THE NEW EARTH

A New York Jewish family confronts its catastrophic past.

In his latest novel, Row introduces us to the Wilcox family, a sprawling, dysfunctional group traumatized, in various ways, by several key moments in their past. When their mother, Naomi, informs them that her biological father had been Black, Patrick and his sisters, Winter and Bering, are horrified that she's been keeping that secret for so long. Bering winds up traveling to Palestine as a peace activist, where she's killed by an Israeli sniper. Winter becomes an immigration attorney; Patrick flees to Germany after a stint as a Buddhist monk. To reel off these plot details, however, is to give a poor impression of Row’s deeply ambitious, genre-defying work, which hops back and forth in time, shifts between various points of view, and incorporates a massive amount of politics and theory on race, Zen Buddhism, climate change, the history of Israel and Palestine, and, among other things, the novel itself as a literary form. This is not a novel to be devoured in one gulp. “This family has never had a coherent story to tell about itself,” Winter says one night. “Like an egg cracked over a pan,” Row writes, “the story spreads until it stops. It finds its boundaries by exhausting its materials.” Much of the novel is told via dialogue: This is a book of discourse, in every sense of the word, and its happenings are told rather than shown. Characters speak to each other or to themselves at immense length, and we have access to their emails and texts. If the books seems overstuffed to the point of being overdetermined—one storyline involves the Zapatista uprising, for example—it’s a testament to Row’s talent to say that, somehow, he manages to tie it all together.

A deeply ambitious saga that takes on many of the thorniest questions of 21st-century American life.