The Book of Daniel is one of my little sister's favorite books. She read it in high school and has been raving about it ever since. And she's not really one to rave about things unless she means business.The Book of Daniel is a fictionalized musing about Julius and Ethel Rosenberg's trial and execution. Here their names are Paul and Rochelle Isaacson, but don't let that fool you. The story is written by their eldest son, Daniel. Daniel is in the library, trying to write his graduate thesis. He writes this instead. It's been twelve years since his parents were killed, and he's had a long time to process through the events, his emotions, his grief, to get his life together and move forward. He has neither processed nor moved forward.
I checked it out of the library and texted Macy to tell her. "I'm reading The Book of Daniel!" I typed. "I LOVE IT SO MUCH," she responded. I was excited.
This book is haunting and imaginative and sad. Mostly, though, it's fucked up. Daniel. Is. Fucked. Up. I mean, rightfully so, but still. I can't say that I love this book as much as Macy does; it was a little bit too far on the disturbing side for me to love it with the kind of unbridled passion that can only be conveyed with all capital letters. Astonishing, powerful, brilliant, yes. Also fucked up.
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