There is a profound beauty in the way «Beckett’s Jyhad Diary» ultimately brings its core philosophy to life. At 560 pages, it is a massive, substantial piece of work. As you read, you find yourself consumed by the immediate struggles of the characters — by what is happening to Beckett and those he meets along the way — rather than the moral of the story, which barely peeks through the background of the narrative.
In a sense, Beckett is constantly walking in circles. He is too proud, too stubborn to accept the idea that no vampire ever truly has control over their own existence. Time and again, he throws himself against the «inevitable». He hunts endlessly for answers to questions that, in the end, don't actually matter — because all the meaning is found in the search itself.
He begins by denying Gehenna entirely; then, he seeks proof that it is merely a cycle; and finally, he realizes that he was never truly haunted by the prospect of the apocalypse. Instead, he was driven by the sense of purpose that his wanderings gave to his unlife.
He studies the Jyhad, dissecting its roots and seeking a way to escape the vicious cycle of Eternal War — only to break free by accident. In the end, his diary — the result of centuries of work — falls into the hands of Kemintiri, and dozens of vampires find themselves dangerously compromised. The very act of losing his unlife's work becomes the moment he finally steps outside the cycle he spent so long trying to understand. The scene where Theo Bell, Talley, Hesha Ruhadze, Lucita, Fatima, Sascha Vykos, and all the others find themselves digging a hole in the Egyptian sands together is utterly comical. Yet, if you stop laughing, it represents a true apotheosis — a rare victory over the Jyhad itself. It’s the moment when one fussy, restless vampire accidentally forced a crowd of others to unite. Regardless of their age, their generation, their Sects, or their deep-seated hatred for one another, they worked side-by-side. Even if most of them were furious at Beckett for his blunder, they were there, together.
Then there is the later scene where Anatole — whom Beckett had been bitterly resentful of since their time in Jerusalem — saves both him and Lucita from a brutal collision between the Anathema and the Alastors. It serves as one final, powerful reminder: the Jyhad may be one of the curses of Caine, but it is not inevitable. It is not inescapable.
«All his frantic efforts of the past nights, indeed of the long years of his quest, and it was only the words of a mysterious ancient and the final actions of one who had abandoned her humanity, that led to any revelation, any truth of the Kindred purpose. And it was only this: It didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter what God had intended when he reached down and smote a farmer who had shed the blood of man. It made no difference what God had intended Caine’s offspring to be. An object lesson, a plague on mankind, a catalyst to force the nations of humanity to work together—none of it mattered.
For the Kindred, while cursed, had still enjoyed the greatest of all God’s gifts. Free will. The ability to choose, as Lucita did, each his own purpose, his own meaning». (с) «The Final Night»
Free will and the right to choose, my dear, silly vampire. The very things you’ve always excelled at.
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