Staff

ON this one, color me unobjective. I love this book, Staff, but maybe that’s because I love the author.

And the idea.

By the idea, I don’t mean the idea of the book.

But the existence of the book.

The idea that this person wrote a book.

What a beautiful lesson about seeing the best in people, and not making judgements.

Say, for example, it was once announced that Robert Frost wrote a new book of poetry. You would be surprised. But suppose that it was announced that Carmelo Anthony wrote a book of poetry. You would be very surprised. Poets are supposed to write poetry, basketball players are not.

Or so we think.

We peg people. This one is a poet. That one is a ball player. He’s smart, she’s not. She’s a scholar, he’s a dolt. Etc.

It is not that I pegged Jeff Wedgle, the author of Staff. He is multi-talented. A computer whiz. A sports trainer. A very nice davener. But a novelist? What a beautiful lesson: People can surprise you. The one you never thought could, or would [fill in the blank] can do it, and just did it.

THAT’S what makes me unobjective. I cannot read Staff for what it is, a mystery novel with a spooky religious theme and a scary political message. As I pick up this this book, I am reading, and I am not reading

I am reading — intrigued by the plot and the characters. But I am not reading — I am talking to myself. What’s Wedgle going to do now? Why did he lock up the heroes in Teheran? How come he jumped 2,000 years? And, why did he use that bad language (it’s coming out, thankfully, in the next edition)?

Yes, I am reading, curious with the usual questions: Is the dialogue realistic? Is the plot plausible? But I am not reading; I am thinking: “Jeff, great phrase!”

Or, “Jeff, wrong word.” Most often: “Jeff, how’d you think of that? Wow!” Or: “Jeff? My kind and gentle friend Jeff — how did you actually kill off those innocent kids?” Jeff has conspired to make me his accompanying, imaginary co-author.

Behind both types of reading — from within my skin and jumping out of my skin to address not the book but the friend who wrote it — I am saying to myself. I can’t believe it. Jeff’s actually a novelist! “Staff” works! Don’t peg people.

THE story is about Moses’ staff and its supernatural powers.

That part is true. Just read Exodus.

But a novelist’s imagination picks up almost from the first page. This supernatural staff of Moses is transformed into a object that retains its powers even after Moses dies.

It is secretly hidden and preserved for generations, at great risk to life. It is rediscovered in the most unlikely of ways, in the most perilous of times and circumstances.

And I don’t want to say more. I will ruin your reading.

The tone of Staff oscillates between, on the one hand, the contemporary and conversational — casual and almost nonchalant — and, on the other hand, the serious and sacred — spiritual and even reverential.

The beginning of the book, in particular, sets a spooky, other-world mood, conveying with believability how a vital spiritual quest might have felt 2,000 years ago. When I finished Part I, I wondered, how is the author going to switch to contemporary American teenagers without soiling the mood or spoiling the theme? Wedgle pulls it off.

Since the On Friday the Rabbi Slept Late series, which ended decades ago, I have not read mystery novels. I am not qualified to say whether the surprising, keep-you-on-the-edge-of-the-chair twists in Staff’s plot are typical or trite, creative or unrealistic. I can say this: Staff has a voice. It has a fascinating take on people and Judaism. Wedgle just might have discovered his calling.

On that, there is no need to rely on my unobjective self.

The sales will tell.