44 pages • 1 hour read
Geraldine BrooksPeople of the Book
Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2008A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Themes
Self-Preservation Versus Historical Preservation
One of the central questions of this novel revolves around the idea of preservation—what it means to preserve a historical artifact or manuscript, and what it means to preserve the self. Hanna introduces herself to Ozren with her theory on preservation, saying, “To restore a book to the way it was when it was made is to lack respect for its history” (17). Hanna argues for a kind of preservation that maintains the imperfections, intricacies, and unique markings of its history—essentially, to allow the object to acquire its own identity and remain true to that identity, even if it means it will be less beautiful or ornate.
There is a similar theme in the novel around what it means to preserve the self—to live as one’s true self. Zahra is a perfect example of this struggle—though she has a happy life with the doctor, she is not free or in her home, and so she is not happy: “Freedom, indeed, is the main part of what I lack now in this place where I have honorable work, and comfort enough. Yet it is not my own country” (316). For Zahra, self-preservation might initially look like survival, as a slave woman struggling through political unrest. However, she admits that even in comfort, she has not preserved herself unless she is in her home, among her people. Until she is free, she is not complete. Ruti also demonstrates this desire to preserve a sense of self even over survival, as Ruti gives up her nation for the ability to freely practice the faith she loves. Though some part of the identity is lost in these struggles, Ruti preserves herself by staying true to her values and her culture.
Hanna experiences a similar struggle for self-preservation in this novel. Her sense of self is tied to her mother’s perception of her, and it isn’t until Hanna frees herself from her mother’s eye that she can truly grasp who she is. By giving herself a new name, she allows herself a new identity—one that is truer to who she wants to be. As she says: “New name, new look, new life” (346).
Power of Empathy
Empathy is the driving force of this novel—particularly, the kind of empathy that comes from seeing another person, no matter their appearance or practices, as a human being above all else. Ozren expresses this at the end of the novel when he discusses the lessons the Haggadah has come to Sarajevo to teach. He says, “It was here to test us, to see if there were people who could see that what united us was more than what divided us. That to be a human being matters more than to be a Jew or a Muslim, Catholic or Orthodox” (361). Though differences are inevitable, and do naturally divide us, Brooks pushes in this novel for a unifying empathy that does not allow for warfare, persecution, alienation, and prejudice.
Though the Haggadah is a symbol or a test of the power of empathy, empathy comes into play on a personal level as well. Serif, a prominent Muslim with so much to lose, agrees to harbor a fugitive Jew during the Holocaust because “Jews and Muslims are cousins, the descendants of Abraham” (80). It is empathy that saves lives during periods of persecution and eventually puts a stop to violent regimes and volatile political climates.
Empathy serves as a force of good, and Brooks presents it in a way that is nuanced and complicated, much like real life. Though all the characters are human, and deserving of empathy, some of them are less lovable than others. Even Mittl, an old, syphilitic man who steals, defaces precious artifacts, and sneers at Jews celebrating in the streets, is, according to Brooks, worthy of empathy. In his office, Hirschfeldt “allowed himself to be [...] moved not as a doctor is moved by a patient, to a safe and serviceable sympathy, but as a human being who allows himself full empathy with the suffering of another” (126). In the end, empathy is a source of connection across cultures and a source of bravery for those who think of themselves as weak.
Exile and New Life
Exile and the Haggadah are interwoven, eternal companions—it is a book born of exile, a survivor of exile, touched by so many who were forced to leave their lives and their homes in order to survive. In People of the Book, exile touches many lives. Lola leaves her home and her family when the Nazis invade Sarajevo and eradicate the Jews. Ruti leaves Spain during the Inquisition after her family is persecuted and her people cast out. Aryeh and his people live separated from the bustle of their city, forced into a locked ghetto in Venice without space, light, or opportunity.
Raz notes this in conversations with Hanna—that the Haggadah has been witness to so much pain, and so much rebirth: “[T]he book has survived the same human disaster over and over again [...] a society where people tolerate difference [...] then somehow this fear, this hate, this need to demonize the ‘other’ […] rears up and smashes the whole society [...]” (195). The Haggadah as an object is both emblematic of this cycle of tolerance and alienation and has survived the cycle alongside the people who made it, carried it, and protected it. As Hanna says at the end of the novel, the burning of books is the first step toward the burning of bodies:
I stared at the flames, thinking of the blackening parchments in a medieval auto-da-fe; of youthful Nazi faces lit by bonfires of burning books; of the shelled and gutted ruin, just a few blocks away, of Sarajevo’s library. Book burnings. Always the forerunners. Heralds of the stake, the ovens, the mass graves (367).
And yet, despite the pains and violence of exile, the intolerance and hatred that yields it, Brooks presents exile as an opportunity for new life. Ruti looks to the sea and imagines a new world for herself and her unnamed baby nephew. Lola’s friends travel to Israel, the new land of the Jews. These new starts aren’t without their own dangers—it is clear that forced exile is a cycle, and no place is free from its grip. However, the Haggadah and the “people of the book” (264) are cast away and make new roots. They are resilient, and their survival is central to the themes of this book.
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By Geraldine Brooks
