Reviewed by Ambrea
In
the Book of Genesis, Dinah is mentioned only once. Except for a brief and bloody interlude, in
which she is mentioned only in passing, she never acts or speaks of her own
accord. She has no story to tell, no
history to relate, no memories to share:
she is merely a tool used by her brothers to accomplish their own
ends. Anita Diamant, however, manages to
give Dinah a voice. Dinah—daughter of
Jacob and Leah, sister of Joseph, wife of Shalem—has a story that is singularly,
uniquely her own.
I
originally heard about The Red Tent
through a commercial advertising a serialized event on Lifetime, a short series
under the same name. Needless to say, I
was intrigued and decided I would take the opportunity to read Diamant’s
novel. Turns out, I found an unexpected
gem.
Rich
in storytelling and tradition, The Red
Tent weaves a complicated tale that is both provoking and intimate—and, if
I may say so, utterly captivating. I
love the depth and detail that Diamant provides, the way she reaches into the
past to bring forth a story of the Bible that, I admit, I hadn’t realized
existed.
As
a narrator, Dinah has a distinctive voice.
She is a daughter, a mother, a midwife, a caretaker, and a storyteller,
and I found that her roles as a woman—her roles as a human being—shine through
her story and provide some link to a history that is sometimes overlooked and,
more often, forgotten. Dinah brings back
memories from the brink, gives them life and purpose: “It is terrible how much has been forgotten,
which is why, I suppose, remembering seems a holy thing.”
And
I love the story which Dinah tells. More
accurately, I love the way in which she tells it. Dinah has such a unique perspective, an
almost poetic way of recounting her story that’s absolutely enchanting. For instance, I love her description of Leah,
her mother: “Leah’s scent was no
mystery. She smelled of the yeast she
handled daily, brewing and baking. She
reeked of bread and comfort.” Her words
are visceral, recognizable, connecting on an emotional level that grabbed my
attention and gripped my heart.
And,
listening to Dinah, I learned to enjoy the traditions of the women in her
family. Dinah upholds an unbroken line
of mothers and children. She forges a
link from mother to daughter and so on and so forth, linking past and present
and future.
While
I cannot say I fully understood the traditions of the red tent, the religious
beliefs of her mother and her mother’s mother, I found her connection to her
past and her family a reassuring thought.
Her traditions give her depth.
Her traditions give her purpose and wisdom—and, more importantly hope.
However,
Dinah’s
story is often one of tragedy.
From the first page, she alludes to her future and to the tragedies she
will face, but when it comes to pass, it’s like a thunderbolt: fast,
sudden and agonizing. Dinah faces loss like she’s never known, and
it’s a heart-wrenching thing to witness.
I
should also point out that The Red Tent
is not for the faint of heart. It’s a
story about memory and tradition and, yes, hope, but it’s also a story
about
mankind’s various faults, child-birth, death and loss. Dinah never
conceals the truth. She reveals everything, including the rituals
and rites of womanhood and the trials of childbirth. Some of it is
shocking and some of it is
stomach-turning, but it’s all part of her life, which she isn’t afraid
to lay
bare.
Despite
these potential detractors, I still consider The Red Tent to be one of the most exceptional novels I’ve
read. So much of this book appealed to
me—Dinah’s voice, her history, her life—and spoke to my reader’s heart. This novel is a perfect combination of
storytelling and history and, more importantly, memory.
