No one was more surprised by the success of Marguerite Duras’ The Lover than the author herself:
“The Lover is a load of shit,” she said. “It’s an airport novel. I wrote it when I was drunk.”
And yet, the book touched millions of readers, going on to win one of France’s most prestigious literary awards and later being made into the unforgettable film by director Jean-Jacques Annaud.
Rebecca Sacks, in her new novel The Lover, has turned Duras’ book on its head. While both books tell the story of a provocative love story against a colonial setting, in her version Sacks examines the power dynamics of love through the point-of-view of a Canadian woman named Allison. In Tel Aviv doing research as part of her doctorate degree in Rabbinic literature, Allie falls in love with a much younger man. Eyel is just nineteen and is in the midst of doing his military service, when he is dispatched to Gaza. When you are twenty-seven in the process of earning your PhD, dating a man who is “still a teenager” can feel transgressive. But Eyel and his family—indeed everyone in the novel—has bigger problems than age difference: first and foremost that of the endless conflict and violence that shapes their lives.
Allie is a character who travels between languages and identities. Born in Canada, she lives in New York City, where she studies ancient Hebrew. She is also learning the modern version of the language. Like all linguists, she is a bit of a shape shifter. From a secular family, she is half-Jewish, but not the half that counts; for as people tell her again and again in Israel, with a Jewish father instead of a Jewish mother, she is not “really” Jewish. But she feels Jewish. And she loves Eyel’s family and her life in Israel—such that when her initial research period ends, she applies and receives an extension to stay another year.
In Israel, Allie feels a kind of belonging that she has never felt before. The love she receives from Eyel’s family has her questioning her own family back in Canada, whom she describes as being without both warmth. But also without ideology. Her parents, she says, would never die for a cause. And it is the way the mothers in the novel tearfully send their sons off on their military duty, some of the boys never returning, that forms much of the tension of Sacks’ book.
The Lover, like Sacks’ debut novel Ten Thousand Gates, looks at the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from multiple angles. While Ten Thousand Gates had an almost uncountable number of points-of-view characters, creating a palimpsest out of a deadly terrorist incident in Jerusalem, The Lover is mainly told from Allie’s point-of-view, interspersed with several shorter scenes told from Eyel’s perspective. But even from these much more limited point-of-view narrative, the book keeps interrogating the conflict from a multitude of oblique angles. Just when you think you are understanding things from one side, suddenly the rug is pulled and you are forced to look at it from another.
At one point, Allie befriends a Palestinian woman named Aisha. The two share a love of beauty products and of New York City. Not at all honest with her new friend, Allie omits the fact that she can speak Hebrew and has an Israeli soldier boyfriend, who is currently in Gaza. It is through Aisha’s eyes that Allison sees the conflict from the other side; just as she sees the world differently vis-a-vis her friendship with her Mizrahi roommate Talia, who struggles with the discrimination she feels from the Ashkenazi Jews around her. Talia misses the Arabic music she grew up with, though her own family lives in what Talia describes as a settlement.
“It’s like opening one’s mouth and hearing someone else’s voice emerge,” said Iris Murdoch about speaking a foreign language.
Some of the most beautiful parts of Sacks’ exciting new book revolve around language and Allison’s love of linguistics and ancient Hebrew. For Allie, it's not just the mental somersaults of thinking in a language so linguistically different from English that makes Hebrew so world-opening. Finding herself transformed by the language she is thinking in is to discover that her mind has so many other chambers in it, and that she is capable of being so different in Hebrew–and yet remain the same person. Perhaps like all translators, Allie sees herself changing points-of-view constantly as she acclimatizes to her life in Tel Aviv.
In the same way the Duras told her story from a point in the future as the character resipiscences about the most significant affair of her life, sacks also begins the novel when Allie is thirty-five, pregnant and married to a man that is not Eyel. As she looks back at her long-ago love of Eyel, she calls him her “ha-ex ha mitologi: the mythological ex.” That is, the man that changed everything. Allie muses how everyone can have at best one such totally transformative love in their lives, before children arrive to become the objects of such pure devotion.
The book is dedicated to “the one who lit my house on fire.”
This is a book about how a person can changed and be changed by other people. Throughout the dis-orienting ambivalence of the character and her search for belonging, it is this notion of love that stands above everything. A force beyond all other issues of identity, community, and complicity, maybe love alone is capable of saving people in a world so fueled by violence and betrayal. As with Sacks’ debut, this novel, while painful to read sometimes because you will not always admire the main character, is also a thought provoking journey into language and personal reinvention.
I loved it.