Next Stop
by: Benjamin Resnick
September 10, 2024, Avid Reader Press
304 pages
The traditional publishing timeline is not immediately obvious to people not working in the industry, so I’d like to provide some background before diving in to Benjamin Resnick’s debut dystopian novel Next Stop. Typically speaking, once a writer has their completed fiction manuscript (nonfiction is different) they spend a whole lot of time querying agents to represent them. Those lucky enough to find representation then go through some revisions before submitting to editors who can, and often do, take over a year to respond. Then the acquired book is slated for publication in 1-2 years from the date of acquisition.
Sound like a behemoth? It is.
Why am I telling you this? Because I want you to understand that the book I am currently holding in my hands is a literal unicorn. Except maybe I should choose a less happy mythical creature, because Next Stop is kind of bleak – in a good way.
People looking to understand how recent world events have affected the fiction publishing landscape often forget that the books coming out at any given time were acquired way before the political and social moments in which they release. There might be some shifts in marketing priorities, but it’s much more pertinent to look at acquisition announcements, or announcements that an author has found representation.
Next Stop, on the other hand, manages to hit the current moment in time like a sledgehammer. In part this is due to the author realizing the tenuous nature of Jewish existence, especially as it relates to the diaspora, way before most of us caught on. However, it is also a testament to publishing being able to move a whole lot quicker than usual when a book in the submission pile actually rises to meet the occasion.
Next Stop follows Ethan and Ella, who fall in love and raise Ella’s young son against a backdrop of an increasingly antisemitic world. A huge black hole deemed the ‘anomaly’ has engulfed the state of Israel and smaller anomalies are popping up around the globe. Since the anomalies began in a geographical area the general public associates with Jews, the world very quickly gives in to their underlying antisemitism and blames Jews around the world. A wave of restrictions that mirrors both Hitler’s Germany and numerous previous government sponsored Jewish persecutions – that everyone who isn’t a Jew often forgets about – sprout up. It’s a story that has played out time and again, and I believe it is not without intention that Resnick chose to use terms from persecutions of the past – the Jewish Ghetto is called “The Pale” for example – to remind us that none of this is new.
Resnick is prescient in not just predicting the future, but also in analyzing the past. When his characters look back on the time of the pandemic, their emotions touch on what is becoming a new reality for many of us. I found myself uniquely moved by the mother who states that during the pandemic, for all its uncertainty, we were “living like kings in Odessa,” but simply didn’t know it. She’s not referring to an abundance of riches. She’s referring to an emotion that many of us who struggled to raise children during that critical time now share. With hindsight comes the knowledge that we and our children did not die, and thus the ability to realize that it was a unique time when we were all actually together. Sure, we were so together we sometimes erected cardboard structures in our apartments to give everyone their own space. Sure we cycled through obsessions like Cosmic Kids Yoga and bread baking. But memory is a malleable thing, and so now our minds focus on the fact that we did these things as a family in a way we are so rarely able to achieve anymore. It’s hard to parse, because many people actually did lose their lives, but there it is. A grain of joy amongst the horror.
This emotional poignancy runs through the entire book. Even the smallest moments, that are unrelated to the overarching plot, are treated with care and an understanding of the fragility of humanity – especially minority populations.
I was not surprised to learn that Resnick is a Rabbi. If you’ve ever met a competent Rabbi, you’ll have discovered that they are uniquely analytic. Jewish spiritual leaders are not here to give us all the answers. They’re here to help point out the questions we ought to be asking ourselves.
Next Stop is possibly the bleakest thing I’m going to read all year – or maybe all century, my readers know I’m kind of a lightweight in terms of tolerating horror and the like. However, it is also uniquely hopeful, and no that is not a contradiction. The ending I was dreading actually caps off the second portion of the book and there is a third section that I was not entirely expecting but was extremely grateful for. The many mysteries about the anomaly are not revealed, nor is it apparent to me that the author even knows the answers to those questions, but instead Resnick pulls hard on the thematic strand of children and the hope they represent. Judaism is a religion uniquely focused on the next generation – our communal next stop so to speak – and this comes through in the ending.
I was shaken, and terrified, and had some trouble sleeping, but I was also deeply moved and deeply seen. I do not regret reading it and I look forward to reading whatever Resnick produces next. Rabbi, you have this readers attention.