The Book of Jeremiah

By Julie Zuckerman
Press 53, 2019, 202 pages

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With scope, depth, and feeling, The Book of Jeremiah, Julie Zuckerman’s debut novel in stories, examines pivotal experiences in the long life of a single character, exploring how these experiences shape him, change his perceptions of himself and others, and reverberate across time. The result is a moving, multifaceted portrait of a life, in all its dimensions.

The title character, Jeremiah Gerstler, is the son of Jewish immigrants, a loving husband and father, and an accomplished professor of political science. Yet for all his achievements, for all the rewards he has found in his personal and professional life, he often feels dissatisfied, sometimes making him impatient with himself, and with others close to him.

Jeremiah’s dissatisfaction is on full display in the title story, “The Book of Jeremiah,” in which what would seem to be a happy occasion—the publication of a collection of articles in honor of his scholarly contributions and his eightieth birthday–turns out to be the opposite for Jeremiah.  Reading the dedications in the book, he gets a “clammy, sour taste in his mouth”:

This makes Jeremiah reflect on his shortcomings, not as an intellectual but as a person: “When,” Jeremiah thinks, “was the last time he had a conversation of personal significance?” He wonders, too, why he hasn’t he done more good deeds for others, like some of his acquaintances at the Jewish Community Center. Jeremiah’s feelings of regret come to a head during a reception for the book that’s been published in his honor. When he’s invited to say a few words, Jeremiah reluctantly takes the floor, rambles for a bit, and then–for all to hear–seems to call his whole career into question:

After the reception, Jeremiah invites his grandson to join him on a volunteer mission, to help with the rebuilding of post-Katrina New Orleans. He knows that his wife and daughter will see this as one more impulsive act from a man who’s known for them. But he feels newly energized, reflecting that even after all these years, “[t]he Book of Jeremiah is still a work-in-progress.” This acknowledgment of personal faults and a willingness to change–neither of which comes easily to Jeremiah–are woven through his story, lending a sense of hope for him, and perhaps for all of us.

A larger social, political, and cultural history is also woven into the story of Jeremiah and his family. The book captures, for instance, the experiences of Jewish immigrants in America–in this case, Jeremiah’s parents; the losses faced by Jewish-American soldiers in the Second World War (in which Jeremiah served and his brother was killed); and support for a nascent State of Israel, offered by Jeremiah’s wife, Molly, and her family. The connections that Zuckerman makes between historical events and the story of Jeremiah and his family enrich the novel, underscoring how these events shape individuals’ lives and, at times, spark them to act.

Just such a spark-to-action occurs in one of my favorite stories, “Gerstler’s Triumphant Return,” set in 1972, during the Vietnam War. In the story, Jeremiah is chaperoning his daughter Hannah’s tenth-grade class on their five-day trip to Washington, D.C., where Jeremiah once worked for the National Security Council. At first, the chaperoning duties seem like just a sidelight to what Jeremiah sees as a more important, personal reason for the trip: to reconnect with the “Center of Power” that D.C. represents and prepare for expert testimony he is to provide before Congress the following month.

Jeremiah’s perspective changes when Hannah’s history teacher, who is also accompanying her class, informs everyone that “[w]e just started bombing the crapola out of Hanoi and Haiphong.” When students call out “What a dickhead,” and “Murderer!” in response to Nixon and others responsible for the bombing, Jeremiah is “irked to hear kids referring to the nation’s highest officials in these terms.” (Unknown to Hannah and his wife, Jeremiah had voted for Nixon, showing support for his monetary policy.) But in the days after the bombing, as Jeremiah and the students learn of U.S. casualties and “massive civilian deaths,” he becomes sickened, feeling deceived by the government and remembering others he’d lost to war: one of his most promising students, and years earlier, his brother.

The story comes to a head when Jeremiah talks a State Department tour guide into letting Hannah’s class into the department’s daily press briefing. As reporters question a spokesperson about the bombing, the students begin singing protest songs, earning Jeremiah’s admiration. Eventually, he calls out, “What happened to Kissinger’s ‘peace is at hand’ statement?”–and then, a far more profane statement. Once again, Jeremiah responds to something that deeply troubles him by shifting his views and perspective. In this story, the shift feels transformative, and it seems to fill him with joy.

Although the first story in The Book of Jeremiah is set in Jeremiah’s childhood and the last story takes place when he’s eighty-two, the intervening stories move back and forth in time. This echoes the workings of history and memory, where certain moments from the past tend to resurface, and be reaffirmed, reinforced, or complicated by present-day realities.

One haunting episode occurs in the story “Tough Day for LBJ.” Set at a political science department party in the summer of 1964, the story captures the start of Jeremiah’s academic career, which he approaches with enthusiasm and hope, feeling as if he might have found the type of “intellectual home” that was lacking in his government job in Washington. But early in the party, he overhears a colleague making an anti-Semitic remark; later, he fails to form a connection with an African American colleague, Nathaniel Williams, with whom Jeremiah had hoped to bond as a fellow outsider.

When Jeremiah expresses concern over the three Civil Rights workers (one African American man and two white men) who were recently murdered in Mississippi, Nathaniel calls the murders “tragic but hardly surprising.” Later, he elaborates:

When Jeremiah tries to respond empathetically, suggesting that the guilty parties might be found and arrested, Nathaniel replies,  “Make arrests? … The sheriffs are the goddam Klan!”

After this exchange, Jeremiah wonders if a true sense of belonging is attainable for him or Nathaniel. And his experiences at this party foreshadow later episodes when he feels alienated from colleagues–and, occasionally, from students–sometimes, because of his own lack of tact, understanding, or sensitivity. Yet throughout his academic career (and personal life), Jeremiah pushes back against this sense of alienation, and he tries to become more aware of his shortcomings, addressing them to the extent he can.

One of the things I admire most about The Book of Jeremiah is the sensitivity with which Zuckerman writes about Jeremiah and Molly’s marriage. Their love for each other is clear, yet, like most every romantic relationship, it is not without trials and complications. Zuckerman explores these difficulties with insight and feeling.

The story “Awakening” is set in 1961, four months after Molly has lost a baby to miscarriage. While trying to show kindness and understanding toward Molly–who has been sad and withdrawn since the loss, and reluctant to let Jeremiah “back onto her side of the bed”–Jeremiah finds his patience wearing thin. He also feels frustrated that lately, Molly seems more willing to share her feelings with a friend who took her on a spiritual retreat than with him.

Eventually, Jeremiah learns one of the reasons for Molly’s enduring sadness, and for her reluctance to discuss her feelings with him: during the retreat, she was introduced to hallucinogenic mushrooms, which she sees as the cause of the miscarriage. But this isn’t what troubles Jeremiah. What disturbs him is Molly’s description of her experiences with mushrooms:

When Jeremiah presses Molly to explain what she wants, she can’t–perhaps because that understanding is beyond her reach. This powerful scene gets at important truths: that certain aspects of our loved ones will remain a mystery to us, and they–like us–will need private emotional space. Ideally, we’ll allow for these realities, and maybe even come to a peace with them.