This year will bring the tenth anniversary of September 11. This fact leaves me to wonder: which will be the definitive works of literature produced in response to the tragedies that took place that day? I believe Jacob Paul's novel, Sarah/Sara, should be counted as one of them.
The narrative follows an orthodox Jewish woman, Sara, as she attempts a perilous solo sea-kayaking mission through the arctic with winter closing in. This journey is complicated not only by the challenges of the environment, and the constraints of her orthodoxy, but also by the unique way that her life was affected by 9/11.
The protagonist, Sara, is an American by birth, but moved to Jerusalem after adopting a supremely orthodox Jewish lifestyle. Her father was in the World Trade Center when it was attacked, working on one of the last floors to safely evacuate. He spent the following weeks volunteering at Ground Zero. The reader learns this though Sara's reflections on conversations she had with him. These reflections are deftly blended into the rhythm of the larger narrative, and provide a nice accent.
Sara is herself the victim of a suicide bombing. Though scarred by the attack, she retains the strength to embark on her journey through the arctic. Along the way she explore her kinship with the victims of 9/11, both living, and dead. She wades through her own lasting terror as she retraces her father's telling of his evacuation. In doing so she hopes to find the rationale to let go of her fears and take up the burden of survival.
This is a burden she faces on two accounts. First, she faces the burden of physically surviving, which becomes increasingly difficult as the narrative unfolds. Second, she faces the burden of identifying herself as a survivor, as one who has cheated death but now does not know how to justify her continued existence. The masterstroke of this narrative occurs when these two burdens become one somewhere out on the arctic.
I recommend this book to anyone, but I will say that some readers will be harder won. I myself was at first reluctant to accompany this orthodox Jewish woman on her kayaking trip. I was taught to read phonetically, by Catholic nuns, which should tell you how much previous exposure I've had to Judaism. It should also tell you how disruptive the occasional Yiddish word can be for me. Similar readers may encounter allusions to orthodox customs and get the feeling that the narrative is written for an exclusive audience. Any reader who would allow this to deter them from continuing would deny themselves the enjoyment of divine prose, an arresting narrative, and an intimate look at one of the most significant moments in recent history.
