Historical Fiction with a Contemporary Feel
By DANIEL SEPTIMUS
THE COFFEE TRADER
By David Liss.
400 pages. Random House. $24.95.
David Liss's award-winning first novel, A Conspiracy of Paper, presented a portrait of 18th-century Jewish life in London. In his best-selling second novel, The Coffee Trader, Liss continues his exploration of early modern European Jewry, this time in Holland.
The Coffee Trader tells the story of Miguel Lienzo, a Portuguese Jew living in 17th-century Amsterdam. The major center of international trade at this time, Amsterdam is home to the capricious Exchange, where businessmen like Miguel congregate to trade stocks, futures, and commodities. Tradesmen with influence can manipulate the market to their liking, and financial success often requires a good measure of deceit. Luckily, Miguel Lienzo has experience with deception. Before fleeing the Inquisition in Portugal, he lived as a converso, a secret Jew.
As the novel opens, Miguel is down on his luck. He lives with his brother, Daniel, and Daniel's pregnant wife, Hannah. Aside from financial woes, Miguel is constantly hounded by the Ma'amad, the religious council of Portuguese Jews, who rule over the community of exiles with an iron fist, imposing sanctions for violating religious laws and doing business with non-Jews. One member of the Ma'amad in particular, Solomon Parido, is out to exact revenge on Miguel, who while engaged to Parido's daughter, was caught with his pants down–literally–in a compromising situation.
The main action of the novel follows Miguel's complicated scheme to corner the emerging European coffee market. With capital from a shifty Dutch widow, Geertruid Damhuis, Miguel sets off on a get-rich-quick plan that he hopes will change his fortunes forever. The labyrinthine plot–which is engaging, though rarely unpredictable–follows Miguel teetering on the verge of financial ruin, trying to avoid Parido's maliciously watchful eye, and struggling to determine whom he can trust.
The Coffee Trader raises interesting question about reading and writing Jewish historical fiction. What should readers of contemporary Jewish fiction want from a historical novel? Should we expect to see the continuity and consistency of Jewish life throughout the ages, or its differences and distinctions?
For the most part, Liss opts for the former. Many of Liss's characters, and especially his protagonist, act like 20th century American Jews dressed up in 17th-century costumes. Despite Miguel's very unique historical circumstances, his approach to Judaism seems strikingly modern.
Miguel enjoys ritual and learning. He studies Torah regularly and hopes to become wealthy so that he can marry and have children who can, "devote their lives to the study of Torah–or, if they were daughters, to marry great scholars." He is constantly making blessings, and we are told that prayer soothes him "like spiced wine."
But Miguel is hardly a pillar of orthodox piety. He is particularly loose when it comes to women, engaging in affairs with Parido's daughter, his brother's Dutch servant, and a number of Amsterdam's prostitutes. He flouts the laws of the Ma'amad by associating with excommunicated heretics. He also transgresses in more minor, personal ways: in one scene, Miguel rationalizes buying a meatless pie from a Dutchwoman, like a liberal American Jew who keeps kosher but eats out at dairy and vegetarian restaurants.
Were there sexually liberated, religiously creative, anti-authoritarian Jews in 17th-century Amsterdam? Perhaps. Even if not, some readers might find it interesting to see a contemporary religious consciousness transplanted into a 17th-century Jew. For this reader, however, the anachronistic psychology disappointed: I would have preferred to read about 17th-century Jews less like my Jewish friends and neighbors.
The potential for a more intriguingly contextualized historical novel is obvious in The Coffee Trader. Miguel was raised in Portugal as a secret Jew. Outside of his home, he and his family lived as Christians. Jewish ritual and prayer were only conducted in private and under the perennial fear that their true allegiances would be revealed. Liss shows how this upbringing has affected Miguel's sister-in-law, Hannah. Even once she is settled in Amsterdam and safe from anti-Semitism, Hannah can't shake her emotional attachment to Christianity. She continues to go to church, but she must do so in secret. This is a fascinating twist: a secret Jew who becomes a secret Christian.
Unfortunately, Liss doesn't develop any similarly startling and historically grounded complexities in Miguel. Instead of an exploration of the religious consciousness of the real Jews on which Miguel is modeled, the novel hinges on Liss's portrait of Miguel as a 17th-century Jew with a familiarly modern religious consciousness.
This, though, may just be a matter of personal taste. What do we want from Jewish historical fiction: a historicized version of the present, like Liss give us, or a clear window into the past?
