Opposite the gates of Jesus College in Cambridge stands All Saints Church, a lavish Victorian structure. Its dramatic exterior, with a 175-foot stone spire and great wooden door, is matched by the interior walls that burst with colorful stencils and gilded artwork. Steps from this city landmark is the local Quaker meeting house. With its plain white brick façade within eyesight of the towering grandeur of All Saints, it often goes unnoticed. In a similar vein, the NT scholar James Rendel Harris, himself a lifelong Quaker, is easily overlooked among the towering Victorian figures he studied under and alongside. And like this simple Quaker building, Rendel (as he was known) never quite fit in Cambridge, whether as a student or later as a lecturer in paleography. Though Cambridge was beginning to open to nonconformists, the divinity faculty was a different matter, and his Quaker beliefs kept him from a divinity degree as a student and, later, a chair as a lecturer at the university. But this did not keep him from achieving significant acclaim at other institutions.The details of his life and especially of his academic pursuits are told in this thorough biography by Alessandro Falcetta. He is probably best known today for his discovery (in his office!) of the Odes of Solomon, but his writing was prolific and extended from detailed manuscript studies to the origin of religion itself. Born the third of 11 children, Rendel matriculated at Cambridge and there met F. J. A. Hort, who did the most to inspire his passion for manuscripts. That passion took him to the Middle East nearly a half dozen times, where he acquired, or helped acquire, hundreds upon hundreds of manuscripts for libraries and universities in the U.S. and Britain. Along the way, he survived two U-boat attacks, brought awareness of the Armenian genocide to Britain and help to the Armenians, established Woodbrooke College with the benefaction of the chocolatier George Cadbury, and helped Agnes and Margaret Smith discover and publish the Old Syriac Gospels from Mt. Sinai. Besides his Cambridge tutors, he maintained correspondence and friendship with well-known figures of the time such as P. T. Forsyth, J. H. Moulton, Adolf von Harnack, Hermann von Soden, Adolf Deissmann, and Eberhard Nestle.As a scholar, Rendel was most at home with manuscripts, but his curiosity ventured much further. His work was not always well received, however, and his intellectual creativity was both a strength and a weakness. Though important, his early work on Codex Bezae, for example, was severely criticized by William Sanday, who expressed some of the same reservations about his work as his editor (J. A. Robinson) and his professor (Hort). Even in Syriac, which he may be best known for today, he could be too hasty, leading to criticism and, sometimes, later correction. As a teacher, he was “inclined to improvisation and novelty” (p. 236) and this repelled some students. Overall, however, his wide learning, care for students, and quick wit seem to have endeared him to far more than it put off.Theologically, Falcetta describes Rendel as “a mystic, an evangelical and a liberal at the same time” (p. 2). As odd as this combination is, it does capture his ability to defy common categories. Like other British evangelicals of his time, Rendel had a deep and abiding piety that made the death of Jesus central and that stressed conversion and social activism. But his Quakerism also put him at odds with evangelicalism given its focus on the “inward light” and his placement of one’s experience of the Holy Spirit over and, at times, against the Scriptures. The “liberal” element comes most from his embrace of historical criticism, his dismissive view of the resurrection, and his expressed affinity for Marcion. Combined as it was with Quakerism, this liberal strain led Rendel to a “smaller creed but a larger God,” as Falcetta puts it (p. 244). The effects of this embrace are not lost on Falcetta despite his admiration for Rendel’s spirituality. At one point, when Rendel returned to his beloved Woodbrooke after some time away, he was informed that he no longer had to convince those who believed in Christ that they could accept “scientific criticism.” Now, he had to convince those who accepted “scientific criticism” that they could still believe in Christ (p. 306).All this and a great deal more is covered by Falcetta in a book bursting with detail. Nearly 130 pages of endnotes attest to how far his research went. The value of the book is increased by three maps, more than 40 figures, a detailed bibliography, and a good subject index. Falcetta has clearly mined the primary sources, personal letters, and other archival material. No stone appears unturned. Unfortunately, I cannot say the author’s indefatigable penchant for detail was shared by his reader. At times, I felt I was drowning in information, wondering what it all had to do with the overarching narrative. Beside this, Falcetta often succumbs to what historian Barbara Tuchman calls “spontaneous attribution,” repeatedly telling us what Rendel “may have felt” or “must have appreciated” or what “may have persuaded” him (see, e.g., pp. 10, 14, 19, 28, 371, 455). Perhaps this is the inevitable result of spending so many years with the same subject. Still, the book’s shortcomings are outweighed by its merits so that it stands as a remarkable record of a man who lived a remarkable life.