Some early stories from the Bible and Apocrypha don’t fulfill the devil’s contract. For instance, Jesus wandered 40 days in the wilderness and rejected the devil’s tests. Simon Magus—a sorcerer who bewitched the people of Samaria—listened to Philip the Evangelist preach, believed, and was baptized. But when Simon saw the apostles laying on of hands, he wanted to buy that power, but was denied. Author Ed Simon uses these stories to set up the next stage.
During the Inquisitions and subsequent witch trials, interrogators steeped in demonology coerced victims under torture to claim relationships with the devil. That contract needed a name. So, in the late 16th century, German alchemist and sorcerer Johann Faust went from folk legend to the archetype of one who sold his soul to the devil. His supposed deed influenced writers, artists, musicians, and more. In fact, Simon even gets into a groove where his phraseology changes, skipping over verbs, waxing lyrical.
And then he comes crashing down. By chapter 10, Simon inserts his 21st century ideals onto 17th century life in the New World when writing about the 1692 Salem witch trials. He also, like many high school English teachers, gets caught up in Arthur Miller’s 1953 play, The Crucible, which rewrites actual history into a story of an affair that never happened.
Simon then trounces the Puritans and their Calvinist religion hard, with their theft of native lands, slavery, misogyny, and belief in predestination. Here, he believes that the Faustian bargain is written in the town charters, not between, say, the devil and an accused witch.
Curiously, though, by the third generation—around the time of the witch trials—many Massachusetts Bay people were moving away from Calvinism, forcing religious leaders to compromise with the Halfway Covenant and other religious principles. Plus, the dying off of the older generations—like Judge William Stoughton—also made way for more liberal ideas and beliefs, leading to another revolt of “no taxation without representation.”
But Simon doesn’t acknowledge that progress and holds Salem—not Boston, New York City, or Los Angeles—accountable for turning the United States into a Faustian Republic. Then he closes his diatribe with another religious metaphor, the Apocalypse.
Devil’s Contract begins with a journey through the Arts, then takes a wild hairpin turn. Halfway through, it’s as if Simon had a dark epiphany that changed the direction of his writing. It’s unsettling. And maybe that’s the point.
rating: ★★★
