

"Throughout her four-decade literary career, the Guadeloupean writer has explored a global vision of the Black diaspora, and placed Caribbean life at the center. In the past few years, Condé has been showered with honors and accolades across the globe. The Haitian writer Edwidge Danticat sees Condé as a “giant of literature,” whose prolific work connects continents and generations. One thing is certain: Condé is finally receiving the acclaim her wide-ranging body of work deserves.” ——Anderson Tepper, The New York Times

One Easter Sunday, Madame Ballandra puts her hands together and exclaims: “A miracle!” Baby Pascal is strikingly beautiful, brown in complexion, with gray-green eyes like the sea. But where does he come from? Is he really the child of God? So goes the rumor, and many signs throughout his life will cause this theory to gain ground. From journey to journey and from one community to another, Pascal sets off in search of his origins, trying to understand the meaning of his mission. Will he be able to change the fate of humanity? And what will the New World Gospel reveal? For all its beauty, vivacity, humor, and power, Maryse Condé’s latest novel is above all a work of combat. Lucid and full of conviction, Condé attests that solidarity and love remain our most extraordinary and lifesaving forces.

Genres: Fiction, Magical Realism, Literary Fiction, Religion, Contemporary, France, Novels

259 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 2021

About the author

Maryse Condé was a Guadeloupean, French language author of historical fiction, best known for her novel Segu. Maryse Condé was born as Maryse Boucolon at Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe, the youngest of eight children. In 1953, her parents sent her to study at Lycée Fénelon and Sorbonne in Paris, where she majored in English. In 1959, she married Mamadou Condé, an Guinean actor. After graduating, she taught in Guinea, Ghana, and Senegal. In 1981, she divorced, but the following year married Richard Philcox, English language translator of most of her novels.

Condé's novels explore racial, gender, and cultural issues in a variety of historical eras and locales, including the Salem witch trials in I, Tituba: Black Witch of Salem and the 19th century Bambara Empire of Mali in Segu.

In addition to her writings, Condé had a distinguished academic career. In 2004 she retired from Columbia University as Professor Emeritus of French. She had previously taught at the University of California, Berkeley, UCLA, the Sorbonne, The University of Virginia, and the University of Nanterre.

In March 2007, Condé was the keynote speaker at Franklin College Switzerland's Caribbean Unbound III conference, in Lugano, Switzerland.

Reviews

[David · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a capstone work for the 86-year-old Maryse Condé, dictated by Condé to her husband and translator Richard Wilcox, likely the last novel we will see from her. It is a comedic character piece, set on a fictionalized island reminiscent of Guadeloupe, following a man named Pascal whose life resembles that of the New Testament Christ. The parallels between Pascal and Christ are mostly played for fun, giving a lot of this a lighthearted tone. But lurking in the corners is an implied commentary on the postcolonial world of the West Indies (this is Condé after all), including references to slave ships and jaunts to Brazil and the US for good measure. Pascal has a few stops that mirror Condé's own career, although calling this autobiographical might be a stretch. I see a handful of lukewarm reactions to this, some readers I think misunderstanding Condé's aim, perhaps assigning a seriousness to this that I don't think is warranted. If this is a parody, it’s a good natured one, aimed more at a type of masculine character embodied by Pascal than at the gospel accounts. I’ve seen this compared to Monty Python’s Life of Brian, which might be a good comparison in terms of aims. Stylistically, it reads like the gospel accounts that proliferated in the first century CE and after, prioritizing a linear, biographical narrative. It’s a book I think best read with a sense of generosity and in conversation with Condé's prior works. Condé has written again and again about the long-arm effects of the slave trade and the legacy of colonialism. Here in her final book she is tying together themes covered extensively before with a more lighthearted coda, ending her brilliant career with a note of hope.

[Meike · Rating 3 out of 5]

Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2023
Condé, the perpetual Nobel Prize candidate and Grande Dame of Caribbean literature, has declared that this will probably be her last novel, as at 86, she is losing her eyesight and hence had to dictate the story to her husband (and translator) as well as a friend. Still, the novel has made her the oldest person to ever be nominated for the International Booker.

The book is inspired by Saramago's The Gospel According to Jesus Christ and Coetzee's trilogy The Childhood of Jesus, The Schooldays of Jesus, and The Death of Jesus. Condé, who hails from Guadeloupe, now gives us a POC Jesus (not like the guy from Bethlehem who was, as a lot of Christian art teaches us, a pale blonde beefcake *cough cough*) who experiences typical episodes from the New Testament in a Caribbean setting, with added folklore and turns that involve a journey (hello, bildungsroman) and social commentary (like the refugee crisis). Protagonist Pascal (the Jesus figure) is abandoned by his mother on Easter Sunday, and rumor has it he might be a child of God - but he also displays a lot of human fallibility and emotion. Condé's mother was a believer, while her father was an atheist, so the questioning of faith and religious tropes is also a central theme.

All in all, the book is surprisingly fresh, as although the material it is based on is extremely well-known, what Condé makes of it is often rather unexpected. Still, the pacing is less than ideal and the overall length slightly excessive.

You can listen to us discuss the novel on the podcast (in German) here: https://papierstaupodcast.de/allgemei...

[Flo · Rating 2 out of 5]

Shortlisted for International Booker Prize 2023 - Maryse Conde's book, dedicated to Jose Saramago, tells a too familiar story that is limited by the need to make the main character go through experiences similar to those of Jesus. While the writing is not bad, it is not captivating enough to read the book for it alone. Though there are some new ideas, they lack clarity and depth. Overall, the book falls short and could have been more effective if it were shorter.

[Phyllis | Mocha Drop · Rating 5 out of 5]

Maryse Conde’s latest novel is a brilliant offering inspired by the trials and tribulations of Jesus Christ. Although set in modern times, Pascal’s birth origins, friends, and encounters eerily mirror those outlined two millennia earlier as depicted in the Bible. For example, there are a host of characters with similar names, talents and backgrounds as their Biblical doppelgangers: key figures such as Mary Magdalene, Judas, siblings Mary, Martha, Lazarus; at one point he picks up disciples (about 12 of them) and they have a Last Supper complete with the washing of the feet. He even has a birth mother named Maya and an ethereal uncle (biological father’s brother) named Espiritu (a very intriguing character) – who rounds out the Holy Trinity insinuation.

Pascal is a typical young man who grows restless; he wants independence and answers to questions that have plagued him since childhood. Thus he begins a quest to other lands to find his biological father – an elusive man who has touched the lives of so many, but is seemingly absent in his. He hopes his father will help him understand his life’s purpose and provide guidance on how to fulfill his destiny to change the world (for the better). Along the way, human nature is on display. He and his friends are persecuted, ridiculed, jailed unjustly, ostracized, disenfranchised, etc. He sees the unfair treatment of women and girls purely based on gender, the ill-treatment of immigrants in foreign lands, the fates of unwed mothers, invalids, the physically disabled, the mentally challenged, the destitute. In these travels, he notices the humility and hope in those who are mistreated. He finds witnesses who testify to his father’s love, concerns, and benevolence.

Early in the novel, there’s a quote, “...he was born in a land of the spoken word where lies are stronger than truth.” Conde’s creativity shines in the creation of situations, twists, and turns that illustrate how and why myths and legends often emerge from misconception and/or exaggeration – and at times, Pascal’s actions and inactions have nothing to do with what people want (and need) to believe. Miracles are born and they have legs to travel. Within this compact and layered narrative, she showcases how these beliefs are often used by entities (including the government and other factions) for political, financial, and/or religious purposes. There are some HEAVY socio-political themes, multi-cultural beliefs, and various religious and regional (Hindu, Islam, Rastafarian, African, Asian) philosophies at play that provide a lot for the reader to consider, making this a great choice for book clubs who want to broach such topics.

The message at the end is simple, poignant, and timeless – very touching!

Thanks to the publisher, World Editions, and NetGalley for an opportunity to review.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 3 out of 5]

Shortlisted for the 2023 International Booker Prize

On his return Paschal’s character had changed. He who was always cheerful, always joking, had turned solemn, sententious, and moralising. His origins had become more than ever an obsession and an enigma, which he constantly sought to solve. He became pompous as well. Two of his favourite subjects of conversation were slavery and colonisation, and countries and societies that have been totally ignored or marginalised; but above all he loved to discuss the place and role of God in the world.

L'Évangile du Nouveau Monde (2021), which Maryse Condé has suggested is likely to be her last novel, has been translated as The Gospel According to the New World by her husband Richard Philcox. His addition of 'According To' to the title is to give it a scriptural feel, as Condé has said she took permission from Jose Saramago, to whom the novel is dedicated, J. M. Coetzee and Amélie Nothomb to provide her own novelistic take on the life of Jesus and the topic of faith.

The book, which is set in a fictionalised Caribbean island similar to but not quite the author's native Guadaloupe, opens, on Easter Sunday, with the birth of a baby in a shed:

It’s a land surrounded by water on all sides, commonly known as an island, not as big as Australia, but not small either. It is mostly flat but embossed with thick forests and two volcanoes, one that goes by the name of Piton de la Grande Chaudière, which was active until 1820 when it destroyed the pretty little town that sprawled down its side, after which it became totally dormant. Since the island enjoys an ‘eternal summer’, it is perpetually crowded with tourists, aiming their lethal cameras at anything of beauty. Some people affectionately call it ‘My Country’, but it is not a country, it is an overseas territory, in other words, an overseas department.

The night He was born, Zabulon and Zapata were squabbling with each other high up in the sky, letting fly sparks of light with every move. It was an unusual sight. Anyone who regularly scans the heavens is used to seeing Ursa Minor, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia, the Evening Star and Orion, but to discover two such constellations emerging from the depths of infinity was something unheard of. It meant that He who was born on that night was preordained for an exceptional destiny. At the time, nobody seemed to think otherwise.

The newborn baby raised his tiny fists to his mouth and curled up between the donkey’s hooves for warmth. Maya, who had just given birth in this shed where the Ballandra kept their sacks of fertilizer, their drums of weed killer, and their ploughing instruments, washed herself as best she could with the water from a calabash she had the presence of mind to bring with her.

C’est une terre entourée d’eau de tous les côtés, une île, comme on dit communément, pas aussi grande que l’Australie, mais pas petite non plus. Elle est généralement plate mais est bosselée d’épaisses forêts et de deux volcans, l’un qui répond au nom de Piton de la Grande Chaudière, qui fit des siennes jusqu’en 1820, quand il détruisit la coquette ville étalée sur ses flancs avant de rentrer dans une totale inactivité. Comme elle jouit d’un « été éternel » , les touristes s’y pressent, braquant leurs appareils mortifères sur tout ce qui est beau. Certains l’appellent avec tendresse Mon Pays, mais ce n’est pas un pays, c’est une terre ultramarine, un département d’Outre-mer quoi !

La nuit où Il naquit, Zabulon et Zapata se battaient dans le mitan du ciel, décochant des rais de lumière à chacun de leurs gestes. C’était un spectacle peu banal. Celui qui a coutume de scruter la voûte céleste voit fréquemment la Petite Ourse, la Grande Ourse, Cassiopée, l’Étoile du Berger, Orion, mais distinguer deux constellations pareilles surgies des grandes profondeurs, c’est inouï. Cela signifiait que celui qui naissait cette nuit-là aurait un destin hors pair. Pour l’heure, personne ne semblait s’en douter.

Le nouveau-né avait porté ses poings minuscules à hauteur de sa bouche et s’était recroquevillé entre les sabots de l’âne qui le réchauffait. Maya, qui venait d’accoucher dans cette cabane où les Ballandra rangeaient leurs sacs d’engrais, leurs bidons de désherbant et leurs instruments aratoires, se lavait tant bien que mal dans l’eau d’une calebasse qu’elle avait eu la présence d’esprit d’apporter avec elle.

Its mother Maya had been seduced by a charismatic individual, who proves to be something of a modern-day prophet, himself, on a cruise ship, and then does not acknowledge his paternity:

Corazón and Maya did not belong to the same class; Corazón was a member of the powerful Tejara family who for generations had been slave owners, merchants, landowners, lawyers, doctors and teachers. Corazón taught history of religion at the University of Asunción where he was born. He bore all the arrogance of a rich kid except this was somewhat subdued by the charm of a gentle smile. Since he was fluent in four languages – English, Portuguese, Spanish and French – he had been hired by the cruise line to give a series of lectures to the second- and first-class passengers.

She abandons the child to be found by the couple, the Ballandras, whose shed this is, childless (not for want of trying) and religiously pious, who name the child Pascal and regard his arrival as something of a miracle:

A persistent rumor was gradually gaining ground. There was something not natural about the event. Here was Eulalie, who for years had worn her knees out on pilgrimages to Lourdes and Lisieux, blessed with a son from our Lord, and on Easter Sunday no less. This was by no means a coincidence but a very special gift. Our Father had perhaps two sons and sent her the younger one. A son of mixed blood, what a great idea!

The rumor gradually took Fonds-Zombi by storm and reached the outer boundaries of the land. It was a hot topic in the humble abodes as well as in the elegant, wealthy homes. When it reached the ears of Eulalie, she gladly welcomed it. Only Jean Pierre remained inflexible, considering it blasphemy.

Pascal's life does oddly mirror that of Christ, including, ultimately his death aged 33 (no spoiler added since this is mentioned in the Publisher's Weekly review used to promote the novel), although this is played largely for fun, including by the characters themselves: at a wedding, and where the food and drink is poor quality, of course the guests send Pascal to sort it out, and when it transpires better quality food was on its way anyway, it is still hailed, despite Pascal's reluctance, as a miracle of sort.

But this is not a story that purely parallels the gospels but rather one rich in colour of the island on which the novel is set and the rich cast of characters that Pascal encounters, one that for my taste perhaps contained a little too much background detail. This a passage almost at random about one character, Maria - and the information in this paragraph about her history proves largely irrelevant for the rest of the story:

At the age of four she had lost her father. He had left her mother with four rabbit hutches where a variety of red-eyed iceberg rabbits scampered around, so called because of their very white fur. At the age of five, she accompanied her mother to the market where she had a stall. She had very little schooling. Yet together with her sister Marthe, she had educated her young brother Lazare, who had passed his vocational training certificate and at one time had taught mathematics at a private school.

And yes that's a woman called Maria, with a sister called Marthe and a brother Lazare, who at one point Pascal has to help revive from a (possibly narcotic induced) stupor - an incident the characters later refer to, somewhat tongue-in-cheek and complete with speech marks, as his "resurrection"!

The heart of the novel is a story of a man in search of his meaning and purpose in life, as Pascal, while reluctant to acknowledge the believers that grow up around him and hang on his every word, tries (but fails) to make contact with his father, Corazon, aided by an enigmatic messanger who pops up at convenient times, Espiritu. Corazon proves to be rather more of an inspiration to many others that the rich kid who seduces young women on boats introduction would imply, having helped transform communities and lives, although, as father like son, both Corazon and Pascal do seem to be somewhat in thrall to their libido and on a mission to change the world one woman at a time.

Pascal gets caught up in the political struggles around the state-backed monopoly that dominates the island's economy, finding himself accused at one point of a politically-motivated murder, and encountering his nemesis, originally his friend, who is inevitably called Judas.

And he also encounters various communities who claim to have the secret to an ideal life, most notably in the middle of the novel, a group of descendants of a tribe of slaves, the Mondongues, who have formed a community which has abolished private property, prohibited alcohol and shuns modern media, and where he is served by a young woman, clothed, as he observes, like a character from The Handmaid's Tale. Here he initially finds the sanctuary and spirituality he had been looking for, only to discover, unsurprisingly, that all is not as it seems.

The novel's ultimate message seems to be that, in Condé's words on the book's inside cover "inner strength and faith like Pascal's are what count most to change the world, even if we might never achieve it" and the book is in a sense satisfyingly unsatisfying in its conclusions.

Overall 3.5 stars - in a weak year for the International Booker one that may make my shortlist but which I would not have longlisted.

[Alysson Oliveira · Rating 3 out of 5]

However much I admire Condé, I don't think there is a single reference to Brazil and Brazilians that makes sense is this novel whose main character in a Don Juan-ish Jesus type intending to change the world - a woman at a time.

[Matthew Ted · Rating 1 out of 5]

80th book of 2023.

I just didn't care. Retellings almost never interest me in the slightest. I've got nothing else to say about this other than I began skimming towards the end.

[Jax · Rating 3 out of 5]

This Gospel parody written by Maryse Condé is her last book, she says, one she wishes to be a testament of her persistent faith—that inner strength and love is what is needed to change the world. The protagonist is a man named Pascal who was abandoned by his mother at birth on Easter Sunday. His foster mother Eulalie, childless, visits shops and parks to show off this beautiful boy. His racial ambiguity and the mysteries surrounding his origin lead to rumors that God has sent the world a second son. Eulalie does not discourage these rumors, but her husband considers them blasphemous.

The rumors of divine origin will follow Pascal through his life, though he is never able to understand what is expected of him. Condé walks readers through his unexceptional life, infusing the story with biblical events and populating it with locals similarly named to those whose stories she is patterning. Pascal is a typical boy, “always in search of a mean trick to play on someone,” enjoying the ocean and time with friends. He grows to be a man who indulges his vices—seducing women, alcohol, Lucky Strikes. He teaches classes, occasionally writes his stories, neglects his aging foster parents then suffers from guilt, though the cycle will repeat. He is routinely put at risk and flees to another location where his indulgences and questions about his purpose tumble along.

While this book is a novel approach, it felt plodding. Pascal engages in activities, ponders questions, moves to another location and does the same. I am delighted to have discovered this author and look forward to reading her other works.

Thank you to NetGalley and World Editions for providing this eARC.

[Robert · Rating 3 out of 5]

As a fun thing during prize season, I hold polls on my Instagram stories for my followers to choose the books on the longlist. I always start in alphabetical order and the poll's lose stays on for the next round. The Gospel was my last read because of this system.

I do know that Maryse Condé is a huge name in Caribbean literature and that, although, this one has received mixed reactions, she has many other superlative ones.

As I approach each book with zero expectations, I started to see why there have been so many dividing opinions on The Gospel..

The problem is, in my opinion, is that I'm not sure what exactly the book is satirizing? The main plot is about an abandoned, orphaned boy, Paschal (Easter Child), who is destined to be the new messiah and we see if him recreate various scenes which are famous in the Bible; the visit to the temple, the gathering of followers etc. There are characters named Maria, Martha and Lazarus so the Biblical homage is clear.

Things get a bit muddy Paschal goes off on a journey to find his father and learns some life lessons on the journey, such as other religious leaders like Siddhartha Gautama and Mohammed. Is the book poking fun of religious leaders and their devote followers, is it satirizing agnostics or is it mocking fun at the person who is searching for meaning, or even, as it doesn't feel like a satire and book about a person searching for meaning.

That aside, I wasn't too convinced by The Gospel.... At times I found the pacing of the book uneven, sometimes dragging. Saying that, I do want to try out Maryse Condé's other novels, especially Segu.

[diario_de_um_leitor_pjv · Rating 4 out of 5]

Uma história ditada no tempo da velhice. Foi assim que li o meu primeiro livro da Maryse Condé. Uma supresa que me foi conquistando nos pormenores e detalhes.

[2TReads · Rating 4 out of 5]

Condé still has her wit and dry sense of humour. Classed as a near reimagining of the story of Jesus, The Gospel According is wholly Caribbean. From the tone, world, people, and issues; island nations, overseas departments, and territories are firmly rooted in this narrative.

I love that Condé knows when in her story to be blunt, when to use poetics, and when sparseness serves the best imagery. This story has it all.

Pascal is no saviour. He is merely a man with ideas and who wants to see a better life for everybody on his island, his life, and even the world. From his birth and into his adulthood, he is haunted by his origin, who his parents are, and what it means that he grew apart from them. Add to that the rumor of his godlike father and his expected path of following in those footsteps. The complicated familial and filial relationship also becomes an integral part of Pascal's life.

Behind this narrative lies a story of change, perception, love, life, and betrayal. Condé is merely transposing what was miraculous in the New Testament to our world and time. All the themes she explores here of race and identity, colonialism, and its legacy are all simply told with her usual sarcastic and sharp voice.


Even with its 'simplicity', Condé uses this novel to touch on many complex issues that blanket many lands where the long arm of colonialism still has yet to entirely release its grip.

[Paola Mendoza Laca · Rating 2 out of 5]

El relato presenta una similitud evidente con el Evangelio de la religión católica y la vida de Jesús. Ambos incluyen temas como la búsqueda de la identidad, el misterio y la espiritualidad, pero la historia y el enfoque son diferentes porque se centra más en la búsqueda de la identidad de Pascal y su relación con el mundo que lo rodea.

Es mi primer acercamiento a la autora. Y debo decir que no es mi tipo de lectura. Me pareció muy lenta, aburrida, daba vueltas... Felizmente tiene capítulos cortos. Pascal me parece un personaje agotador. Y al final perdí interés.

[Anna · Rating 2 out of 5]

This translation is clunky and awkward. The novel itself is unimpressive and all the while I had The Life of Brian on my mind, not the Gospels. Unlike Gospodinov, however, Maryse Condé doesn’t insult your intelligence and trusts you to get her other literary references. Still, I don’t know how this got on the shortlist, let alone longlisted.

[Smriti · Rating 2 out of 5]

i don't know why i had to read this book. oh yes, i know. it was shortlisted for the booker. nothing against the book or the author but i just didn't feel anything at all while reading this book - not for the plot, not for the characters. luckily, it's short.

if you want to know all my thoughts on this book, check out this video where i review all the booker international shortlisted books: https://youtu.be/RJcYZ6Chcsw

[James]

Shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2023

“Oh, to leave! To breathe a different air! Discover new faces! Visit other places and travel other paths!”

Middling, meandering and doubly miraculous in that this ended up being shortlisted rather than who seemed like far stronger contenders in Meyer, Mauvignier, and Hjorth; and that I somehow powered through it to the blessedly bitter end. This picaresque novel, postcolonial satire, and irreverent swansong for Condé, sometimes awkwardly translated from the French by her husband, Wilcox, quadruples as the umpteenth gospel parody, a very knowing, ironical one as ever seeking to overthrow the sacrosanctity of absolute religious truth. Far from being “an unusual sight, of biblical proportions,” an apt description for the said miracle, Condé contrives yet another narrative resurrection of Jesus, recast here in the humbler form of Pascal with the seeming immaculacy of his appearance, found one Easter Sunday evening in a stable. In between themes of desire and obligation, belief and history, colonialism and the inexpressible “essential” key to a better world, the stage is thus set for the deconstruction of the messianic figure.

But for all Condé’s glorification, her breathless blazon enumerating Pascal’s perfect pecs and flat stomach, his uncontainable penis and those eyes “brimm[ing] with dreams as if he were perpetually endeavoring to solve the mysterious equation of life,” Pascal carries himself undivinely, or humanly, sleeping around with innumerable people from Maria, Sarojini, and Manon to Albertine, Awa, and perhaps almost Judas Eluthère, their scenes thick with homoeroticism. Other descriptions are so unexpectedly out of pocket: the sky “as blue as the eyes of a European baby,” or one character being “not just an anti-Semite, but also kindhearted.” Yet Condé often gestures to pop culture, namedropping Atwood and Pelé, feeling so jarringly anachronistic next to historical references about the Brazilian slave revolts and “slave ships loaded with their cargos of black gold,” and feeling altogether too playful, too perfunctory, the general unseriousness fortifying its own impenetrable superficiality. The intention is admirable, though a pox on the execution.

[Malise · Rating 3 out of 5]

(was it a hump?)

[Khai Jian (KJ) · Rating 3 out of 5]

"On his return Paschal’s character had changed. He who was always cheerful, always joking, had turned solemn, sententious, and moralising. His origins had become more than ever an obsession and an enigma, which he constantly sought to solve. He became pompous as well. Two of his favourite subjects of conversation were slavery and colonisation, and countries and societies that have been totally ignored or marginalised; but above all he loved to discuss the place and role of God in the world"

On Easter Sunday, beautiful Baby Pascal, brown in complexion, was born and abandoned by his mother. He was then adopted by Jean Pierre and Eulalie Ballandra. He was rumored to be the child of God. When he discovered that Jean Pierre and Eulalie are not his biological parents, he was determined to travel the world in search of his origins, and at the same time, to search for the purpose and meaning of life and humanity.

The Gospel According to the New World (written in French by Maryse Condé and translated into English by Condé's husband, Richard Philcox) is a Gospel parody, where a lot of biblical references are incorporated and re-written in a playful manner. Condé is known for her work in exploring colonialism and post-colonial chaos. Intertwined with the fictionalized Biblical references, Condé examined post-colonialism, through the perspective of a "Messiah"-like figure (Pascal), in the global era where every leader has a tendency of proclaiming himself a God (and act as one). Behind the facade of searching for his father, Pascal instead encountered a lot of experiences (and miracles, which are in parallel with certain Biblical aspects) where he discovered a lack of love, peace, and harmony in this world. "Wasnt he given the best present of his life at this moment? Why complicate his existence with questions he was incapable of answering: How to build a more harmonious world? How to root out the evil in men's hearts? He would never manage on his own"; "He would stop and gaze at the sky. The heavens had opened up a second time and the mystery of the Incarnation had taken shape. This time the Creator had taken care to make His son of mixed blood so that no race might take advantage over others, as has happened in the past". And yet, the world is still plagued with hatred, violence, and corruption, with everyone pretending to be God himself. Condé claims that this would be her last book and she wanted it to be a testament to her persistent faith. She has taken post-colonialism on a rather different scale, infused with magical realism and parody. While I am not familiar with some of the Biblical references, my main problem with this book would be that non of the characters left an impact on me. Though the introduction of the character Judas Eluthere is a smart one (which resembles Judas Iscariot, one of the original Twelve Apostles of Jesus Christ who later betrayed him), the other side characters were introduced too swiftly and their presence only left more questions unanswered. That said, this is a 3/5 star book to me and to be honest, it's not as bad as some of the reviewers who claimed to be. But I wouldn't see this book being shortlisted for the International Booker Prize.

[Kiki · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very happy to report that I liked this one much more than the previous two releases. It started out as a parody of Jesus's birth and life. But as with Windward Heights, her retelling of Wuthering Heights, Condé, through Richard Philcox's translation into English, vividly recontextualized it within French Caribbean physical, social, cultural and historical scapes which naturally expanded its scope to the African diaspora in the Americas and beyond. ⁣
⁣
On a fictional Caribbean island Corazón Tejara, a rich kid descended from slave owners, slept with the barely 17 year old Maya, made promises, then disappeared on the cruise ship he arrived in, just in time to avoid her pregnancy. In fear of her parents and much else, Maya hid the pregnancy, secretly gave birth and abandoned the baby in the shed of an interracial couple who runs a horticultural biz. Preceded by an opening paragraph that described tourist with "lethal cameras" and emphasis on the difference between a country and an overseas department, Condé wastes no time to start critiques on colonialism and neocolonialism, race in Caribbean creolised societies, gender, religion, globalization—this book is *stuffed*⁣
⁣
I loved the way the story moved. Condé composed the entire novel in her head and dictated it to a friend and her husband Philcox over a year. This resulted in a story with the most concentrated oral texture I've read in recent memory. It flowed like a river with turn, after turn as we follow the baby's life from birth to adulthood. His adopted parents name him Pascal and they along with community, noting signs and wonders at his Easter birth, decide he was destined for greatness, to play a leading role in envisioning and building a just world (except when the community decided he was a fraud). As Pascal's actions led him to live amongst different societies with their own visions, including an isolated island off the coast of Brazil he wrestled with the identity and fate imposed on him, as he clashed with police, was betrayed by a union man turned corporate, and sought his father turned new religion founder who maybe wanted to meet him some day. ⁣
⁣
The funniest part for me was when Pascal lived in Caracalla, a society clearly informed by leftist, (imagined to be) male led movements in the Caribbean and West Africa. He flew out of Fanon airport to a Mondongue descended society with a Nelson Mandela avenue, a Derek Walcott square, and women the country leaders call subaltern. 🫢 I *choked* at the vicious A SMALL PLACE vibes. I read the public elevation of these men not as Condé making an ironic contrast but signifying them as the first major red flags, with Fanon and Walcott's known misogyny and the latter's long history of sexual harassment on which the Anglo Caribbean literary establishment maintains a fathoms deep silence.⁣
⁣
The touchier aspects of the novel are long time issues with Condé. Françoise Pfaff in interview asked Condé, and I paraphrase, Why all the dude MCs, babes? Same issue here. Lots of women side characters far more interesting than Pascal even if I laughed at how Condé highlighted his doofus patriarchal perspective even as he tried to be not the worst. Her depiction of Brazil itself was also rather reductive—I was glad the mainland itself wasn't a major setting.⁣
⁣
If you are not already familiar with particular Africa diaspora histories, or willing to search and be open to how Condé intricately surveyed these layered mappings, I don't expect THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THE NEW WORLD to make much sense to you. From the lack of popularised "Western" market narrative structure and story beats to the overflow of references of figures like Jacques Stephen Alexis, Oswald de Andrade, Birago Diop, Jorge Amado, Atahualpa Yupanqui, even the Mondongue, neither Condé nor Philcox made any attempt to acclimatise, usher or explain. Yuh in or yuh out. (I see many of the white readers (and those who read white) are outside the dome oxygen deprived, hands at their throat, eyeballs about to bust. Every now and again I pop by the lounge and watch through the protective glass as I sip rum punch.)

A line about Guadeloupean artist Françoise Semiramoth sent me searching to learn of her recent collaboration with Condé. Learning about that collaboration, Semiramoth "Creole Caravaggio" concept and pairing it with Condé's own cited influences for this novel (José Saramago + J. M. Coetzee) got me dizzy from this new path to the novel that opened up.⁣

Thanks to the publisher for the ARC.

[Lou · Rating 3 out of 5]

I struggled with this, would have stopped if it didn’t make the shortlist but it did and I persisted. Funny but repetitive in a ‘Less’ kind of way.

[Marcin · Rating 2 out of 5]

W 1898 roku tuż przed próbą samobójczą z arszenikiem w roli głównej Paul Gauguin skończył swoje największe (zarówno tematycznie jak i gabarytowo) dzieło zatytułowane Skąd przyszliśmy? Kim jesteśmy? Dokąd idziemy? Artysta wściekał się na pytania dotyczące wyjaśnienia idei obrazu mówiąc kąśliwie, że jeśli krytyk nie znajduje w nim odniesień historycznych czy malarskich, to nic nie zrozumie i najlepiej, gdyby w ogóle już nie otwierał oczu. Mimo to w swojej korespondencji nie tak znowu rzadko przemycał pewne odniesienia ideologiczno – filozoficzne, które chętnie wykorzystywane są przez historię sztuki. Osobnym problemem jest to, że epistolograficzne wyjaśnienia Gauguina są na tyle enigmatyczne, że same stały się przedmiotem niejednych dysput interpretacyjnych.

Zwieńczenie artystycznego dziedzictwa Gauguina – wedle zamierzeń samego malarza – przedstawia cykl ludzkiego życia, a samą kompozycję należy „czytać” od prawa do lewa. Zgodnie z jego artystyczną koncepcją przychodzimy na świat jako niewinne i czyste jak łza oseski, przygotowujące się do życia rodzinnego i społecznego, o czym zaświadcza otoczenie, w jakim malarz umieszcza postać noworodka. Historycy sztuki nie są jednak zgodni co do znaczenia symbolu psa. Jedni twierdzą, że to personifikacja samego artysty, któremu zdarzało się wcześniej autoportretować siebie pod postacią najwierniejszego przyjaciela człowieka. Inni zaś utrzymują, że namalowany kundel jest alegorią rodzaju męskiego, gdyż pies, a i owszem, potrafi być udomowiony, ale w razie potrzeby ujawnia swoją zwierzęcą, dziką naturę, stąd nigdy nie można mieć do niego stuprocentowego zaufania. Podobnie rolę mężczyzn względem kobiet postrzegał Gauguin – wykorzystując jedynie postacie kobiet do zilustrowania scen życia i działalności człowieka - sam będąc przykładem człowieka, który nie grzeszył wiernością ani szczególną troską o kochające go kobiety. Nie jest jednak ani pierwszy ani ostatni, u którego deklaracje nie szły w parze z praktyką.

Środkowa część kompozycji zdradza w sposób wyraźny dialog kompozycji ze Starym Testamentem. Sięgająca po owoc kobieta to wariacja na temat symbolu grzechu Ewy Pramatki w ogrodzie Edenu. W odróżnieniu jednak od ujęcia chrześcijańskiego w malarskiej antropozofii Gauguina człowiek nie przychodzi na świat obciążony brzemieniem grzechu pierworodnego. Nie rodzi się grzesznikiem, lecz czystą niewinnością, a to, kim się stanie determinują jego późniejsze decyzje i wybory, kształtowane przez lęki, słabości, instynkty i podniety. Znajdujący się w głębi kompozycji posąg, inspirowany hinduistycznymi wizerunkami bogini Hiny, to z jednej strony zaakcentowanie duchowego aspektu naszej bytności na tym świecie, z drugiej zaś jeszcze jeden element odwołujący się do cykliczności ludzkiego życia, jako że Hina patronuje regeneracji i odrodzeniu.

Na pytanie, dokąd idziemy, artysta udziela wieloznacznej odpowiedzi. Możemy utrzymywać, że śmierć jest ostatnim aktem sztuki, jaką jest ludzkie życie, choć z drugiej strony obecność kobiety w pełni sił witalnych obok staruszki pozwala wysuwać tezę, że śmierć jest jedynie przystankiem w drodze ku nieznanemu i nieokrytemu. Jest końcem „tu i teraz”, ale początkiem odrodzenia się gdzieś „tam”.

Płótno Gauguina przywołuję w tym miejscu z dwóch powodów. Po pierwsze ilustruje ono to, czego poszukuję w Sztuce. Szukam Sztuki, która nie oferuje odpowiedzi, lecz prowokuje do pytań. Która pobudza we mnie intelektualny ferment. Która pulsuje, nie pozwala przejść obojętnie, żyjąc we mnie własnym życiem. Która zamiast gotowych rozwiązań daje wskazówki i każe ich szukać na własną rękę. Lubię sztukę ubraną w kilka warstw znaczeniowych. Która swoimi środkami wyrazu artystycznego jest ekranem kineskopu, na którym każdy może wyświetlić wewnętrzny film będący filtrem tego, w jaki sposób ją przeżywa – bo taka Sztuka właśnie otwiera się na wielorakie interpretacje. W obcowaniu ze Sztuką najcenniejsze są bowiem te momenty między ustami a brzegiem pucharu.

Ostatnia powieść Maryse Condé pod tym względem finezją nie grzeszy, gdyż jest do bólu dosłowna. W rysach powieściowego Pascala łatwo odnaleźć figurę współczesnego Chrystusa z tą różnicą, że kandydat na Mesjasza przychodzi na świat w Niedzielę Wielkanocną, a po osiągnięciu dojrzałości nie jest cieślą, lecz korzysta z pokaźnych zasobów materialnych wpierw rodziny adopcyjnej, potem zaś swego domniemanego ojca. Cała reszta jest swobodną trawestacją Nowego Testamentu i pisarka nawet nie próbuje udawać, że jest inaczej. Zrezygnowała nawet z odmiennego względem Pisma Świętego nazwania bohaterów drugoplanowych. Zdrajca jest więc Judaszem, cudownie ozdrowiony Łazarzem, a jego dwie siostry Marią i Martą… Główny protagonista mimo opływania w dostatek już od dziecka będąc świadkiem ubóstwa i biedy brata się z wykluczonymi i najchętniej to bratanie wychodzi mu w sypialni, gdyż Pascal w obecności atrakcyjnych kobiet potrafi być naprawdę niegrzecznym chłopcem. Przez całą powieść zastanawia się, czy urodził się pod szczęśliwą gwiazdą czy też ma szczególną misję do spełnienia, przy czym nie pytajcie się, na czym ta misja będzie polegać. Bo tego nie wie sam bohater. W odróżnieniu od Chrystusa, który przemierzał Judeę i głosił Słowo Pańskie oraz obietnicę Bożego Królestwa, powieściowy Pascal jedynie ma chęć zmiany oblicza świata, lecz zero pomysłu, jak się za to zabrać. Niby pisze jakieś apele i manifesty, ale nie wiadomo, jaki konkretnie ma plan – poza tym, że ma być „lepiej i sprawiedliwiej”. Zresztą jego reformatorski zapał silny jest wtedy i tylko wtedy, gdy Pascal znajduje się w emocjonalnym dołku. Gdy poznaje kolejną dziewoję, którą zabiera do krainy rozkoszy, plany zmiany świata muszą poczekać… Rzekłbym, że wielce osobliwy to Mesjasz Ery Globalizacji.

Wielokrotnie pyta sam siebie: Skąd przyszliśmy? Kim jesteśmy? Dokąd idziemy? (i to jest drugi powód, dla którego przywołałem płótno Gauguina), ale cały jego wysiłek intelektualny kończy się na zadaniu pytania. Postać Pascala jest pustym naczyniem, do którego każdy napotkany chce wlać taką treść, jaką sam chce w nim widzieć. Poza oczywistymi kontekstami biblijnymi przypomina on bardzo wolterowskiego Kandyda - jest równie rozbrajająco prostolinijny i równie często jego zetknięcie ze światem kończy się rozczarowaniem.

Powieść Condé jest rozkosznie naiwna i to jest mój największy zarzut pod jej adresem. Choć używa wielkich słów takich jak: Kolonializm, Rasizm, Globalizacja, Suwerenność i Solidarność, to trudno oprzeć się wrażeniu, że w jej wykonaniu są to wydrążone z treści etykietki, które służą przykryciu intelektualnej mielizny oraz banalności opowiedzianej historii graniczącej z infantylnością. Bo remedium, które pisarka oferuje na wyplenienie Zła tego świata zostało zaczerpnięte z Troskliwych Misiów – trzeba złapać się za ręce i pozwolić, by rozbłysły nasze serca.

[Jacqueline Nyathi · Rating 2 out of 5]

https://shonareads.wordpress.com/2023...

I went into this with high expectations, which is always a tricky thing—unavoidable, however, if you’ve enjoyed an author before. A Season in Rihata was one of my favourite reads of 2022, and I thought—assumed—this would be the same mix of fable/kind of folktale and semi-historical fiction. I like to go into a book without reading too much about it so I can form my own opinions; this worked against me here.

The central conceit of the book is that it is a parody of the life of Jesus Christ: Pascal is also born in a manger, there are drunken shepherd stand-ins, an angel figure appears, there’s a (maybe) miracle at a wedding, and so on. All of this is explored in about half the book, and it simply tries too hard. It feels like it should be funny (and sometimes drew a smile, I’ll admit), but is simply too slapstick, too on the nose to truly enjoy. It’s true that it can function as a kind of skewering of the fantasticalness of the religious texts, I suppose; but it really didn’t work for me. What worked much better was the later part of the book, when Conde is just making up the protagonist’s life without the burden of him being “the son of God” (partly because God never appears); if Pascal had simply been a man who had set out to fix the world, I would have enjoyed it more.

The second thing was the writing. I wish I had the facility to read it in the original language, because I feel the translation may be at fault here (perhaps this is different in the final version? I read the ARC). The book felt choppy where it should have been striving for jaunty, and seemed to keep hitting the wrong notes. More likely to be something to be laid at the author’s door, however, is that the supporting characters were mostly unmemorable, and Pascal seemed to go over the same peak and through the same valley over and over, just in different places, which was tiresome. Twice might be interesting for some; more than that was just exasperating for me. Also, his relations with women were boring and repetitive.

I wanted to love this book, but I just didn’t. It took me longer to read than it should have, because Pascal was simply annoying to me. I was bored. Being, possibly, Condé’s last book, this is an important read; but it just isn’t her best.

Thank you to World Editions and to NetGalley for this ARC.

[Rachel Louise Atkin · Rating 2 out of 5]

It’s not going well for me lately is it. I enjoyed probably the first third of this but I found it got really repetitive and nothing interesting was happening. The main character, Pascal, I felt absolutely no emotion towards and I started to have no interest at all in what he did. I don’t mind books a lot of the time where nothing happens but there was also a lack of urgency, wittiness and atmosphere which usually makes up for that and this book just fell so flat and boring for me. I hope it doesn’t end up on the Booker shortlist as I’ve read a lot better on the longlist than this.

[Gregory Duke]

Lol. Bored me to death. Read a third and then had to move on with my life. This is another Maryse Condé novel without affect, without an ounce of style that appeals to me, with heavyhandedness, with the oddest pacing possible. The story moves so fast and yet feels so achingly slow that I become unattentive and decide to skim. Bad sign.

[Sofia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Além da nomeação para o Booker, este livro foi escrito em homenagem a Saramago. Dois motivos mais do que fortes para aguçar o meu interesse.
A ideia, não sendo nova - inspirada n'O evangelho segundo Jesus Cristo, por J.S. - é interessante porque a autora reconta esta narrativa sob o ponto de vista do colonialismo.
Todavia, como leitora, senti que, às vezes, certas partes tinham sido inseridas com o único intuito de fazer o paralelismo com a história de Cristo, mas não funcionavam bem e não se interligavam com a restante narrativa. Além disso, ficavam aquém também por serem pouco exploradas, quase como um "picar do ponto" deste acontecimento bíblico.
Em suma, a ideia é boa, mas esperava mais.

[Tatiana · Rating 4 out of 5]

Drôle, absurde et parsemé de vérité. Un peu Le fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain et beaucoup Life of Brian des Monty Python.

[Marko Mravunac · Rating 2 out of 5]

Maybe 2.5

I lost the little interest I had after part 1, all the references are a bit on the nose, nothing really happens, and I don’t understand how or why this made it onto the shortlist.

[Marc Lamot]

Condé (1934-2024) was a real story teller, that's for sure. But this wasn't my thing. Her playing with cross-references (pun intended) to the gospels is nice, but I don't see the point she was making. My bad, I guess.

[Phyllis · Rating 4 out of 5]

RTC

[Luisa Ripoll-Alberola · Rating 3 out of 5]

Al fin y al cabo, ¿qué madre no ve a su hijo como a un dios?

Me costó bastante entrar en este libro. No sé siquiera si llegué a entrar del todo. Pero decidí acabármelo, porque me parecía interesante una reinterpretación del Evangelio a lo poscolonial.

Pascal es un niño que nace en un pesebre de la isla de Martinica. Es adoptado por los dueños de la casa, y de ahí en adelante se obsesiona.¿Quién es su verdadero padre? En fin, las comparaciones son bastante obvias.

Sin embargo, a pesar de que los símiles bíblicos no añadan mucho significado, y digamos que el mundo metafórico de esta novela es bastante pobre en comparación con la Biblia, sí que sirve para desmarcar el personaje de Jesucristo de su faceta divina y reinterpretar, de algún modo, al hombre que realmente fue.

¿A santo de qué esas reverencias? Soy vuestro hermano, no vuestro maestro ni vuestro mesías. Solo soy vuestro hermano.

Cuando Pascal en el libro respondía estas palabras a sus discípulos, por un lado resuenan muchísimo con cómo habría actuado Jesucristo, insistiendo mucho en ser un igual. Pero Pascal lo decía realmente: él no se sentía un enviado especial de Dios. Como si, cuando Jesucristo respondía del mismo modo, estuviera hablando puramente desde su humanidad, que es igual de digna que el resto.

Creo que esa es mi cualidad favorita de Pascal: su inocencia. Pascal no sabe demasiado bien cuál es su misión, pero los demás se sienten iluminados por su mera personalidad, cercanía y erudición. Los demás ven claramente que Pascal es especial. Pascal en cambio se retuerce el cerebro intentando aclarar qué se espera de él, para qué está en este mundo. En ese sentido, pensando que debe hacer grandes cosas, la realidad es que no tenía que hacer nada. Las obras cotidianas ya iban hablando por él, y haciendo mella en los demás.

Desde el inicio del libro me planteaba: si Pascal es un segundo Jesucristo, ¿cómo ha de morir? Esta pregunta ha sido el motor de la lectura en gran medida...

Y por supuesto, tiene el toque poscolonial y feminista clásico de Maryse Condé:

¿Así que eres el hijo de Dios? No me sorprende. Eso es lo que se creen todos los hombres: que son dioses a quienes las mujeres debemos servir.

Pascal se sentía sin fuerzas, impotente. No había sabido curar a su amigo de la peligrosa quimera europea. ¿Qué diantres iba a hacer en Italia o en Francia? ¿Vaciar voluntariamente, como canta Pierre Perret, los cubos de basura de París? La torre Eiffel... ¡Menuda tontería! Pascal nunca había estado en la capital, pero albergaba una profunda antipatía por la dichosa torre Eiffel, aquella mole gigantesca y deforme que enterraba sus pezuñas de paquidermo en los senderos del Campo de Marte.

Las lecturas coloniales considero que tienen mayor presencia e interés en la segunda parte del libro. Por ejemplo en el paralelismo Amin-Aylan, el niño varado en la playa...

También en este libro se hace referencia a la canción de Sometimes I feel like a motherless child... Asociación que ya hizo antes Pasolini en su Evangelio según san Mateo, y que aquí cobra más sentido porque tiene su origen en la esclavitud.

Y por último, el epílogo... Creo que de hecho es donde Maryse Condé expone por qué ha decidido narrar esta historia y no otra. Los hijos de Dios se suceden unos a otros.

[rachy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Maryse Conde is another one of those authors on that long list of authors I always intended to read. Normally with authors like this I try to go for their most prominent work, to strike it right down the middle, but when I spotted her colourful new book out and about, I decided I’d just give it a go regardless. ‘The Gospel According to the New World’ is a take on the story of Jesus, set in modern times on a small Caribbean island.

While I did like ‘The Gospel According to the New World’, I definitely found it a little underwhelming and disappointing too. I found most of the characters to be interesting and well introduced, but we didn’t always spend the most time with each before more were introduced which made them feel a little transient. I liked the story and thought it was a fun and fresh riff on the story of Jesus but I ultimately lost the aim of the novel by its close. I definitely missed the bigger picture here. I liked its lighthearted tone and unlike some other people, I didn’t need some serious or significant turn within the novel for it to work, but I didn’t really feel any kind of full circle moment, even within its own parameters. I also occasionally felt like it lacked a little clarity. However, one thing I did enjoy was Conde’s prose, which carried every single one of the novel’s weaker elements. It read fluidly and pleasantly throughout and was the one aspect I have absolutely no complaints about.

I’d like to read some of Conde’s other fiction, and I did get the sense from this book that I might have benefitted from that before I embarked on this novel. It did read like a novel from someone towards the end of their career having been already established thoroughly by their earlier works. It also read with the same precision that comes from years of experience. Though I didn’t love ‘The Gospel According to the New World’, I liked it well enough all the way throughout and saw Conde’s skill really shine through it all. Interestingly, I found this to be a quality seriously indicative of a wonderful writer, that even in their weaker work they can still clearly display their impressive attributes.