Relax. The only sign of the Son of God here is in the title. Double Booker Prize-winner JM Coetzee’s latest has all the makings of a tough sell: philosophical, spare, and a follow-up to the baffling Childhood of Jesus from 2013, which was about as charming as a Ryvita topped with something out of Holland and Barrett. And yes, it’s another mouthful of the dry stuff again, but this time it feels like a literary master bestowing profound musings on life and humanity. And you get the impression he’s properly enjoying himself to boot. Let him paint his picture and argue his case – just don’t waste time asking us what it actually means.
Read an extract here
The skinny-jeaned corpse of 2007 indie is risen and dragging its battered Converse to a venue near you