A Rich Tapestry
The Books of Jacob by Olga Tokaczek (2022) Nobel Prize in Literature
[Save us from] The natural urges of various heroes
— Voltaire, Candide
The Books of Jacob has been dubbed the magnum opus of its Nobel Prize-winning author, Olga Tokaczek. Nobel Prizes in Literature cover a writer’s total oeuvre, not discrete literary works. The intelligentsia is gushing over the book if you follow such things; the translation, by Jennifer Croft, is earning accolades.
Tokaczek trained as a psychologist and regards herself as a “psychologist of the past” — someone willing to excavate repressed truths and haul them into the light of day, restoring greater nuance and accuracy to our understanding of history. The Books of Jacob is challenging in its structure, more of a literary collage than a straightforward narrative. Nor are there clear anchor characters to root for here.
Jacob Frank, a con-man who headed an eighteenth-century cult in Poland, persuaded his Jewish followers (the WaPo book review claims ten thousand) to convert — first to the Muslim religion, then to Catholicism — which is eye-popping. Like all cult leaders ever, Frank subjected his willing acolytes to personality-breaking regimens and exalted free sexual love. His followers practiced communal child-rearing since paternity was obscured, and pooled resources to support Frank’s opulent lifestyle. Frank is reprehensible. He was charismatic to his followers, but we, as modern readers, do not find him charismatic. His second in command, Nahman, seems timid and lackluster. I wasn’t especially intrigued by the priests, noblewomen, or noblemen, either. Much has been said about Yente, Frank’s grandmother; Tokaczek imagines her as a crone suspended between life and death, stashed in a cave where her body is slowly crystallizing. Her omniscient, dreamlike perspective of events is narrated in sections. Your interest in all of this may exceed mine. I found this to be a 900-page work bursting with characters, few of whom seemed appealing.
Tokaczek is an author I greatly admire, but this tale will be challenging for many readers, given the dozens of Yiddish terms, Polish towns, and the roster of characters whose names change once they’re baptized. I’d say the last 300 pages are more enjoyable; I felt for Eva, Jacob’s daughter, once she matured enough to be interesting in her own right. The blood-libel storyline resonated emotionally, but the vast scope of the book mutes its power. This plot point is alluded to in a letter early in the book then picked up later — and with a narrative twist that is quite powerful. I would have liked to see this developed more, but Tokaczek has received death threats for mentioning blood-libel at all. Perhaps subtlety is the best that can be hoped for in today’s political climate.
Indeed, The Books of Jacob is a testament to the author’s political courage. Under Poland’s right-wing government, it is against the law (diluted somewhat following an uproar in 2018) to suggest that the Polish people aided and abetted the Nazis in the Jewish genocide of the Holocaust. Tokaczek has said that she wished to portray the multi-culturalism of the region during this era — with far more travel, trade, and cultural intermingling than was previously thought. Nationalists resist this perspective. So yes, The Books of Jacob is an act of bravery, deserving of a supportive global readership.
As a fan of Tokaczek’s oeuvre, I wish I had enjoyed this story and its characters more. If you choose to read the book, you’ll have your reasons for doing so. I’m glad I read it. But in rating this book, I give it three and a half stars, acknowledging its ambition and acknowledging Tocaczek as one of the major living writers of our time. Rating: *** 1/2