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A review by jennyyates
The Books of Jacob by Olga Tokarczuk
3.0
This very long historical novel, set in 18th century Europe, is sometimes fascinating, sometimes tedious. There are some really wonderful stories within its pages. And when a reader finally wends her way to the end, it pulls itself together really beautifully. But the middle – oy vey. So much detail. Crowds of people, and most of them you never get to know very well.
The story begins and ends with a beautiful mystical character – Yente, the woman who cannot die. She is prevented from dying because she swallowed an amulet given to her by one of her relatives. The amulet was placed around her neck and was meant to delay her dying so that the family could celebrate a wedding. But since she swallowed it, her body is preserved forever, while her soul wanders around and sees everything that happens to others. She watches the rise and fall of her grandson, Jacob Frank, who starts a new religion, and who is the subject of this novel.
Jacob Frank was a historical character, and so were the followers that the author describes in this novel. He dubbed himself the Messiah, at a time when the Jewish people were very oppressed and really needed a savior. To this end, he took his hundreds of followers through a lot of changes, including speaking out against the Talmud, incurring the wrath of other Jews, converting to Christianity (but with many conditions), and still being treated with suspicion by the Christians. They ended up as a sort of hybrid, a new religion with bits and pieces from all the older ones.
Frank traveled from place to place – Poland, Turkey, Austria, Germany - as his fortunes rose and fell. He had to navigate among the political and religious institutions of the day, looking for patronage where he could get it. At times he was rich and celebrated, and at other times, he was in prison. His flock worshipped him as a god, indulging his slightest whim, accepting new rules about marriage, agreeing to communal ownership of property. At times, he orchestrated ritualistic sexual practices.
For sure, Jacob Frank was an interesting character. Tokarczuk mostly writes him from the outside, however, so our picture of him remains somewhat superficial. And maybe the author was wary of making him too ordinary or accessible. Most of the commentary comes from his friend and follower, Nahman, and the book is full of scraps of Nahman’s writing about everything that happens to the group. The research that went into this book is clearly impeccable. And much of the writing is beautiful, but there's also quite a bit that's dry and bloodless.
Let me share some of the writing I really loved. Here are some quotes.
< Wind is the vision of the dead as they gaze upon the world from where they are. Haven’t you ever noticed the fields of grass, she wants to say to Hayah, how the blades bow down and are parted. That has to be because there is a dead person watching. Because if you counted all the dead you’d find that there are many more of them than there are of the living. Their souls have been cleansed already over their meanderings through lots of lives, and now they await the messiah, who will come to finish the task. And they look upon everything. That’s why the wind blows on earth. Wind is their watchful gaze. >
< He’s told Nahman that he feels best in new places, because it as if the world begins afresh every time. To be foreign is to be free. To have a great expanse stretch out before you - the desert, the steppe. To have the shape of the moon behind you like a cradle, the deafening symphony of the cicadas, the air’s fragrance of melon peel, the rustle of the scarab beetle when, come evening, the sky turns red, and it ventures out onto the sand to hunt. To have your own history, not for everyone, just your own history written in the tracks you leave behind. >
< The dusty little windows always let in too little light, so all day they burn wicks submerged in oil inside a clay shell, hence the stench of soot and burnt fat. Both rooms are crammed with furniture, and there’s a scuttling sound, a rustling from somewhere that never lets up. Since it’s winter, the mice have sought shelter from the frosts beneath the roof; they are creating vertical cities in the walls and horizontal ones under the floors, cities more complex that Lwów and Lublin combined. >
< Moliwda used to wonder whether Jacob could feal fear. Eventually he decided that Jacob would not recognize the feeling, as though he’d simply been born without it. This gives Jacob strength: people can sense the absence of fear, and that absence of fear in turn becomes contagious. And because the Jews are always afraid – whether it’s of a Polish lord, or of a Cossack, or injustice or hunger or cold – they live in a state of extreme uncertainty, from which Jacob is a kind of salvation. >
< Jacob lights his long Turkish pipe. A warm, soft light flits from it into his eyes and disappears under his lowered eyelids. >
< The Messiah is something more than a figure and a person – it is something that flows in your blood, resides in your breath, it is the dearest and most precious human thought: that salvation exists. And that’s why you have to cultivate it like the most delicate plant, blow on it, water it with tears, put it in the sun during the day, move it into a warm room in the nighttime. >
The story begins and ends with a beautiful mystical character – Yente, the woman who cannot die. She is prevented from dying because she swallowed an amulet given to her by one of her relatives. The amulet was placed around her neck and was meant to delay her dying so that the family could celebrate a wedding. But since she swallowed it, her body is preserved forever, while her soul wanders around and sees everything that happens to others. She watches the rise and fall of her grandson, Jacob Frank, who starts a new religion, and who is the subject of this novel.
Jacob Frank was a historical character, and so were the followers that the author describes in this novel. He dubbed himself the Messiah, at a time when the Jewish people were very oppressed and really needed a savior. To this end, he took his hundreds of followers through a lot of changes, including speaking out against the Talmud, incurring the wrath of other Jews, converting to Christianity (but with many conditions), and still being treated with suspicion by the Christians. They ended up as a sort of hybrid, a new religion with bits and pieces from all the older ones.
Frank traveled from place to place – Poland, Turkey, Austria, Germany - as his fortunes rose and fell. He had to navigate among the political and religious institutions of the day, looking for patronage where he could get it. At times he was rich and celebrated, and at other times, he was in prison. His flock worshipped him as a god, indulging his slightest whim, accepting new rules about marriage, agreeing to communal ownership of property. At times, he orchestrated ritualistic sexual practices.
For sure, Jacob Frank was an interesting character. Tokarczuk mostly writes him from the outside, however, so our picture of him remains somewhat superficial. And maybe the author was wary of making him too ordinary or accessible. Most of the commentary comes from his friend and follower, Nahman, and the book is full of scraps of Nahman’s writing about everything that happens to the group. The research that went into this book is clearly impeccable. And much of the writing is beautiful, but there's also quite a bit that's dry and bloodless.
Let me share some of the writing I really loved. Here are some quotes.
< Wind is the vision of the dead as they gaze upon the world from where they are. Haven’t you ever noticed the fields of grass, she wants to say to Hayah, how the blades bow down and are parted. That has to be because there is a dead person watching. Because if you counted all the dead you’d find that there are many more of them than there are of the living. Their souls have been cleansed already over their meanderings through lots of lives, and now they await the messiah, who will come to finish the task. And they look upon everything. That’s why the wind blows on earth. Wind is their watchful gaze. >
< He’s told Nahman that he feels best in new places, because it as if the world begins afresh every time. To be foreign is to be free. To have a great expanse stretch out before you - the desert, the steppe. To have the shape of the moon behind you like a cradle, the deafening symphony of the cicadas, the air’s fragrance of melon peel, the rustle of the scarab beetle when, come evening, the sky turns red, and it ventures out onto the sand to hunt. To have your own history, not for everyone, just your own history written in the tracks you leave behind. >
< The dusty little windows always let in too little light, so all day they burn wicks submerged in oil inside a clay shell, hence the stench of soot and burnt fat. Both rooms are crammed with furniture, and there’s a scuttling sound, a rustling from somewhere that never lets up. Since it’s winter, the mice have sought shelter from the frosts beneath the roof; they are creating vertical cities in the walls and horizontal ones under the floors, cities more complex that Lwów and Lublin combined. >
< Moliwda used to wonder whether Jacob could feal fear. Eventually he decided that Jacob would not recognize the feeling, as though he’d simply been born without it. This gives Jacob strength: people can sense the absence of fear, and that absence of fear in turn becomes contagious. And because the Jews are always afraid – whether it’s of a Polish lord, or of a Cossack, or injustice or hunger or cold – they live in a state of extreme uncertainty, from which Jacob is a kind of salvation. >
< Jacob lights his long Turkish pipe. A warm, soft light flits from it into his eyes and disappears under his lowered eyelids. >
< The Messiah is something more than a figure and a person – it is something that flows in your blood, resides in your breath, it is the dearest and most precious human thought: that salvation exists. And that’s why you have to cultivate it like the most delicate plant, blow on it, water it with tears, put it in the sun during the day, move it into a warm room in the nighttime. >