• Review
By – September 26, 2011

The Instruc­tions by Adam Levin is the tenyear- old narrator’s instruc­tions, trans­lat­ed and re-trans­lat­ed,” cul­mi­nat­ing in the Guri­on­ic War, pub­lished in 2013. Smart-alec Guri­on ben-Judah Mac­cabee is a Mish­na know-it-all his friends call Rab­bi, a bul­ly who spends his time in the Cage, the high­est form of deten­tion. Full of brag­gado­cio and self-impor­tance, he is wise beyond his years in mat­ters of love and jus­tice though in the next breath mired in play­ground pol­i­tics. Guri­on is extreme­ly thor­ough, whether he is describ­ing pro­sa­ic deci­sions with an eth­i­cal mag­ni­fy­ing glass, his quirk­i­ly named class­mates, how his par­ents met, episodes from the Torah, or fights blow by blow. If a char­ac­ter says, Tch,” Guri­on illus­trates the sub­text, assum­ing the read­er is unable to inter­pret the character’s inten­tions by the sound alone. For exam­ple, Tch=I already knew that.” Levin’s expan­sive style includes email chains sent by all the school prin­ci­pals about the risks pre­sent­ed by Guri­on (he attempt­ed to start a rev­o­lu­tion of pen­ny gun tot­ing Jew­ish school­child­ren, whom he refers to as Israelites), and bird’s eye view dia­grams of class­rooms, where instead of lines, words are arranged (“win­dow” is placed where the win­dow is locat­ed, between wall” and door”). Empha­sis on the word as image is one of many com­par­isons to Jew­ish scrip­ture that read­ers will bring to this 1,000 page book. 

The lan­guage ranges from sim­ple and repet­i­tive child­speak to inven­tive slang to high-brow jar­gon. An affec­tion­ate Yid­dish word from his father reduces this bul­ly to tears. Ever the schol­ar, Guri­on ana­lyzes his way through three days of his life in Novem­ber, 2006, when he falls in love with Eliza June Water­mark. Describ­ing a pre­vi­ous lover, he says with over­wrought inno­cence, Esther snif­fled in a way that I thought was cute because it wasn’t gross at all, even though it meant wet snot was mov­ing around inside of her face.” 

The Instruc­tions is more thought-pro­vok­ing than it is sus­pense­ful or riv­et­ing, despite Levin’s adept ren­der­ings of puber­ty-inflect­ed dia­logues. Plac­ing a Torah-obsessed roman­tic in sub­ur­ban Amer­i­ca with a head of polit­i­cal ideas is Levin’s door­way to expound­ing on the fun­da­men­tals of com­mu­ni­cat­ing love and passion. 

Inter­view

Adam Levin’s first nov­el, The Instruc­tions, was pub­lished by McSweeney’s Rec­tan­gu­lars. He teach­es cre­ative writ­ing at the School of the Art Insti­tute of Chica­go. The nar­ra­tor, Guri­on Mac­cabee, writes in his 1,000-plus page scrip­ture the events of four piv­otal days in his life as a mid­dle school rebel. His pre­co­cious man­i­festos, tex­tu­al analy­sis of Torah, and tales of sub­ur­ban life depict Levin’s cre­ative­ly imag­ined world of Jew­ish teach­ers and stu­dents with verve, bright wit, and truth.

Saman­tha White: How would you describe your Jew­ish upbring­ing and edu­ca­tion?
Adam Levin: I went to Solomon Schechter, a Jew­ish day school, for kinder­garten. Then, lead­ing up to my bar mitz­vah I went to Hebrew school three times a week. My house­hold was as Jew­ish as I want­ed it to be. The sec­ond I wasn’t into doing Passover, we didn’t do it, although I had mis­tak­en­ly assumed my dad was a devout Jew. Like one year I didn’t want to throw all the food away, so we didn’t. 

My mother’s back­ground is inter­est­ing. She was raised athe­is­ti­cal­ly. She immi­grat­ed from Poland to Israel to the U.S. and then went to Stern Col­lege where she got into reli­gion. Her father was a physi­cist, an athe­ist.

SW: How were you able to inte­grate Jew­ish texts?
AL: I went to Solomon Schechter, a Jew­ish day school, for kinder­garten. Then, lead­ing up to my bar mitz­vah I went to Hebrew school three times a week. My house­hold was as Jew­ish as I want­ed it to be. The sec­ond I wasn’t into doing Passover, we didn’t do it, although I had mis­tak­en­ly assumed my dad was a devout Jew. Like one year I didn’t want to throw all the food away, so we didn’t. 

My mother’s back­ground is inter­est­ing. She was raised athe­is­ti­cal­ly. She immi­grat­ed from Poland to Israel to the U.S. and then went to Stern Col­lege where she got into reli­gion. Her father was a physi­cist, an athe­ist.

SW: What did you want to be when you grew up?
ALGrow­ing up I want­ed to be a rock star but I was always writ­ing and read­ing reli­gious­ly. I start­ed real­ly read­ing lit­er­a­ture in sixth grade and read Slaugh­ter­house Five eleven times. I can’t ever read it again. In col­lege I was in a band play­ing bass but I got sick of rely­ing on peo­ple to cre­ate. I decid­ed, I’m not going to make music any­more. I’m just going to write all the time.I got a Mas­ters in Social Work at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go because I want­ed to help peo­ple. It’s one of those things that seems Jewy some­how. You end up with a lot of crazy friends and they’re always talk­ing, so they always talk to you and you help them. They’re thrilled that they can talk, and I got this idea that I was good at help­ing peo­ple. So I did that. I was pret­ty good at it but I don’t want to do it any­more. It was mess­ing my life up a lit­tle. It gets sort of heavy. I would come home and want to write, read, and dis­ap­pear from life. It wasn’t joy­ful for me. 

SW: Did you get an MFA?
ALGet­ting an MFA at Syra­cuse Uni­ver­si­ty was a great expe­ri­ence. George Saun­ders was my hero before I ever met him. I wor­shipped his work. I would do those three years over again many times.

SW: When did you start writ­ing The Instruc­tions?
ALI start­ed writ­ing it in Octo­ber 2001, right after I got to Syra­cuse and right after Sep­tem­ber 11 but I wouldn’t make too big a deal about it. I’d been think­ing about ter­ror­ism a long time before that.

SW: How long did it take to write?
ALIt took me about eight years to write while obses­sive­ly edit­ing it every­day. It took anoth­er 18 months after it was set to be pub­lished edit­ing more.

The main con­cern for me is to make an emo­tion­al­ly engag­ing work of art. Ulti­mate­ly, it’s a book about some char­ac­ters whom you come to care about and who move you. I want­ed it to be fun, a joy to read.

The best nov­els break your heart, wreck you. My hope would be that the book leaves peo­ple feel­ing real­ly con­flict­ed about Guri­on, about any­thing that goes on. At var­i­ous parts of the book, you want to cheer for him or put him down. I tried as best I could to make both those reac­tions nev­er ful­ly sat­is­fy­ing. If you read it and think he’s the mes­si­ah, that’s bor­ing; if he’s a jerk, that’s bor­ing too.

The main thing I want­ed to do was not make any straw men. When I deal with reli­gious folks I tend to like them more than a lot of peo­ple I hang out with do. I felt duty bound to not rep­re­sent them in any kind of stereo­typ­i­cal way, so I bal­anced Rab­bi Unger, a jerk with some sense of rea­son­ing, against Rab­bi Salt, a real sweet­heart. I want­ed reli­gious Jews to be com­pli­cat­ed.

I think the book will upset some peo­ple — gen­er­al­ly, peo­ple who didn’t fin­ish the book. Peo­ple who actu­al­ly read the whole book will feel com­pli­cat­ed when they fin­ish it, which is good.


Sam White lives in Brook­lyn and is from San Fran­cis­co and Bak­ers­field, CA.

Discussion Questions