On Potential: A Review of The Instructions by Adam Levin

Adam Levin's The Instructions is a pretty book. Admittedly, I fell in love with it for surface reasons. I pulled it off the shelf upon noting its size, the simplicity of its design, the texture of its covers, the little McSweeney's chair on the spine. I ran the "opening paragraph" check next, and I read the following:

There is damage. There was always damage and there will be more damage, but not always. Were there always to be more damage, damage would be an aspect of perfection.

I saw that this book would have something to say, and kept reading, straight through its 1,030 pages, and a few days after, I am still trying to juggle the ideas it presented and how they affect the story at its core.

There is a lot going on in this book. The novel covers four days in the life of a ten-year-old scholar, lover, fighter, and potential messiah. Large passages are given to interpreting Torah. Others are given to a strange adolescent love story. There is ample violence, some literary theory (Philip Roth even makes a cameo during a hostage crisis), a few thoughts on education systems, some prophecy, invented vocabulary, and fierce humor.

At its heart, though, is a fairly simple story: A boy grapples with what it means to be chosen.

This thread propels the novel and makes its numerous pages move by quickly. And it resonates across faiths. Christians call it "election." New agey types like the word "destiny." Naturalists can call it "fate."

But we all want to know what put us here, why, and whether or not we have something important to do.

If The Instructions has its shortcomings (and I believe that it does), it certainly does this well: It examines what it means to be chosen.

The main character claims his chosenness, disowns it, doubts it, battles it, follows it, and then, finally, when the bloodshed is over, he leaves it to Adonai and waits for the next step.

I should hope to do all the same things with mine.