Grim and relentlessly harrowing. There is no respite in this bleak tale of Yakov, the fixer. It is hard enough living as a poor jew in Russia at the beginning of the 20th century, let alone to be living in an area forbidden to jews. Then to find yourself accused of ritual murder of a child and the full weight of prejudice and the law brought down on you by Inspector Javert types. Then prison, russian prison, beatings, humiliations, hunger and constant deprivations and taunts. An ordinary man in a Kafkaesque situation with not even the respite of Kafka’s detachment possible. No, this is grim, this is life with the burden of pogrom, this is fear and moral outrage distilled. The simplicity of the story, the purity of rebellion against injustice are compelling. Character is the theme, a brilliant piece of writing. I weep for Yakov and the doomed humanity of all who preceded him.