From an old notebook:
Job’s confused. God’s not helping. God’s making it worse. So too the comforters. (Carrion comforters!) They worsen Job’s confusion. It’s not bad enough that he’s wrestling confusedly with God; his comforters want to wrestle too: against Job, for God, as if they were members of a Divine tag-team.
Job speaks out his misery. What he says is of his pain just because it expresses it. He is venting his misery more than he is accusing God. But his comforters will not hear his misery; they hear only the accusing.
Job knows what his comforters know. He knows the glory and the power of God. But he knows more than his comforters know. He knows God’s power and glory in a way that does not deny that power and glory. Even more, he knows his innocence. Job knows that God knows it too. But now it looks like Job knows too much, more anyway than he can bear, for how could a God of such power and glory and knowledge as his tolerate Job’s misery?