The Weight of Ink

At nearly 600 pages, Rachel Kadish's The Weight of Ink is a veritable tome of (mostly) historical fiction. The dual (and occasionally treble) narrative is driven by the 21st century discovery of 17th century documents. Their importance lies in the hand that wrote them; the scribe was a woman, one of the handful of Jews in London at the time, working for one of the most notable rabbis of the age. Simultaneously, then, the reader is thrust into two stories: that of British historian Helen Watt, she of failing health, but steel will, and her American postgrad assistant, Aaron Levy, who find themselves competing to translate and interpret the treasure trove with another team of historians; and the story of Ester Velasquez, the enigmatic scribe.

Of the two narratives (the first of which branches into it's own set of past and present stories), the second - Ester's - is by far the strongest. Kadish writes to richly of 17th century London, and particularly the Jewish culture within that specific time, that one can't help but be awed by the undertaking that The Weight of Ink  represents. The story is richly detailed, underpinned by an explanation of competing schools of philosophical thought and, of course, the role of religion - any religion. In this, the echoes of Gutenberg's Apprentice are unmistakable: whatever one's position in society and whatever one's beliefs, the organized religions of the day control all. Men can and did lose their heads to prevent them thinking thoughts contrary to those accepted as the unassailable truth.

Too, Kadish offers her readers the unmistakable truth that however constrained a man's life might be the circumstances of the 17th century, he still retained some modicum of control over his choices. Ester might be the rabbi's most brilliant student, but as a woman, the path of her life is dictated from her birth. It is this idea that Ester finds most abhorrent and that she fights hardest - and with which Helen Watt feels the greatest kinship, as though Ester is reaching out to her across the centuries. I couldn't help but contrast these very real constraints to their more modern iterations. Ester's lot makes even the harshest circumstances in All the Single Ladies seem mild by comparison.

With less focus on Helen and Aaron, this would easily be a five star read. It's a fine work of historical fiction, with a compelling plot and engaging characters. I recognize that Kadish used the discovery of Ester's paper as a jumping off point for telling her story, but to my mind there's nothing wrong with historical fiction set entirely within itself. It's the difference between People of the Book and The Midwife of Venice.

Four-and-a-half stars.