The Economist February 26th 2022 Culture 79
ondmostpopulous municipality with 2m
people, it is known as one of the most
dangerous, in which residents feel most
unsafe. Iztapalapa has long been the “back
yard” of the capital, says Clara Brugada, its
mayor. “Prisons, that was the investment
we received,” she says.
Eyes of the tiger
Some of the murals carry slogans
exhorting better behaviour, such as “No to
violence!” Others portray the faces of wom
en, many of them local, such as Lupita Bau
tista, a worldchampion boxer, and Eva
Bracamontes, herself a street artist. In
deed, the whole project grew out of a push
to improve the lot of women in this patriar
chal bit of a maledominated country,
where the killing of women remains trag
ically common. Initially the murals were
part of a programme designed to create
streets where women felt safe walking
alone; but they took on a life of their own.
At first, says Ms Brugada, people were scep
tical about having paintings on their hous
es and shops. Now they request them.
To critics of the scheme, the fact that Iz
tapalapa’s authorities pay for the artworks
undercuts their authenticity. Enthusiasts
point out that Mexico’s education ministry
paid Rivera and his contemporaries in mu
ralism’s heyday. Then, as now, individual
artists had distinct styles, as well as leeway
to decide the content of their murals.
Rivera, for instance, romanticised the
time before the Spanish conquest and rep
resented the conquistadors as greedy and
barbaric; Orozco was softer on them and
the Catholic church. “I connect with the
place and people,” says a contemporary
muralist who paints as Andre amx. “I don’t
just put out my message.” She often ex
plores feminist themes and subjects, such
as prehispanic goddesses. Her murals in
Iztapalapa include a huge tiger whose
striking eyes stare out from a green wall.
Historians think the postrevolution
ary murals did help to forge a cohesive,
modern country. They shaped both how
Mexicans saw themselves and how for
eigners saw them, reckons Barbara Haskell
of the Whitney Museum of American Art in
New York. (The big three went on to paint
influential murals in the United States.) An
example of their impact lies in the way
Mexico celebrates mestizaje, the mixing of
Spanish and indigenous peoples. One of
the country’s bestloved murals, by Oroz
co, is in the Colegio de San Ildefonso, a
former school in Mexico City. It depicts
Hernán Cortés, the conquistador, and Mal
inche, his indigenous interpreter and later
lover, who gave birth to a child considered
one of the first mestizos.
Can murals in places like Iztapalapa
have a comparable impact now? Since 2018
some crimes, such as those involving
firearms, have declined there. Rapes of
womenhavefallen,too.Otheraspectsof
theregenerationdrive,suchasimproved
lighting and better maintained streets,
have contributed. But officials are con
vincedthatthearthashelped.
Whatevertheireffectoncrime,themu
ralsarepopular.“Theyaremotivatingpeo
ple,especiallygirls,whothink,‘I couldap
pearthere’,”saysMsBautista,theboxer.
Herfaceisplasteredona brightredback
groundaccompaniedbythewords“Proud
lyfromIztapalapa”.Residentswhousedto
concealwheretheycomefromnolonger
do. Slowly, outsiders may come to see
Iztapalapainthesameway.n
Nobel-prizewinningfiction
The spirit and
the flesh
T
henovelthatearnedOlgaTokarczuk
theNobelprizeinliteraturefor2018,
nowpublishedinEnglish,isa wild,unruly
beast—notjustbecauseit ismorethan 900
pageslong.Dividedintosevenbooks,it be
ginsonefoggymorninginOctober1752.
Horsemen, merchants, peasants and
priestsjostlealonga muddyroadincentral
Polandontheirwaytomarket.Theairis
scentedwiththesweetsmellofmaltfrom
nearbybreweries.Vodkaandmeadarealso
onoffer,MsTokarczukwrites,aswellas
wine fromHungary andtheRhineland.
Thefogissodense,though,thatthecrowd
canonlynavigatebytheburbleofa river,a
metaphor for readers who will also find
themselves, as the Polish author says, on a
“fantastic journey across seven borders,
five languages and three major religions,
not counting the minor sects”.
At the centre of “The Books of Jacob” is a
large group of Jews from Podolia, in what is
now southwestern Ukraine, adherents of
a reallife Kabbalist rabbi and self
proclaimed Messiah called Sabbatai Tzvi.
In the mid18th century they become fol
lowers of his heir, Jacob Frank, also based
on a real figure (pictured), a tall, charis
matic merchant who always dresses in a
long coat and a high Turkish hat. As the au
thor herself has commented, Frank is an
ambivalent figure, “ruthless yet sensitive,
unpredictable but attentive”, practical if
somewhat eccentric. “He’s a trickster—a
charmer and a fraud.”
A onetime convert to Islam, Frank per
suades the group to be baptised as Catho
lics—and to experiment with incest and
other forms of sexual licence—all in a bid
for intellectual and emotional freedom. He
is accused of heresy and imprisoned for 13
years in a Polish fortress that also serves as
a shrine to the Virgin Mary. Liberated by
Russian troops, he makes his way to Brno
in Moravia, where he is befriended by Em
peror Joseph II and his mother, Maria The
resa. Later his group move to Offenbach am
Main in Germany, where they create a huge
court and religious centre. Eventually they
return to Poland, where Frank dies and his
followers join the growing bourgeoisie.
“The Books of Jacob” conjures up a soci
ety flooded with the new thinking that
emerged from the Enlightenment and the
French revolution. Its central question—
the answer to which remains tantalisingly
out of reach—is why people believe in the
likes of Frank. In the living, breathing,
mysterious world he and his followers in
habit, Ms Tokarczuk shows how ideas,
along with fables, myths and delusions,
made the society in which he flourished,
which in turn led to the world of today.
Jennifer Croft’s translation brilliantly
captures the onward rush of Ms Tokarc
zuk’s writing. Of the novel’s many other
stories, two stand out. The first concerns a
challenge that Father Benedykt Chmielow
ski, a diligent priest, sets himself: to write
down all the knowledge humanity has ac
cumulated. The other revolves around a
magnificent character called Yente, intro
duced as a sickly old lady at a wedding in
the mid18th century and still around in
1944, so ancient she is almost translucent.
Five families descended from Frank’s
followers have taken refuge in a cave; Yente
is among them. Someone throws in a bot
tle in which is “a piece of paper that says, in
a clumsy hand, ‘Germans gone’.” Over the
decades, Yente waits and watches,proffer
ing advice, asides and rich observations—
much like Ms Tokarczuk herself.n
The Books of Jacob. By Olga Tokarczuk.
Translated by Jennifer Croft.
Riverhead Books; 992 pages; $35.
Fitzcarraldo Editions; £20
Man and myths