In his review for the NY Times, Dwight Garner described this book as “unruly, overwhelming, vastly eccentric novel… sophisticated and ribald and brimming with folk wit.” Other reviewers have used words like “monumental,” “immersive,” “visionary,” “epic,” and of course “long.” Nearly 1,000 pages long.
Sounds exactly right, all of it.
“The Books of Jacob” is a challenging book. Let's start with that. The narrative moves primarily forward in time but there are frequent eddies where the story folds back on itself as the omniscient narrator gives way to the musings of one character or another. There are long, difficult to understand passages where characters debate Jewish mysticism, Talmud, God and the messiah, salvation. Sometimes I could follow what was being said, sometimes not. I was confused by peoples’ names and sometimes lost track of who was who. What’s more, the names change. Jacob’s followers must take on Christian names. Shalom Shorr, for example, becomes Franciszek Wolowski. It was often confusing in the moment, but as I read I learned to just let it go and put myself in the author’s hands. Definitely the right choice.
The Jacob in the title was a real person who lived in eighteenth century eastern Europe. Named Jakub Leybowics at birth (the book says at one point he was called Yankiel), he changed his name to Jacob Frank and announced himself to be the messiah. (He will later take on the name Ahmed Frank and, after his baptism in 1759, Joseph.) His fame spread among Jews and non-Jews alike, and he gathered around him a large following of believers that included thousands of Jews who converted at his instruction to Roman Catholicism.
It’s a fascinating tale in its own right -- but in Nobel laureate Olga Tokarczuk’s telling, Jacob’s story takes on a depth that transcends its temporal and physical setting. Tellingly, Jacob Frank spreads his message during what we now call the Age of Reason, where old ways of understanding the world clash with the new modes of perception and inquiry. The book makes reference to Mosaic and Christian tradition and kabbalah and alchemy and Baal Shem Tov, but names like Isaac Newton, Denis Diderot, Moses Mendelssohn, Immanuel Kant, Haydn, Mozart pop up, heralds of a new age.
The mysteries confounding humanity before the Age of Reason didn't go away simply because a new age was announcing itself, of course. In the experiences of the book’s many characters we see enacted questions that lie at the heart of all human experience: Why is the world the way it is? If God truly exists and God is good, then why do evil, death, and pain exist? Is there a point to our suffering? Do our questions even have answers? Who and what should we believe? In a very real and important way, “The Books of Jacob” is a chronicle of people struggling with these very questions.
Jacob’s “ministry” itself covers a period of roughly 40 years from the moment he announced himself the Messiah, through his conversion to Islam, then Catholicism (or more accurately, “Catholicism” — like everything else involving Frank, it was eccentric), his 13 year imprisonment, his “Anti-Talmudist” war with traditional Jews, his interactions with bishops, rabbis, rulers, and empresses. One strand even takes us into the twentieth century, to surprising -- even shocking -- effect. There is an objective narrator present here but most of Frank’s story comes to us through the voices of his followers and others with whom he interacts. Tokarczuk explained why she did this in an interview: “I couldn’t understand him. So I decided to present Jacob Frank through the eyes of others, without daring to go too close, though the longer I was involved with him, the more he aroused my sympathy.”
Tokarczuk has created a densely populated world filled with vivid detail about daily life in mid- to late-18th century eastern Europe, about family connections and marriage, about caravans and how people earn their living, about the feel of places, the smell of the air. ("The odor of horse urine and droppings and sweat mixes with the smoke that comes out of the inn’s crooked chimney and bursts out its open door. Two women in red skirts and short sheepskin coats thrown over their white holiday shirts stand at the doorway, carefully examining all who enter…")
We read too of angry, resentment-filled conflicts among Frank’s followers and within families, of Catholic bishops hungry for the acclaim that would come to them from the conversion of thousands of Jews, of traditional Jewish leaders (and parents) incensed by Frank’s apostasy. Of poets and priests and princes. We witness Frank controlling the lives of his followers, forcing husbands and wives to have sex with others, having his followers walk in a circle around a bare-breasted woman. Frank did outrageous things and yet people flocked to him. Why? What did Frank provide them? (Gershom Scholem, the great historian of Jewish messianism, wrote, “Even more than the psychology of the leader, it is the psychology of the led that demands to be understood.” Indeed. In light of the spread of authoritarian governments around the world in recent years, the question of why people will follow certain kinds of charismatic leaders is a pressing one. The question is implicit in Tokarzcuk’s treatment of the Frankists.)
One answer is given by an acolyte who says, “Wherever he shows up, everything takes on a meaning, comes together like it has been tidied up.” Another writes: "There is nothing that brings greater relief than the certainty that there is someone who really knows. For we ordinary people never have such certainty." It's a powerful thing, this "meaning" and "certainty" Frank offered. The novel is set in a very difficult place and time, particularly for Jews. Their relations with Christians are generally calm, but the threat of violence is always there. Accusations of blood libel come up in the book, people are tortured until they confess. There are pogroms, book burnings, rapes. Aristocrats and church officials frequently treat Jews with disdain but rely on and pressure them for money, which of course breeds resentment. And then there are the universal evils of the time: war, poverty, outbreaks of plague that indiscriminately kill thousands, women commonly dying in childbirth, and large numbers of the children dying young.
In short, people are frightened and confused. A character asks: “Why, if God so cherishes us, is there so much suffering in the world? You have only to go so far as the market square in Busk, and your legs will buckle under the weight of all that pain. If He cherishes us so, then why are we not healthy, why are we not preserved from hunger, and not only us—why not others, as well, so that we don’t have to gaze upon illness and death?”
The kabbalistic exercises in the book have this mystery at their hearts. Surely, people think (and hope), there are answers that can be discovered. Perhaps if the Torah is read a certain way, or if hidden numerical connections can be discovered between one word and another. ”The Torah and the world entire are composed of God’s names,” we hear someone say. “Every word is his name, every thing. The Torah is woven from God’s names like a fabric… No one knows which is the thread and which the warp, nor can anyone discern the pattern on the right or its relation to the pattern on the left.” Another character thinks, “…the plaintive rumble of the sea is a lament and that all of nature is taking part in this process of mourning those gods of whom the world has been in such desperate need. There is no one here. God created the world, and the effort of doing so killed him.”
Jacob Frank’s appearance offers people hope, a foundation for their understanding of their place in the world, a promise of redemption. Some believe in him immediately, some come to belief slowly, and others think him a “con man,” as one character says of him. Some think him handsome, others find him ugly, even deformed. He does strange, inexplicable things, and obliges his followers to do likewise. He tells his followers that redemption can only be attained through sin. The old laws of Moses and Christ and Mohamed must be overthrown and replaced. And why should people not believe him? "The refugees, the widows and the agunot [a Jewish woman separated from her husband but unable to get a divorce], the orphaned children, the crippled—all irrefutable proof that the end was on its way and the world would soon give birth to the Messiah, that the birthing pains had already begun.”
Frank is a complicated and not terribly likable person, the author’s “sympathy” notwithstanding. Charismatic but also a bully, flexible in his sexual appetites. He’s manipulative, hot-tempered, even abusive. And yet people are drawn to him. They believe outrageous things about him: He can heal the sick and impregnate a woman just by brushing his finger against her. He has two penises, or at least he does when he wants to. And it appears, astonishingly, he truly can perform magic.
If I were to go on (as I'm obviously doing) I’d talk about the women in the book, the powerful and important roles they play, of Madonna and Shekinah, seer and mother and daughter, of Yente (Jacob's grandmother) who “sees all” and is kept from dying by some kind of hastily performed magical intervention. I’d talk about and share the gorgeous and evocative language that comes when human voices grow silent. (“Wind is the vision of the dead as they gaze upon the world from where they are.”) About the tension between those who want to believe that the world makes sense, and those who dismiss such ways of thinking as delusional. One character — a doctor — thinks, “Most people are truly idiots and… it is human stupidity that is ultimately responsible for introducing sadness into the world.” And about the abundant, often ribald, humor throughout the book.
There is one more passage I’ll share. Jacob’s followers -- after living for years as persecuted outsiders, as Jews in a Catholic realm, which is to say as less than a true "person" --are uncertain about what conversion to Christianity will mean to them. They feel a measure of guilt, like they are betraying themselves, some important part of who they are. Tokarczuk describes their conflicted feelings with poignant sensitivity: “Late at night, yet another aspect of the idea, which they hadn’t really taken into consideration before, occurs to them—that once they are baptized, they will cease to be Jews, at least as far as anyone can tell. They will become people—Christians. They will be able to purchase land, open shops in town, send their children to any schools they wish . . . Their heads spin with possibilities, for it is as though they have suddenly been given a strange, almost inconceivable gift.” Tokarczuk is not Jewish, so one of the questions I ponder is why she chose to write a book about this man, this time, these people. The amount of research she had to do is staggering. It would make for an interesting discussion, but at 1,000 pages I don't see "The Books of Jacob" being chosen by many (any) book groups.
“The Books of Jacob” demands thought, attention, patience, and most of all, a willingness to believe that questions are as, if not more, important than answers. The reader will finish the book, think about it, and flip idly through the pages. Doing so, something will catch their attention, something they didn't see before, and they'll feel an urge to read it again.
Postscript: Shortly after “The Books of Jacob” was first published, the author received death threats from Polish nationalists because in an interview she criticized the country’s refusal to discuss the darker elements of its past. It's a sensitive topic there, not unlike heated arguments over race and slavery in the US. In 2018, Poland passed a law making assertions of Polish complicity in the Holocaust a crime punishable by up to three years in prison. After international criticism, the law was amended to remove the threat of prison. Subsequently, the prime ministers of Poland and Israel issued a joint statement that made a distinction between the actions of individual Poles and the Polish state, saying, "We acknowledge and condemn every single case of cruelty against Jews perpetrated by Poles during the World War II." Interviews of the author and other interesting pieces are available online. I recommend three in particular: Jasmine Liu's article in The Chicago Review of Books (2/28/2022), the interview in The Yale Review (1/31/2022), and "How I Wrote The Books of Jacob" in The Calvert Journal (01/19/2022).