Much cooler in concept than in execution, I’m afraid. Alas.
This historical fiction novel starts in the 16th century. A converso aristocrat—that is to say, a secret Jew in Spain must take her family into hiding lest her daughter and her fortune be snatched away from her. They end up in Istanbul, the Ottoman Empire being a popular destination for Sephardic Jews during the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisitions.
Jose, her nephew and the head of the family, thinks he’s finally safe to practice his religion in peace. And he’s correct—up to a point. He becomes an important advisor to the sultan, but it turns into a double-edged sword. The sultan wants his daughter, Tamar, to be educated in his harem, and later his own son falls in love with her.
Faced with another attempt to have his family’s Judaism die out due to the whims of gentile rulers, Jose makes a choice that ripples throughout generations. This is more or less the language Dweck uses within the narrative. Jose and Tamar’s family owes the sultans a debt, which goes rippling through the cosmos, waiting to be paid.
Some 500 years later, their descendants meet up—I’d say it’s by chance, but the narrative quite distinctly uses language about fate. At the turn of the 21st century, Selim is the last descendant of the Ottoman sultans, and Hannah is the last descendant of Tamar’s family. They meet in a hospital in New York and, spoilers spoilers, the debt is paid. (I hope I can get away with spoiling that, seeing as I’ve divulged next to no details!)
The first half of this story worked better for me than the second, and frankly the overhanded cosmic angle wasn’t part of what intrigued me. I suppose, technically, I’m fascinated by stories that skip through the generations, though in this case I’d be equally as thrilled to stay in the 16th century. It felt like the start of something intriguing, and the new, modern-day story, when Dweck transitioned to it midway through the book, just didn’t pick up the baton. When it comes down to it, I’d rather the characters speak louder than the plot, and that’s certainly not what Dweck accomplished here.
Let’s say that in my occasional seesawing between agreeing with and disputing Kirkus reviews claims, I’m more in their corner with the novel, and this particular quote: “Awkwardly phrased and simply characterized, Dweck’s romance doesn’t linger over the finer details but does ensure that the universe is back on its axis as the story ends.” It’s what’s keeping this rating at a three stars for me, even though some of the historical and other details peppered into the narrative were impressive. Dweck certainly did her research!
And props to her, too, for going from self-published to a traditional deal with St. Martin’s Press. I’m also very grateful to her nod to the real-life character of Dona Garcia Nasi, fictionalized here as the aristocratic converso Jew. Nasi was indeed an inspirational woman who risked her life to smuggle hundreds of Jews away from the deadly Iberian Inquisitions. It’s a story worth telling, and I wish Dweck had stuck to it! Again, alas.