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    Thirst: A Novel
    Thirst: A Novel
    Thirst: A Novel
    Ebook91 pages1 hour

    Thirst: A Novel

    By Amélie Nothomb

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The prize-winning author “entices lucky readers with a dissenting, potentially heretical, refreshingly fascinating interpretation” of Jesus’s life (Shelf Awareness).

    The Francophone Belgian author Amélie Nothomb has won high praise for her provocative and philosophical novels, including Fear and Trembling, which won the prestigious Prix du Roman. Now Nothomb presents a highly original reexamination of an all-too-familiar story.

    In a first-person voice as wry as it is wise, Nothomb narrates Jesus’s final days, from his trial to his crucifixion to the resurrection. Amid asides about his relationships with his mother and Judas, his love for Mary Magdalene, and his many miracles, we find a man struggling with his humanity and his exceptional nature, straddling the line between human and deity, the son of a formless, omnipotent creator in the fallible form of a man.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateApr 13, 2021
    ISBN9781609456610
    Thirst: A Novel
    Author

    Amélie Nothomb

    Amélie Nothomb nació en Kobe (Japón) en 1967. Proviene de una antigua familia de Bruselas, aunque pasó su infancia y adolescencia en Extremo Oriente, principalmente en China y Japón, donde su padre fue embajador; en la actualidad reside en París. Desde su primera novela, Higiene del asesino, se ha convertido en una de las autoras en lengua francesa más populares y con mayor proyección internacional. Anagrama ha publicado El sabotaje amoroso(Premios de la Vocation, Alain-Fournier y Chardonne), Estupor y temblores (Gran Premio de la Academia Francesa y Premio Internet, otorgado por los lectores internautas), Metafísica de los tubos (Premio Arcebispo Juan de San Clemente), Cosmética del enemigo, Diccionario de nombres propios, Antichrista, Biografía del hambre, Ácido sulfúrico, Diario de Golondrina, Ni de Eva ni de Adán (Premio de Flore), Ordeno y mando, Viaje de invierno, Una forma de vida, Matar al padre, Barba Azul, La nostalgia feliz, Pétronille, El crimen del conde Neville, Riquete el del Copete, Golpéate el corazón, Los nombres epicenos, Sed, Los aerostatos y Primera sangre (Premio Renaudot). En 2006 se le otorgó el Premio Cultural Leteo y, en 2008, el Gran Premio Jean Giono, ambos en reconocimiento al conjunto de su obra.

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    • 4/5
      Soif - Amelie NothombAmelie Nothomb is a Belgian author who writes in the french language. Since her first novel was published in 1992 she has published a novel every year since then. It is almost a racing certainty that you will find one of her books in your local library. There were three on offer in mine and I chose Soif. There was nothing on the book covers to give a clue as to the subject matter apart from a quote:"Pour éprouver la soif il faut être vivant"It took me a few pages to realise that it was an interior monologue of Jesus Christ, just after his arrest in the garden of Gethsemane. He is hauled before Pontious Pilot and sentence to be crucified the next day. Jesus was rather hoping it would be later that day because now he would have to spend a night alone in his cell with the fear of the crucifixion the next day. Nothomb imagines his thoughts during that fearful night and the next day while the sentence is being carried out. It is the passion of Jesus that takes up much of this short novel, however it ends with his reflections following his resurrection.Nothomb imagines Jesus with the mind of an ordinary man, but a man who believes he is the son of God. He knows he will die in agony the next day and his first thoughts alone in his cell are whether he will be allowed the blessed peace of being able to sleep. Of course events in his life flash through his mind. He thinks of his mother and the man whom he refers to as Joseph, what good kind people they are, he thinks of how his life might have been if he was not an incarnation of the son of God. He thinks about his love affair with Mary Magdalene whom he calls Madeleine and the power of human love, but the next day is on his mind and he refuses the bowl of water offered to him. He believes that water is life giving and to deny himself a drink of the life giving liquid will prepare him for the agony of the next day.Northomb imagines his thoughts and observations as he struggles to carry his cross up to Golgotha. She presents his jagged thoughts alongside the pain of getting to the top of the hill. She does a good job of putting the reader into the mind of Jesus at the start of his agony. I felt the harrowing experience. The scene at the crucifixion site, the desolation, the numbing agony of Jesus is well described, as is the crucifixion itself. There are moments of kindness which makes Jesus think about humanity and stops his disdain for how he is being treated. This works very well. There are no deep psychological or religious insights, but the events are not lightly treated. There are themes and phrases running through the book that hold it all together. I think it is a moving experience. I am not so sure about the last few pages where Jesus is a disembodied spirit, however it is in keeping with the idea that the human body defines humanity: God as a bodiless spirit does not understand the human beings he has created. There is much to think about in this original story of the passion of Jesus. It is told with love and affection and I rate is as a 4 star read. I will certainly try other books by this author.

    Book preview

    Thirst - Amélie Nothomb

    THIRST

    Ialways knew I would be sentenced to death. The advantage of such knowledge is that I can focus my attention where it is warranted: on the details.

    I thought my trial would be a parody of justice. And indeed, it was, but not in the way I expected. I had imagined a hastily expedited formality, but I was given the works. The prosecutor left nothing to chance.

    The witnesses for the prosecution paraded past, one after the other. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the newlyweds from Cana, the first beneficiaries of my miracle working.

    This man has the power to change water into wine, declared the husband, deadly serious. And yet, he waited until the end of the wedding to exercise his talent. He enjoyed seeing how anxious and humiliated we were, when he could so easily have prevented it. Because of him, we served the good wine after the inferior one. We were the laughingstock of the village.

    I calmly looked my accuser in the eye. He held my gaze, confident in his reasoning.

    The royal official stepped up to describe the ill will with which I had cured his son.

    And how is the child doing now? my lawyer, the most inefficient office clerk you could possibly imagine, could not help but ask.

    He is fine. To his credit! With magic like his, a single word suffices.

    All thirty-seven miracle recipients took a turn airing their dirty laundry. I found the once-possessed man of Capernaum to be the most entertaining:

    Since the exorcism, my life has been incredibly boring!

    The erstwhile blind man complained of how ugly the world was, the former leper declared that no one gave him alms anymore, the fishermen’s union from Tiberias accused me of having favored one crew over all the others, and Lazarus described how horrible it was to live with the smell of a corpse clinging to his skin.

    From the looks of it, it had not been necessary to bribe them or even encourage them. They all came to testify against me of their own free will. Several of them said what a relief it was to be able to vent their frustration in the presence of the culprit at last.

    In the presence of the culprit.

    I only appear calm to people. It took a supreme effort on my part to listen to all these litanies without reacting. Every time, I looked the witness in the eye with no other expression than gentle astonishment. Every time, they held my gaze with disdain, defying me, looking at me with scorn.

    The mother of a child I’d healed went so far as to accuse me of having ruined her life.

    When my little boy was unwell, he was quiet. Now he wiggles and screams and cries, I don’t get a moment’s peace, and not a wink of sleep at night.

    But did you not ask my client to cure your son? the office clerk asked.

    To cure him, yes, not to make him as maddening as he was before he got ill.

    Perhaps you should have made that clear.

    Is he omniscient, or isn’t he?

    A good question. I always know Τι, and never Πώs. I know the direct object but never the adverbial phrase. Therefore, no, I am not omniscient: I discover the adverbs as I go along, and they throw me for a loop. People are right to say the devil is in the details.

    In truth, not only did they need no encouragement from the prosecution to testify, they also ardently desired to. Their readiness to speak against me was staggering. All the more in that it was strictly unnecessary. They all knew I would be sentenced to death.

    There is nothing mysterious about prophecy. They knew my powers and could see for themselves that I had not used them to save myself. They were in no doubt, therefore, as to the outcome of the matter.

    Why were they so eager to inflict such pointless censure upon me? The enigma of evil is nothing in comparison to that of mediocrity. As they were testifying, I could tell how much they were enjoying it. They delighted in behaving wretchedly in front of me. They were simply disappointed that my suffering wasn’t more visible. Not that I wanted to deny them that supreme pleasure, but my astonishment far outweighed my indignation.

    I am a man, and nothing human is foreign to me. And yet, I cannot understand what came over them as they were ranting and raving such abominations. I consider my incomprehension to be a failure, a sign of neglect.

    Pontius Pilate had received his instructions about me, and I could see how put out he was—not that he liked me in any way, but because the witnesses irritated the rational man in him. My stupefaction deceived him; he sought to give me an opportunity to protest against the unending stream of nonsense:

    Defendant, do you have anything to say? he asked, his expression that of an intelligent being addressing his peer.

    No, I replied.

    He nodded, as if to imply it was pointless to throw a line to someone who was that unconcerned by his own fate.

    In truth, I said nothing because I had too much to say. Had I spoken, I would not have been able to hide my scorn. Feeling scorn is a torment to me. I have been a man for long enough to know that some feelings cannot be repressed. What matters is letting them go by without trying to counter them: that way they leave no trace.

    Scorn is a sleeping devil. A devil that fails to act will soon begin to fade. In the courtroom, words are as good as actions. Keeping my scorn silent was as good as preventing it from acting.

    Pilate turned to his counselors:

    The proof that these testimonies are false is that our man has not resorted to magic to set himself free.

    And it is not on those grounds that we call for his conviction.

    I know. I want nothing more than to convict him. The only thing is that I would have preferred not to feel as if I am doing so for fraudulent reasons!

    In Rome, people require bread and circuses. Here they require bread and miracles.

    So be it. If it’s political, then it doesn’t bother me anymore.

    Pilate stood up and declared, Defendant, you shall be crucified.

    I appreciated his frugal language. The genius of Latin is that it never uses more words than are necessary. I would have hated it if he had said, You shall be crucified to death. When it comes to crucifixion there is no other outcome.

    The fact remains that, coming from his lips, it had the desired effect. I looked at the witnesses, and I could sense how embarrassed they felt, albeit too late. And yet, they had all known I would be convicted, and they

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