This was a thrilling, hysterical, maddening novel, and I’m so glad I read it. It had been on hold from the library, and when it came in two weeks ago, it leapt to the front of my pile of Book Expo books and became my top priority. I’d become interested in Grunberg’s novel after hearing him interviewed on KCRW’s Bookworm and learning of the book’s quirky satirical premise: the eccentric grandson of an S.S. officer takes it upon himself to “comfort the Jews.” He joins forces with a rabbi’s son, who becomes his lover, and winds up the trigger-happy fascist leader of an emboldened Jewish state.

Wonderful. The premise reminded me of a story idea I once had which I liked but never developed. The idea was that the grandson or great-grandson of Adolf Hitler becomes the savior of the world. His name: Lenny Hitler. I figured if your last name was Hitler, you’d sure as hell get a lot of grief growing up, and what if that turned you into the most sensitive, caring, altruistic person ever (with some of that old Hitler charisma thrown in for good measure)? Anyhow, as I said, I never went anywhere with this (very different) idea , but you can see how I found Grunberg’s premise attractive.

So enough about my silly ideas, how was the damn book? As a comedy: brilliant. As a novel: wonderful but deeply flawed. As a subject for analysis: dizzying. The first three-quarters of the novel I loved. I can’t remember the last time a book made me laugh out loud so much. Xavier Radeck, the protagonist, is a brilliantly quirky, idealistic, and fatalistic hero. It was a joy to watch the bumbling blossoming of his relationship with Awromele, the rabbi’s son, as they set out to translate Mein Kampf into Yiddish and make promises “not to feel anything” as they fall in love. Xavier, who pretends to be Jewish by birth, gets a botched circumcision which causes him to lose a testicle. For the remainder of the novel, he carries this testicle – which he calls King David – with him in a glass jar. When Xavier becomes determined to be a painter, he explores his passion by painting an unending series of portraits of his mother holding the testicle. Later on, many people believe King David to be the Messiah.

Grunberg creates a large cast of richly drawn unusual characters. The following scene, between the autistic rabbi and his put-upon wife was so funny, I had to scan it and include the page here. All you need to know is that the rabbi’s son has gone missing, and he has organized a meeting of the Committee of Vigilant Jews to deal with the problem. Click here to enjoy (you may need to zoom in to read clearly).

Now that’s comedy, folks. It doesn’t get much better than that.

The joys of the book started to fade for me over the last fifty pages, as the story turned from a dark (and often grotesque) comedy into a satire with a capital S. Throughout the book, Xavier spouts philosophy on art, death, life, and suffering. At times, his words are profound (“art is suffering”). Often, though, they seem nonsensical (“suffering is the emergency exit of beauty”). As the book wears on, the latter becomes more true. As Xavier and Awromele land in Tel Aviv and enter the world of Israeli and then global politics, the philosophy takes over and the narrative absurdity is pushed (at least for this reader) to the point of unbelievability. While I give Grunberg credit for not pulling any punches in his race to the climax, there were just a few too many “that wouldn’t really happen” moments for me to accept in those last fifty pages.

Despite my reservations about the ending, I will always choose a brilliant-but-flawed novel over an unproblematic-but-unmemorable one. The Jewish Messiah has its issues, but the riches abound. It is funny, thought-provoking, and positively fearless.