This slim volume is a love story, the diary of God. Or a god, which is how he (he identifies as male) refers to himself about equally, and implies the acknowledgment of other deities. Either way, this divine being finds himself in unfamiliar territory as he seems to fall in love with a human woman, one who is highly unlikely to fall prey to his charms and attentions. However, he feels compelled to pull her out of some bad situations and set her on a satisfying life path, a course of action that must be approached with caution, as he can’t show any favouritism. It is a very interesting narration, balancing high philosophy with the mundane details of one woman’s life. Humans worship god and work really hard to live as they suppose he wants them to, but he really doesn’t care. Or, he doesn’t care about humans any more or less than he cares about galaxies or stars or beetles or sand, although he recognizes that humans have had a greater impact on their planet than he anticipated, and before long they will arse it all up entirely. But he also wrestles with his newfound infatuation, because he is not accustomed to thinking, or at least to be conscious enough of his thoughts to write them down. There is a particularly apt rumination about the nature of writing and thought, near the end. The whole thing is designed to make you think, and it certainly does. ( )

This is not so much a novel as a tone of voice.

Sartori's God is a veteran humblebragger, a ridiculous romantic, a terrible liar, vengeful but without his heart in it, and benevolent despite himself. He's omnipotent, but he talks about it like he's trying to impress you at a bar. He's contemptuous of humans, but he displays pretty much every single one of our tendencies. He's in love, but he's trying to play it cool, but he's unbelievably bad at playing it cool - not a skill an all-powerful being gets to practice much, you imagine.

The plot here is not really relevant. I did feel invested in Daphne (the girl that God's got a crush on), but that was nothing compared to watching God twist and contort himself into various postures of denial, self-deception, giddiness, shame, and finally acceptance.

A lot of credit has to go to the translator, Frederika Randall, for getting this tone to shine through. ( )

I knew nothing about this book when I bought it. I was buying a small(ish) pile of books at The Grumpy Swimmer in Elwood when the bookseller noticed they were all translations and pulled out this brand new arrival and said it was very funny.

I took one look at the cover and....

(You know the rest).
God, who narrates the story, much like many an insufferable male, is a tad pompous and more than a little self-obsessed, plus very opinionated — but then, why wouldn't he be? He is after all #InsertCharacteristicsOfGod, e.g. omnipotent, all-seeing, etc etc. Unfortunately he is bored with his creation, and disappointed in humans, having a poor opinion of them in general, and feeling peeved about particular things that they have done. Indeed, when things become too difficult for him on Earth, he takes a break in the other galaxies, rather like a stress day off work. And there he gloats: Just look at all the gorgeous galaxies I've created! He savours that feeling you get contemplating something you've made with your own hands, the satisfaction of a job well done, of time well spent.

He compares his efforts with creation with that of contemporary artists...He created and created, nonstop, with no cigarette breaks, no union hours, and is proud of every single component:

Sleek panthers, enchanting palms, hieratic giraffes, proud plovers, gorgeous orchids, the softest, greenest moss, shiny ladybugs, adorable daisies.

His work (apart from humans, who would be a mistake, except that God doesn't make mistakes), belongs in the best art galleries. But...

Contemporary so-called artists display washing machine parts, driftwood, bodies that have been run through, scrap iron, photographs of genital organs and aged corpses, polystyrene chips, medicine bottles, naked women, even just their own excrement, and the public pretends to be mildly interested. In this age of screens and globalised idiocy, nobody seems to know how to hold a brush. (p.79)

He is irritated, for example, by the effrontery of Big Bang Theory. He wryly notes the pathetic spectacle of early man's efforts to barter their absurd sacrifices for help with their problems from every type of spirit apart from that of yours truly... but the scientific theory that he was not involved at all makes him cross.

An eternity went by before they realised that their blessed Earth is a mere speck in the Solar System, in turn a piddly little mite in the Milky Way, one negligible molecule in the vastness of the universe. Only my great patience kept me from taking serious umbrage. And to top it off, rather than finally recognising my merits, rendering unto Caesar that which is Caesar's, (that boy of mine, the one reputed to be my boy at any rate, had a knack for catchy sayings), now they're spreading the rumour that the universe created itself. That it sprang forth from nothing, like a mushroom: Big Bang, and there's your rabbit, folks. (p.13)

To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2021/11/23/i-am-god-a-novel-by-giacomo-sartori-translat... ( )

The narrator, God, is insufferable in this novel. Terribly unlikable. Actually, none of the characters are likeable, except maybe Daphne. All the men are described as pervs.

I got through it. There's a lot of stuff in here about environmentalism and its a little preachy and tedious.

I kept reading, thinking "Is this actually a good book and I just don't get it?" But this quasi-love story between God and a flawed human girl didn't cut it for me. And what's with God being so homophobic anyway? ( )

It's a clever idea that falls too short at every turn: God becomes infatuated with a human female. Unfortunately, this "all powerful" god is "all too human," as well as too Catholic, too anthropomorphic, and just not very interesting. There are a couple clever and interesting chapters. The last chapter, except for the last paragraph (which an editor should have excised), is an interesting comment on how the human species has corrupted and defiled Earth, but it has little to do with the rest of the novella. But, like I noted, it is a clever idea and I kept reading and wishing for more; in the end, it didn't work for me. ( )