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book review

Jonathan Safran Foer’s third novel, Here I Am, is a lamentation over families that come together and fall apart.Jeff Mermelstein

In the Book of Genesis, "Here I am" is Abraham's response to God when called upon. He is commanded by God to sacrifice his only son, Isaac. On the way to the slaughter, Isaac says, "My father," and Abraham answers, "Here I am, my son." Later, as Abraham takes out a knife to slay his son, the Lord again calls out to him. Once again, Abraham responds: "Here I am."

Here I Am, Jonathan Safran Foer's highly anticipated third – and best – novel, begins ominously: "When the destruction of Israel commenced, Isaac Bloch was weighing whether to kill himself or move to the Jewish Home."

Comparisons between Here I Am and Philip Roth's Israel novels – namely, The Counterlife and Operation Shylock – are inevitable, but Foer's novel is more parts family drama than apocalyptic political thriller-slash-satire.

The Isaac of Here I Am is much different than the one found in Genesis; Isaac is the Bloch family's neglected patriarch, living on the periphery as a result of his old age. Family members talk about visiting but seldom do. And after an earthquake destabilizes the Middle East, leading to a myriad of catastrophes and united declarations of war against Israel, Isaac is ready to die.

Meanwhile, Jacob Bloch, Isaac's grandson, is dealing with the dissolution of his marriage and its impact upon their three (at times, impossibly precocious) boys: Sam, the eldest, who is preparing for his bar mitzvah; Max, the middle son; and Benjy, who suffers from night terrors. Their dog, Argus, too, is dying of old age, although everyone in the house can face it, save for Jacob, who makes excuses for Argus's incontinence and lethargy, not wanting to say goodbye.

In a sense, Here I Am is a novel about the difficulty of saying goodbye. Set in present-day Washington, Jacob, a novelist-turned-television-writer, finds himself in his early 40s in a crumbling marriage to Julia, an architect who has never built anything but who is in high demand among her wealthy neighbours for renovations. While planning Sam's bar mitzvah, Julia discovers a strange cellphone.

In a particularly suspenseful scene, Julia confronts Jacob, asking him to unlock his new phone. Unbeknownst to Jacob, she has already read the lewd texts he has exchanged with a co-worker. Jacob tells Julia that he has been having an affair only over text message and she believes him. "You are the only person I know," Julia says, "who would be capable of writing such bold sentences while living so meekly."

Julia, however, has been entertaining fantasies of separating, too – she spends hours designing blueprints for houses that, as Jacob notices when he looks over her shoulder, have only one bedroom. Both of them want more out of life, despite having so much. They suffer a distinctly bourgeois dissatisfaction. A Hasidic proverb hangs over both of them: "While we pursue happiness, we flee contentment."

Amongst the marital turmoil, days before the earthquake, Jacob's cousin Tamir arrives from Israel with one of his sons for Sam's bar mitzvah. Tamir is an often-funny character who believes the best Italian food in the world is made in Israel and who claims never to have heard of Steven Spielberg; Jacob doesn't believe him. He asks Jacob why he would pretend never to have heard of him, and Jacob responds, "Because it's your bizarre Israeli way of diminishing the achievements of American Jews."

The relationship between the two cousins makes for a strong juxtaposition – the Middle East meets the U.S. diaspora. The two cousins love each other – and share formidable experiences – but they frequently clash.

The differences in gravity between their respective problems become even more pronounced postearthquake, when the Arab world unites, forming "Transarabia."

After the earthquake – the crisis in the Middle East is mostly experienced through reports from relatives as well as radio and television broadcasts – Tamir is desperate to get home to his family. Meanwhile, Jacob is suffering from an identity crisis; he is affected by Tamir's bullying – in particular, by his cousin's taunts alleging he doesn't support Israel enough – and by Julia's claims he doesn't believe in anything. Both of which compromise his work and family life.

All of this traumatic unmooring leaves Jacob adrift – and interrogating everything.

The novel, like the TV show about his family Jacob has been working on in secret for 10 years, becomes a celebration of the "independent consciousnesses" that make up a family. But the novel is also a lamentation over families that come together and fall apart, forever subject to time's entropic pull.

Here I Am announces itself as a substantial, engaging novel, full of suspense, searching and humour, calling upon its readers, in turn, to locate themselves with respect to the intimate portrait it draws of families responding to personal and political crises.

John Goldbach is the author of The Devil and the Detective and, most recently, It Is an Honest Ghost.

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