The story revolves around a legal dispute, taking place just before the year 1000, between Sephardic and Ashkenazi in-laws. The issue: a North African merchant, a good man who travels each year by ship to Europe to sell spices, copper pots, and other valuables, has two wives. So, he argues, did the great Jewish kings; there are numerous references to polygamy in the Old Testament. And his Muslim colleagues and friends in Morocco and Spain live similarly. But the merchant's adoring nephew and astute partner, in the course of his travels in dark, primitive Europe (that is, relative to the lush and enlightened life led by the southern Sephardi Jews), meets and marries an enchanting older widow with blonde hair and eyes as blue as the azure sea of coastal Africa -- an Ashkenazi Jew. The southerners are shocked at the thought that there may in fact be Jews whose ancestors have never set foot in the land of Israel, who may even have Viking blood. The nephew's devout and learned wife, who comes from the marshy town of Worms (later famed as the setting of Luther's defense of his reforms before the court), insists that her new husband break his partnership with his sinful uncle. And from here it becomes clear that the book is not just about one difference of opinion. It is about duality in all its forms: freedom and slavery, religious and pagan, Jew and non-Jew, Muslim and non-Muslim, Christian and non-Christian, African and European, secret and public, enlightenment and muddled backwardness, female and male, single and double, guest and host, attraction and repulsion, reality and imagination, child and adult, black and white, blonde hair and dark curly hair, dead and alive, learned and intuitive, ribald and sophisticated, submission and command, caged and escaped, gift and sale, friend and foe, poetry and prose, lust and love, ability and inability to smell, lively and restrained, open and held back, confused and confident, leader and follower, clean and dirty, weak and strong, inside and outside, land and sea, ill and well, innocent and cunning, travel and home, respect and rudeness, sacred and everyday, Tree of Life and Tree of Knowledge. Some of these latter, less obvious dualities (if you made it through the list) are perhaps the more salient ones, holding the key to a rich and meaningful life. I would say that the only duality that Yehoshua does not treat directly is good and bad in their various forms. Technically, he avoids doing so by using the third person omniscient point of view, but his more important tool here is his great wisdom. Set against the ominous backdrop of the approaching Christian millennium, the exploration of these many compatible and incompatible pairs (of ideas and of people, that is) takes on great import and deep urgency. As discussed below, a second and intimately related theme is that of what can be exchanged, what can be bought and sold.
Through arduous journeys, love in many forms, judgments, deaths, successes, optimism, and enmity, we follow an extended Mediterranean family at sea, in backwater Paris and in dingy, stiff-necked western Germany as they seek justice, revenge, recognition, and togetherness. They don't always find what they seek, and important decisions are made for many of the characters at some point regardless of their independence or goodness or wit. And who, for instance, determined that the second wife could not have a second husband? Her impetuous demand that this possible (or impossible) arrangement be considered throws everything into turmoil and changes the course of her life.
The book probably deserves five stars, but I'm giving it four for a few reasons:
1. Though there were Saramago-esque moments of revelation and cleverness, I didn't find the language consistently compelling. I felt that an author (or likely, rather, a translator) capable of creating such wondrous sentences and thoughts ought to hold himself to a higher general standard. Though the writing was never poor, I felt a certain disappointing laziness in the choice of words and the repetitive use of certain structures at several points throughout. But maybe that's just the brainy, judgmental, European part of me nagging away rather than being swept up in the tale.
2. Because I didn't appreciate the amount of gratuitous sex. It's essential to the story in a film like "Blue is the Warmest Color" and it belongs in that context (you see, my feeling about this by no means reflects prudishness!) but doesn't have a place in this book, I find. It seemed tasteless and overdone. I wish that Yehoshua had left most of that to the imagination -- or, rather, left the imagination to ruminate on other matters.
3. I was offended by the fact that the young slave (who becomes a significant character) was referred to throughout the entire book as "black". He was mentioned hundreds of times and was the only character in the book who was a slave. It was of course significant that he had no name (or that it was never given or used by his owners; and the color of his skin as a novelty to the inhabitants of Paris, Verdun, and Worms is relevant, yes -- but I was disturbed that this descriptor was used needlessly so many times.
These are, admittedly, relatively minor points, and I can't recommend the book highly enough. If you can read it in the original Hebrew, don't delay. I'm guessing that the Spanish translation might be really good too, and I might well find out in the near future.
In short: when we examine everything, it eventually falls apart of its own accord. Excessive analysis can be irrevocably damaging if we lose sight of what we have, of pleasure and kindness and good sense. Troubling ourselves over the unintended or unavoidable breaking of minute religious laws is as well (this is treated brilliantly in the tale of the rabbi's son who at one point is very hungry and in danger; he must eat pork, and torments himself about it). It is the unexpected encounter, the first glimpse of another's soul, the smell of warm autumn rain in a new country that matters. So I see it, and I so I suspect Yehoshua intends us to interpret his work: just treat each other well and enjoy the ride.
**The rest of this review contains spoilers, so you might want to stop here if you intend to read the book.**
On the last page, Yehoshua implies that everyone on board the ship returning to Africa will die a terrifying and miserable death. It is here that I realized what it's all about -- not the dualities, not the legal struggle, not the return to the ship, not the sale of the goods. The whole trip, seen from the point of view of its intent, was pointless. The uncle received a positive judgment in France and the party traveled to Germany for a second trial based on blind hubris from both sides. (An aside: the insights of the Alexander Technique come into play here as well -- at this point, some of these characters lose their way because they are "end-gaining", focusing on the goal rather than the process.) What alone remains meaningful is the journey and the discoveries and changes it aroused in the travelers. That goes for us as well, dear readers. Sailing and wheeling and riding and trudging all over the world to ask yet another authority who should triumph in a dispute is an enormous and shameful waste of our time on Earth (even though life expectancy is twice what it was a millennium ago). Instead of enjoying their lives together, Ben Attar (the uncle) and his two wives suffer a very difficult journey and one of them loses her life on the way. Because the family wasted months in the pursuit of superfluous justice, the winds became strong and the sea became unfit for the return voyage. And so it appears that, of the original passengers, only the rabbi's son and the disappeared slave, both of whom were left behind in Paris, survive. This lengthy distraction and diversion from life's natural path costs much. In addition, Ben Attar loses his authority over his ship; the sailors lose patience with the long delay and threaten him; European slaves (non-believers) are brought on board without his permission to be sold at home (and he finds this horrifying and unconscionable). More than anything, this turn of events highlights the author's exploration of another primary theme: what can be sold, bought, bartered, and exchanged? The question crops up in many, many subtle instances throughout, and it reaches its height at the moment of Ben Attar's discovery of this last occurrence on board his ship. Partners sleep in the beds of others; guests take control of others' kitchens and doorsteps; exchanges in marriages are considered and household exchanges of children actually take place. Our reactions to each of these events, in turn, reveal much about ourselves and much about Yehoshua's power to tie us to his characters.