The Secret Chord

Natan is the narrator of the book and a prophet of God. He is a passive narrator at the beginning. Even when delivering prophecies, Natan describes the words he has spoken as out of his control and expressing “an anger I did not feel” (2). He is simply a conduit through which words can flow, whether Brooks’s words or God’s. Brooks does not explicitly link Natan’s passivity with the trauma of his father’s murder, the fact that Natan gives his first prophecy while standing in his father’s blood implies this link. Over the course of the book, however, Natan gradually takes on the role of a protagonist. He finds in himself an agency that he had lost as he discovers a new capacity for love.

Natan serves David as his conscience personified—a conscience that “walks and breathes as a living man in your service” (17). His identity and actions are subordinate to those of David, the ostensible protagonist. He observes the world around him in keen detail without intervening. In Chapter 5, he wishes he was an all-powerful seer who could have seen and prevented David’s rape of Batsheva; the clarity with which he expresses this wish emphasizes his perceived lack of power. Natan’s celibacy also insulates him from the complex tug and pull of relationships that cause the book’s conflicts. This comes at a price. When he sees David’s joy at his firstborn son, “I looked at the red, wrinkled, squalling infant, and tried to see what David saw, to feel what he felt. But it was no use. Those emotions were opaque to me. This, I thought, is what real love must be, and I will never feel it” (134). Natan’s celibacy is not presented as a problem in itself, but the ability to love and invest himself in another person is. Until he can do that, he is not motivated to risk himself. His few attempts to intervene, such as trying to stop David from killing the Amalekite woman and child (84), end in failure.

As the narrative reaches the climax of David’s story with Uriah’s murder, Natan’s role changes. The book is no longer simply the story of David. Natan has “ceased to serve a king and beg[u]n, instead to serve a kingdom” (213); Natan’s chronicle is similarly now a narrative of a kingdom and not just a single man. Within this broader reframing of the story, Natan starts pushing past his old limitations. He finds the courage to confront David. He admits his desire for a child to love and is rewarded with Shlomo. For Shlomo’s sake, Natan finds new allies, including Batsheva. He is even willing to lie about his prophetic gift to convince David to name Shlomo king. He is no longer a passive conduit for other people’s words.

In the Prologue, when Natan talks about completing his life’s great work, it seems he is talking about his chronicle. By the end, the reader realizes that guiding the peace-loving Shlomo is Natan’s true life’s work. The thoughtful, reflective narrator has discovered his own potential after surviving tremendous trauma and has joined David, the original protagonist, as the shared center of the story.

Yoav is the only character besides David and Natan to play an active role throughout the entire book. He serves mainly as a foil for Natan. He is David’s nephew (though about the same age), his companion in hardship, and usually his top commander. He is also a relatively flat character—a simple warrior who kills without qualm and has no time for peaceful pursuits or religion. Anger is his primary emotion. The reader first encounters Yoav storming out of a meeting with David, angry at his inability to guide the king. Natan’s first meeting with Yoav happens just before his father’s murder, when the enraged Yoav shoves the boy against the wall and is ready to spear him the next day. When he directly describes Yoav, Natan does so in the most flattering light possible, calling him an “earthy, practical man” who “mistrusted” Natan’s visions (136). These are mild words compared to the reality depicted in the book, as Yoav uses murder to preserve his pride and alleges that Natan’s prophecies are clever frauds. The consistency of his character can be seen in his murder of Avner near the beginning of the book and his similar murder of Amasa at the end. Both murders serve preserve Yoav’s role as David’s chief warrior, a position of power that rewards violence.

Though Yoav is not a complex character, he does play a complex role in the novel’s plot. He is a loyal supporting character to David throughout the book, despite moments when David’s affection for him wanes. At the beginning, he is mainly an ally to Natan. Both men, for example, work together to try to distract David when the army leaves without him. As the story progresses and as Natan becomes the protagonist, Yoav takes on the role of a foil. They never fully break from each other, but they do interact less and take different sides in the succession crises. Yoav initially supports Avshalom as a superior warrior king, embracing the elder son’s ruthlessness as something desirable in a warrior. When Avshalom rebels, Yoav transfers his support to David’s other sons rather than Shlomo, whom he sees as the puppet of a priest. Yoav comes to symbolize the choice for a traditional kingdom of violence rather than the kingdom of peace that Natan wishes to create through Shlomo.

Shaul, the first king of Israel, is David’s primary antagonist in the first part of the book. Shaul first comes into the narrative as a distant figure who has unjustly forced David to flee. Some events confirm this picture, as when a jealous Shaul throws a spear at David in the middle of a banquet without any provocation.

As Natan and Mikhal reveal more about him, Shaul develops into a more sympathetic and even tragic figure. His life parallels David’s in many ways. He is a simple local man distinguished only by his good looks. A mysterious prophet, Shmuel, picks him out and promises that he will become God’s king. A valiant leader but also an imperfect human, Shaul loses God’s favor. Here, his story diverges from David’s. His prophet Shmuel abandons him in disgust. Natan explicitly draws this contrast: “neither was I Shmuel, withdrawing my love and guidance” (213). Natan leaves unanswered the question of whether Shaul could have repented, as David does, if he had had a loving friend to guide him. That contrast between the two prophets highlights the importance of Natan’s choices.

The other thing that makes Shaul tragic is the repeated assertion that his self-destructive actions arise from mental illness. Brooks never defines the nature of his condition, although it clearly includes paranoia. Mikhal insists that the man who throws a spear at David is not who her father truly is. She says, “Do you know what the greatest cruelty of madness is, Natan? It’s the power it has to blot out a person” (102). Through Mikhal’s love for her father, Brooks allows the reader to glimpse Shaul as a person and not just a jealous antagonist. Though Shaul remains largely a flat character, the knowledge that there is a goodness hidden beneath his paranoia underscores The Hidden Complexity of Character.

Avigail serves as an elder mentor for both David and Natan in the first half of the book. She is the wife of one of the men extorted by David in his outlaw days. Her bold action to defuse the situation leads to her husband’s death, which causes her little grief. She goes after David and becomes his third wife and his most important political counselor because, as he says, “she knows how to read men’s hearts” (67). She also takes Natan under her wing when he enters David’s camp. Her insight sets both on the path to political influence, though (as with many versions of the archetypal wise old mentor) her early death leaves them to face their greatest crisis alone.

In a society dominated by The Patriarchal Abuse of Power, Avigail plays an important role in humanizing David and showing that another way is possible. She refuses to obey her foolish first husband. Unlike most women in David’s life, she chooses to be with him and does not regret her choice. While imperfect (as when she misjudges Mikhal’s situation), Avigail demonstrates that it is possible for a wise woman to guide others without violence in a context of true respect between genders.

Yonatan, son of King Shaul, is David’s first great romantic interest. Yonatan is the quintessential good man, brave in battle but caring toward his family. In the end, though, he always chooses to help David over any other obligation, as at Natan’s first encounter with the prince, when he risks his life by sneaking into David’s camp to betray Shaul’s plans. The knowledge that Shaul is nearby lets David sneak into Shaul’s camp and come within a hair’s breadth of murdering him in his sleep.

Yonatan remains a surprisingly flat character for such an important person in David’s life. Brooks describes Yonatan’s physical beauty. Her account of his actions to help David uses indirect characterization to demonstrate Yonatan’s bravery and love. Direct descriptions of their love focus on the depth of David’s feelings for him. Yonatan’s inner complexity remains inaccessible to the reader, though he seems to love David without reservation.

Brooks builds anticipation about Mikhal from her first mention, emphasizing Natan’s shock and anxiety when he sees her name on the list of interviewees. The first description of her that appears in the text would not seem out of place in a horror novel. Mikhal receives Natan in a dark, chilly cell. Her eyes fix him: “once lively and compelling, [they] were as dead as a deep well in which the waters had long ago been poisoned” (98). The language of death and poison associate her with something dark. In this first glimpse, she appears to be an antagonist.

Brooks then subverts this initial understanding of Mikhal by letting her narrate her story of surviving The Patriarchal Abuse of Power. Rather than a cause of horror, she has been its victim. She goes from a girl in love to a lonely queen whose melancholy is her only source of autonomy. She reveals herself as someone capable of deep love whose father tried to kill her first love (David) and then gave her to another man to be raped. When she realizes David has betrayed her with Yonatan and other women, she finds love with her new husband and children, only for David to callously rip her away from them when he comes into power. Understanding this background transforms Natan’s interpretation of her. Her refusal to accept David is not a simple act of hatred or jealousy. Rather, Mikhal has staked out a space of autonomy. She may not be able to directly challenge male power, but she can publicly refuse to accept the results.

Batsheva enters the story as the wife of the loyal soldier Uriah and the object of David’s lust. As with Mikhal, Brooks first introduces us to Batsheva via rumor. All we know is that she is beautiful and sleeps with David when asked. Unlike Mikhal, these first references to Batsheva do not paint a strongly positive or negative image. David’s actions matter; Batsheva simply serves as their object.

When Batsheva seeks out Natan to ask about her child Shlomo, she reveals herself as a person. Through Natan, the reader learns about her youthful helplessness in the face of male authority. She marries when her father tells her to and goes to the king’s bed when told, even when doing so violates her body and her sense of self. Natan’s prophecy about Shlomo gives her a reason to live after surviving David’s crime. She must make sacrifices and “set aside certain unsavory facts and bitter memories” to cozy up to David (237). Given that Batsheva described these “facts” as rape and the murder of her first husband and child, Natan’s description of her actions is an understatement. It’s unclear whether Natan’s diction is deliberately ironic or evidence that cannot yet fully grasp the suffering Batsheva has overcome. Regardless, he comes to admire her intelligence, and through his narration the reader also comes to appreciate her as a capable person discovering her own potential. Batsheva demonstrates her growing confidence and agency as she takes the initiative to help Maacah and then to convince David to make Shlomo his heir.

Shlomo, son of Batsheva and David, is Natan’s source of purpose after his personal crisis and who provides hope for a happy conclusion. Though he is not named in the Prologue, the glorious temple he builds as king is under construction, and this detail foreshadows his benevolent reign. Before Shlomo enters the scene, Natan’s prophecies about the boy build anticipation. He enters explosively, throwing open Natan’s door in a storm and bringing him an eagle’s egg that he is desperate to save. Immediately, the character of Shlomo emerges as both compassionate and curious as he peppers the prophet with questions about the baby animal he wishes to help.

Shlomo is a character without flaws. When his hateful older brother Amnon is murdered, Shlomo demonstrates his bravery by not fleeing with his other brothers and his compassion by reverently carrying his brother’s corpse back to their mourning father. His questions and actions consistently show someone who wants to understand others and to promote peace without fear. While this creates a somewhat flat character, Shlomo’s perfection is what allows his ascension to the throne to serve as a satisfactory resolution. David, a flawed man, led a flawed kingdom, and his much worse sons would have made the kingdom worse. Only when a perfect man becomes king can the cycle of bloodshed be broken.

After Shaul’s death and David’s ascension to the throne, David’s own children become the greatest threat to his reign. The first major antagonist is Amnon, the eldest son. Amnon enters the story as a child at his brother’s funeral, where he acts “sullen, angry that he was not the center of attention” (165). As the harsh characterization indicates, Amnon is simply evil. He takes whatever he wants. After Amnon taunts Shlomo about his mother’s rape, Shlomo confides to Natan, “It gives him joy to upset people” (220). Natan suggests that Amnon’s wildness comes from his doting father’s inability to discipline him. Amnon’s actions, though, show nothing but wanton lust and the desire to abuse others. This culminates in his rape of his half-sister Tamar, after which he deliberately hurts her, disfigures her, and tosses her in the street for public humiliation. It is an act of power and lust carried out by someone whose joy comes from making others suffer.

When Avshalom murders Amnon, no one mourns or is surprised except David, who is blinded by his love for this unlovable man.

After Amnon’s death, David’s son Avshalom becomes the next heir-apparent to the throne and thus the book’s final major antagonist. In many ways, Avshalom is like Amnon. They are both are part of the same wild band of children that no one dares discipline. The main difference lies in Avshalom’s cunning. Brooks directly establishes the contrast through Shlomo’s words: “Amnon scares you into doing what he wants. Avshalom’s smarter. He makes you think he likes you, even if he doesn’t, not really” (224). This foreshadows how he uses others like Yoav. Yoav assumed that Avshalom’s ruthless intelligence and patience would make him a good king, so the general set himself up as the prince’s patron and mentor. Then Yoav finds that Avshalom only takes his advice when it suits him. When Yoav tries to back out, Avshalom burns Yoav’s fields (albeit with a very polite note explaining how much he hates to do it).

Avshalom also implicitly differs from his brother Amnon in the kind of power that motivates him. Amnon exerts power through personal cruelty, as when he rapes Tamar. The cannier Avshalom focuses on political power. He wants to rule, but he is impatient, and his impatience undoes him in the end. By rebelling against his father rather than slowly insinuating himself into government, Avshalom provokes a direct conflict that he is certain to lose. His pride leads him to underestimate others, particularly his own father.