Christ the Lord: Out of Egyptby Anne Rice
The book’s power derives from the passion its author brings to the writing and the
Having completed the two cycles of legend to which she has devoted her career so far, Anne Rice gives us now her most ambitious and courageous book, a novel about the early years of CHRIST THE LORD, based on the Gospels and on the most respected New Testament scholarship.
The book’s power derives from the passion its author brings to the writing and the way in which she summons up the voice, the presence, the words of Jesus who tells the story.
From the Hardcover edition.
The New York Times
“Rice blends Gospel fact with popular myth to create a finely tuned work of historical fiction.”
“Rice writes this book in a simpler, leaner style, giving it the slow but inexorable rhythm of an incantation. The restraint and prayerful beauty of Christ the Lord is apt to surprise her usual readers and attract new ones.”
—The New York Times
“Riveting. . . . Rice’s book is a triumph of tone–her prose lean, lyrical, vivid–and character. . . . This is fiction that transcends story and instead qualifies as an act of faith.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Her most daring book yet. . . . Rice shows she still has her great gift to imbue gothic chills with moral complexity and heartfelt sorrow.”
“Riveting. . . . Rice's book is a triumph of tone her prose lean, lyrical, vivid and character. As he ponders his staggering responsibility, the boy is fully believable and yet there's something in his supernatural empathy and blazing intelligence that conveys the wondrousness of a boy like no other. . . . With this novel, she has indeed found a convincing version of him; this is fiction that transcends story and instead qualifies as an act of faith. Joins Nikos Kazantzakis's The Last Temptation of Christ and Endo's A Life of Jesus as one of the bolder re-tellings.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred)
Praise for Blood Canticle
“When Anne Rice releases a new book in The Vampire Chronicles series, cheers from her huge fan base can be heard everywhere.”
—The Edmonton Journal
Read an Excerpt
I was seven years old. What do you know when you’re seven years old? All my life, or so I thought, we’d been in the city of Alexandria, in the Street of the Carpenters, with the other Galileans, and sooner or later we were going home.
Late afternoon. We were playing, my gang against his, and when he ran at me again, bully that he was, bigger than me, and catching me off balance, I felt the power go out of me as I shouted: “You’ll never get where you’re going.”
He fell down white in the sandy earth, and they all crowded around him. The sun was hot and my chest was heaving as I looked at him. He was so limp.
In the snap of two fingers everyone drew back. It seemed the whole street went quiet except for the carpenters’ hammers. I’d never heard such a quiet.
“He’s dead!” Little Joseph said. And then they all took it up. “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.”
I knew it was true. He was a bundle of arms and legs in the beaten dust.
And I was empty. The power had taken everything with it, all gone.
His mother came out of the house, and her scream went up the walls into a howl. From everywhere the women came running.
My mother lifted me off my feet. She carried me down the street and through the courtyard and into the dark of our house. All my cousins crowded in with us, and James, my big brother, pulled the curtain shut. He turned his back on the light. He said:
“Jesus did it. He killed him.” He was afraid.
“Don’t you say such a thing!” said my mother. She clutched me so close to her, I could scarcely breathe.
Big Joseph woke up.
Now Big Joseph was my father, because he was married to my mother, but I’d never called him Father. I’d been taught to call him Joseph. I didn’t know why.
He’d been asleep on the mat. We’d worked all day on a job in Philo’s house, and he and the rest of the men had lain down in the heat of the afternoon to sleep. He climbed to his feet.
“What’s that shouting outside?” he asked. “What’s happened?”
He looked to James. James was his eldest son. James was the son of a wife who had died before Joseph married my mother.
James said it again.
“Jesus killed Eleazer. Jesus cursed him and he fell down dead.”
Joseph stared at me, his face still blank from sleep. There was more and more shouting in the street. He rose to his feet, and ran his hands back through his thick curly hair.
My little cousins were slipping through the door one by one and crowding around us.
My mother was trembling. “He couldn’t have done it,” she said. “He wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“I saw it,” said James. “I saw it when he made the sparrows out of clay on the Sabbath. The teacher told him he shouldn’t do such things on the Sabbath. Jesus looked at the birds and they turned into real birds. They flew away. You saw it too. He killed Eleazer, Mother, I saw it.”
My cousins made a ring of white faces in the shadows: Little Joses, Judas, and Little Symeon and Salome, watching anxiously, afraid of being sent out. Salome was my age, and my dearest and closest. Salome was like my sister.
Then in came my mother’s brother Cleopas, always the talker, who was the father of these cousins, except for Big Silas who came in now, a boy older than James. He went into the corner, and then came his brother, Justus, and both wanted to see what was going on.
“Joseph, they’re all out there,” said Cleopas, “Jonathan bar Zakkai, and his brothers, they’re saying Jesus killed their boy. They’re envious that we got that job at Philo’s house, they’re envious that we got the other job before that, they’re envious that we’re getting more and more jobs, they’re so sure they do things better than we do—.”
“Is the boy dead?” Joseph said. “Or is the boy alive?”
Salome shot forward and whispered in my ear. “Just make him come alive, Jesus, the way you made the birds come alive!”
Little Symeon was giggling. He was too little to know what was going on. Little Judas knew, but he was quiet.
“Stop,” said James, the little boss of the children. “Salome, be quiet.”
I could hear them shouting in the street. I heard other noises. Stones were hitting the walls of the house. My mother started to cry.
“You dare do that!” shouted my uncle Cleopas and he rushed back out through the door. Joseph went after him.
I wriggled out of my mother’s grasp and darted out before she could catch me, and past my uncle and Joseph and right into the crowd as they were all waving and hollering and shaking their fists. I went so fast, they didn’t even see me. I was like a fish in the river. I moved in and out through people who were shouting over my head until I got to Eleazer’s house.
The women all had their backs to the door, and they didn’t see me as I went around the edge of the room.
I went right into the dark room, where they’d laid him on the mat. His mother was there leaning on her sister and sobbing.
There was only one lamp, very weak.
Eleazer was pale with his arms at his sides, same soiled tunic, and the soles of his feet very black. He was dead. His mouth was open and his white teeth showed over his lip.
The Greek physician came in—he was really a Jew—and he knelt down, and he looked at Eleazer and he shook his head.
Then he saw me and said:
His mother turned and she saw it was me and she screamed.
I bent over him:
“Wake up, Eleazer,” I said. “Wake up now.”
I reached out and laid my hand on his forehead.
The power went out. My eyes closed. I was dizzy. But I heard him draw in his breath.
His mother screamed over and over and it hurt my ears. Her sister screamed. All the women were screaming.
I fell back on the floor. I was weak. The Greek physician was staring down at me. I was sick. The room was dim. Other people had rushed in.
Eleazer came up, and he was up all knees and fists before anyone could get to him, and he set on me and punched me and hit me, and knocked my head back against the ground, and kicked me again and again:
“Son of David, Son of David!” he shouted, mocking me, “Son of David, Son of David!” kicking me in the face, and in the ribs, until his father grabbed him around the waist and picked him up in the air.
I ached all over, couldn’t breathe.
“Son of David!” Eleazer kept shouting.
Someone lifted me and carried me out of the house and into the crowd in the street. I was still gasping. I hurt all over. It seemed the whole street was screaming, worse than before, and someone said the Teacher was coming, and my uncle Cleopas was yelling in Greek at Jonathan, Eleazer’s father, and Jonathan was yelling back, and Eleazer was shouting, “Son of David, Son of David!”
I was in Joseph’s arms. He was trying to move, but the crowd wouldn’t let him. Cleopas was pushing at Eleazer’s father. Eleazer’s father was trying to get at Cleopas, but other men took hold of his arms. I heard Eleazer shouting far away.
There was the Teacher declaring: “That child’s not dead, you hush up, Eleazer, who said he was dead? Eleazer, stop shouting! Whoever could think this child is dead?”
“Brought him back to life, that’s what he did,” said one of theirs.
We were in our courtyard, the entire crowd had pushed in with us, my uncle and Eleazer’s people still screaming at each other, and the Teacher demanding order.
Now my uncles, Alphaeus and Simon, had come. These were Joseph’s brothers. And they’d just woken up. They put up their hands against the crowd. Their mouths were hard and their eyes were big.
My aunts, Salome and Esther and Mary, were there, with all the cousins running and jumping as if this were a festival, except for Silas and Justus and James who stood with the men.
Then I couldn’t see anymore.
I was in my mother’s arms, and she had taken me into the front room. It was dark. Aunt Esther and Aunt Salome came in with her. I could hear stones hitting the house again. The Teacher raised his voice in Greek.
“There’s blood on your face!” my mother whispered. “Your eye, there’s blood. Your face is cut!” She was crying. “Oh, look what’s happened to you,” she said. She spoke in Aramaic, our tongue which we didn’t speak very much.
“I’m not hurt,” I said. I meant to say it didn’t matter. Again my cousins pressed close, Salome smiling as if to say she knew I could bring him back to life, and I took her hand and squeezed it.
But there was James with his hard look.
The Teacher came into the room backwards with his hands up. Someone ripped the curtain away and the light was very bright. Joseph and his brothers came in. And so did Cleopas. All of us had to move to make room.
“You’re talking about Joseph and Cleopas and Alphaeus, what do you mean drive them out!” said the Teacher to the whole crowd. “They’ve been with us for seven years!”
The angry family of Eleazer came almost into the room. The father himself did come into the room.
“Yes, seven years and why don’t they go back to Galilee, all of them!” Eleazer’s father shouted. “Seven years is too long! That boy is possessed of a demon and I tell you my son was dead!”
“Are you complaining that he’s alive now! What’s the matter with you!” demanded my uncle Cleopas.
From the Hardcover edition.
Meet the Author
Anne Rice is the author of twenty-six books. She lives in La Jolla, California.
From the Hardcover edition.
- Rancho Mirage, California
- Date of Birth:
- October 4, 1941
- Place of Birth:
- Rancho Mirage, California
- B.A., San Francisco State University, 1964; M.A., 1971
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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truth is, like everyone else, i was skeptical at first to find out that anne rice of all people, would write a book about the early life of jesus. So I read the book out of curiosity, and found it dull. Couple of months later, I tried reading it again and loved it. It is an incredible book and one that I somehow felt, sooner or later, anne rice would write. And to those who didn't like it because it portrayed as 'sinful' jesus (which is a stupid thing to say, for in the book Jesus is a child and killed the boy by accident, not intentionally) or because 'it was a complete turn from her vampire books', I can just say that they are being very closeminded. Anne Rice does not say this is a true story, she says it a fictionalized account of all her research on the early life of jesus (which in itself is very scarce). And just because she wrote books about witches and vampires and sadomasochism doesn't mean she shouldn't have written a book about Jesus. If you read all the vampire chronicles, in every book of the vampires, there is an underlying message that anne rice is telling that somehow God, or something, exists, that we are not alone in the world, despite everything. Somehow she had always believed in God, wheter or not she was conscious of it, and that showed a lot in her previous books. Catholic saints, a divinine comedy-like journey from heaven to hell? No one should be surprised Anne Rice would return to Christianity. I'm not christian myself, but I did enjoy this book so much it is my favorite. It was a bit slow at times, and not as descriptive and detailed as her previous books, but it was amazingly written. It is a work of art, and I hope that everyone reads this books at least once.
I have read just about every Anne Rice book, and while this was quite a departure for her, I found the book to be quite good. Reading about Jesus as a young boy and what sorts of things he might have done is fascinating, as well as timely for me. I could see the young Jesus through my own son. A very touching book from a solid author. I can't wait to read the next...
At seven years of age Jesus was living on the Street of Carpenters in Alexandria Egypt, an ordinary child who played and learned the studies all Jewish boys must know. The fact that he turned clay pigeons into real birds and that he struck dead a child who bullied him and then brought him back to life didn¿t really impinge on his consciousness although Mary and Joseph know who he is and why he was born to the Virgin Mary. An angel tells Joseph it is time for them to return to Israel so they travel to their homeland. They stop at the Temple in Jerusalem but a riot breaks out between the rebels and Herod¿s troops. They journey to Nazareth, but on the way Jesus stops to heal his Uncle in the river Jordan. A curious child, he listens to the hints about his birth and wants to know what was so special about it. Neither Mary nor Joseph feel he is ready to know these things but when Jesus heals a blind man, he knows he must find out the truth including why his mother says he was born not of man. --- Anne Rice¿s portrayal of Jesus as a young child shows him as both divine and human though he is not aware yet of his origins or his purpose in life. The character gradually comes to realize he is not like other children and wants to know why, something any curious seven-year old would try and find out if they were in his shoes. Perhaps the most beautiful trait Anne Rice¿s Jesus possesses is a wisdom that belies his years and comes out at the most inopportune times. Though well-written, reader bias will either laud Ms. Rice¿s latest work or condemn her interpretation of the boy destined to become the Savior.
I admire Anne Rice for returning to the Catholic Church but I feel I should warn folks about this book. While it has some interesting ideas about the humanity of the young Jesus which one may take to meditation, there are some very troublesome notions in the book as well. Just as the DaVinci code is an injustice to all of Christianity, there are some quite liberal ideas included in the 'Christ the Lord out of Egypt' book. Premier among these notions (though there are many more) is that Joseph and his brothers murder a man and Jesus himself murders a young boy who was bullying him (rest assured Jesus returns the boy to life afterward!) I'm sorry, but these are situations I can not imagine nor do I think they will lead a soul forward! We must be VERY careful to explain that this book is a piece of FICTION for fear of misleading any faithful person's heart away from our Lord in any small way! Instead of proclaiming this book as some new gospel account of our dear Lord's early childhood, and that its scholarship is without question, I think we should first probe its accounts which can NOT be found in sacred scripture.
Anne Rice is one of my favorite writers and I waited a VERY long time to read this book and was EXTREMELY disappointed. There was no plot and very repetitive........read to the end hoping something would happen - not so. I wouldn't buy this book if you're hoping for anything that will keep you awake. Good alternative to a sleep aide!
I was looking forward to reading this book. It sounded like a great idea for a story. But, it turned out to be a very boring read. She was very repetative. No real plot, just too many detailed descriptions of random characters, things, and events. I kept reading and finished the book. I even read the author's notes as other reviewers had suggested. But it never got any better.
I thought the premise of this book sounded really interesting, but in reading it found that it never got past that point. The writing was as if reading a first draft, sentences repeating or starting mid-thought. The story plodded along and there were far too many characters that really had nothing to do with the story. The end had a good point but was not enough to turn this book around.
ok i bought it thinking it'd have a nice new view on it , and idk be intresting like her other books. this book is so boring i'm STILL not done with it and i bought it the day after it came out. all it is , is jesus as a child following his family on their trip i mean i dont get the point of the book or anything all they do is journey to their family. Nothing else, only crying and young jesus , saying he's scared/crying/praying. this is one of the few anne rice books i wouldn't recommend to anyone.
Is only because now she can afford to write non erotica but she would have never been able to make a living if she did this first her wriing skills just aren t up to it nor is her the historical background research. She depends on her name and subject for sales the theme of and avoidance of blood in the old testament and the recurring symbols of blood in the new to drinking of and re life gives a strong sub conscious reason for her choice of this new genre there are certain native tribes that refuse to adopt because of this
love all of her books but this was so good such a unique story
Anne writes well and her conversion story is amazing.
I will look at so many things.........................not necessarily differently, but forever enhanced!
There just wasn't enough happening here to justify the effort. Anne Rice's portrayal of Jesus in Memnoch the Devil was much more interesting. Other reviews to the contrary, I don't feel Protestants will be put off by this novel although Rice does draw some of her material from texts which would be considered Apocryphal. I also got the impression that much of Rice's research in this area was half-hearted and incomplete. Rice's work is always hit or miss, and this was a miss, big time.
Who Jesus was as a child and how the people who knew him and watched him grow into adulthood saw him has long intrigued me. Anne Rice's story of his childhood, though fiction, makes it so believable that I found it hard not to believe it was an actual account -- not unlike immersing myself in her Vampire Chronicles. All I can say is "Anne Rice has done it again in yet another venue".
A book well worth reading. A book for anyone and also good f or discussion
From the perspective of Christ as a little boy. Wonderfully written. Really takes a seasoned author to pull this off and Anne Rice must have been hand picked by the Lord Himself. Must also read Out of Cana
To say that Anne Rice has done it again would not only be a drastic understatement, but would also be an insult. She has unarguably written one of the greatest stories ever told. One of the best writers of our generation has given us a miraculous story so beautifully written in a voice so enchanting that it far surpasses any of the other magnificent stories she has written to date. I cannot imagine anyone else handing this subject in a more realistic, believable and charming fashion. She is truly one of the greatest storytellers of all time. Thank you, Anne, and God bless you always.
This book is amazing!
Anne Rice as an author has so many talents that she expresses by fluently moving across any barrier and all spectrums of humanity and emotion. Read this and ponder it but bear in mind also that it is only fiction.