The directions from Harvard Square to the library were a little complicated, and I was more than a little distracted by any blond passersby. So it took me half an hour to get there, rather than the estimated fifteen minutes. I got more and more anxious with each step; the clock was ticking.
Final y, I spotted the stone gothic building described in the guide: Andover Hal . The hal connected to a building of more modern design, and the library nestled between the two. Fol owing the map, I entered the hal through a center entrance under the gothic tower. I then started down a long hal way cal ed the cloister walk, which was lined in old stones and what looked like discarded church pews.
At the very end of the cloister walk waited a closed door—the library entrance. I opened it with a deafening creak, and then busied myself with a lobby display while I waited for the circulation desk to become busy so I could sneak in. I had read that the library was used primarily by masters’
and doctoral students and, while I might pass as a col ege freshman, posing as a graduate student was a major stretch.
After skirting past the circulation desk and racing up a flight of stairs, I headed into the Houghton Reference Room. I sat at a computer dedicated to searching the library col ections, and placed my fingers on the keyboard. Where should I even begin? I typed in “fal en angels,” but got thousands of hits. So I narrowed my search to the unusual word my dad mentioned: Nephilim.
A few matches flashed on the screen. Other than the Book of Genesis from the Bible—which I had expected—I saw entries for the Book of Enoch. What was that?
I quickly scribbled down the reference number for the Book of Enoch and headed into the stacks. Along the way, I grabbed a copy of the Bible—
an easy matter in a theological library—so I could look at that Genesis quote again. But finding the Book of Enoch was another matter altogether.
The stacks were endless. And overwhelming. How would I ever find this crazy book and read it in my dwindling time?
I must have looked lost, because a nice, but seriously nerdy-looking, student approached me. “Do you need some help?”
I almost said no, but the passing of time nagged at me. I smiled at the bespectacled student, and said, “Thanks so much. I’m looking for a copy of the Book of Enoch. Do you have any idea where one might be?”
“Al too wel . Fol ow me.”
Silently, he led me down two flights of stairs. We entered the labyrinth of a different, larger set of stacks. Fol owing his lead, I turned right and left and right again. Until he came to dead halt. He reached up to a high shelf, plucked down a book, and handed it to me.
The guy knew the book’s location so wel that I figured he must know something about its content. So I thanked him and whispered, “You certainly seem familiar with the Book of Enoch.”
“I better be. Apocryphal Gospels are my area of focus.”
“Apocryphal Gospels?”
He looked at me a bit askance but answered cordial y enough. “Biblical books that were considered for inclusion in the Old or New Testament, but that never made it, never became part of the accepted canon. You’re not a divinity student, are you?”
“No. Is it that obvious?”
“Just a little.” He smiled.
I smiled back. “Can you tel me anything about this Book of Enoch?”
“Wel , it’s an apocryphal gospel that was written between 300 B.C. and the first century B.C. It is not part of the canon for most Christian churches, except the Ethiopian Christian Church. But many of the New Testament writers were familiar with it, and it is quoted in the New Testament Letter of Jude. These facts have given it some credence in certain experts’ minds.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about many things.”
“Anything in particular?”
“The Book elaborates on a passage from Genesis that deals with angels and Noah’s flood. It discusses the creation of the Nephilim, as they are sometimes cal ed—half angel and half man—and their destruction at the hands of a very angry God. Some say that their destruction was the impetus for Noah’s flood.” He pointed to a carrel jam- packed with books nearby. “I’m sitting just over there. Once you’ve read it, I’d be happy to try to answer any questions you have.”
After thanking him profusely, I sat down in an empty carrel not too far away. I opened up the Bible and read the section of Genesis that my father had summarized. Although the language was dense, it told basical y the same story as my dad. I was just about to close the Bible up and open the Book of Enoch when I noticed a footnote at the end of the relevant Genesis section. It read, “The Nephilim were thought to have been a race of giants, whose superhuman strength was attributed to semi-divine origin. They were the legendary worthies of ancient mythology.” That sounded eerily familiar.
Then I started on the Book of Enoch. Although most of the language was old-fashioned and real y hard to fol ow, one line toward the beginning was very clear:
I froze at the sight of my parents’ names—and Ezekiel’s. This ancient biblical story was becoming more and more real.
Tearing my eyes away from the list of fal en angels, I turned back to the story. In time, I got its archaic rhythm and began to parse together its tale.
