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Something has broken that has not broken before. Jobe has been wounded and exhausted and desperate and furious and reaching for mediators and witnesses in heaven, and through all of it there has been a kind of structural integrity to the speeches — an architecture of argument, a forward momentum, a man who is suffering but still building something with the suffering. Chapter seventeen is what happens when the building stops. Not because Jobe has given up exactly, but because the materials have run out. My spirit is broken, he says. My days are extinguished. The grave is ready for me. These are not arguments. They are reports from the interior of a man who has arrived at a place past which arguments do not reach.
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