A Bend in the Stars

by Rachel Barenbaum

“Several years later. Vanya corrected them first.”

  “Yes, Bubbie, but Einstein deserves something, no?”

  Ethel shrugged. Every wall around them was an homage to her uncle’s work and family. The stunning centerpiece hung across from the photo of the teenage Vanya. It was an enormous, colorized print of a photograph taken at the 1914 eclipse. Yellow streams of light flared around the edges of the moon, and off to one side were a series of distinct dots: the Zeus star cluster—Vanya’s proof that light bends.

  When Ethel was little, she’d fall asleep listening to her mother spin the tale of Uncle Vanya racing to capture the eclipse that devoured Russia. He’d deserted his unit, braved the firing squad all in his quest to understand the universe. And he’d done it. Except the war had gotten in the way. If things had been different, Abramov would be the name people knew. Einstein would be a footnote. Ethel devoted her life to finding Vanya’s work, to showing the world that her mother and father were right about their family legend.

  Papa. Sasha. He was the man in the military greatcoat, in the photograph with her mother at the beginning of the exhibit. Ethel saw that now. The picture of her parents was taken in Podil, published in a newspaper, back when they’d just met. They were so young, they looked nothing like she remembered.

  Ethel closed her eyes and imagined her father. Just as she couldn’t remember a day in her life without relativity hanging over her, so too would she be hard-pressed to remember a day without him. “I was head over heels for your mother from the moment we met,” he used to say.

  Ethel had been too young to remember the day he found them in Philadelphia, yet her mother had told the story so many times she could picture every detail. Papa materialized on their front stoop three years after he was separated from Mama in Russia. The officer who captured him did fire his gun, but the bullet only grazed Sasha’s temple. Head wounds bleed profusely, even minor ones, and Sasha was left for dead. Once he came around, he crawled to the Jewish hospital. Anya nursed him. She hid him.

  Once Sasha recovered, he walked across Russia and up through the northern border, careful to stay deep in the forest where no one could recognize him. He knew how to hunt and trap. And ski. Ethel couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through and he never talked about it. Brutal, her mother used to say. One word that held it all.

  He worked his way across the ocean as a deckhand. When he showed up at Mama’s door, he was as thin and pale as a corpse. No one would have known him, but Mama, she recognized him in an instant by his eyes—the same eyes that she saw every time she looked at their daughter.

  Mama told Sasha and Ethel all about the letter she’d received from Dima Velikoff, and the family spent years tracking the sailor down. Miri and Sasha had both passed away by the time Ethel finally found Dima—but he, too, was gone. By then Ethel’s only living family member still excited about the chase was Lena. Lena was the one who pushed her grandmother to contact Dima’s great-grandson, the only other Velikoff still alive. And it was that great-grandson, Danny, who told them Dima’s story.

  “Tell us everything,” Ethel said to him the first time they met. They sat around a rickety coffee table on the side of a Russian market in northeastern Philadelphia. Next to them, at the deli counter, dozens of colored herring dishes were on platters arranged like a rainbow. Women buzzed, gossiping and ordering in Russian. “Did Dima ever tell you about a painting from Russia? He mentioned it in his letter. The missing notebooks and photographs were supposed to be with it somehow. But no one at the museum received the painting.”

  “A painting? No, he didn’t mention anything, although he loved the museum. He spent hours there drawing.” Danny shook his head, seemed to remember something. “I did find one in the attic when I cleaned out his house.”

  “Where? Where is it now?”

  Danny took them to his apartment. He hadn’t opened the wooden crate. It sat in the back of his closet, buried behind three suits and a row of starched shirts. “My great-grandfather must have forgotten about it. The dementia,” he explained as he pulled it out.

  The nails on the crate were rusted through. The heads snapped when they tried to pry them off. When they finally succeeded in peeling back the lid, the three of them, Ethel, Lena, and Danny, looked at the canvas together. Danny was the one to hear the glass rattle inside. And Ethel was the one to cut into the burlap and find Vanya’s photos and journals. Most of the plates had shattered but one survived.

  “Bubbie,” Lena said. Ethel blinked. The exhibit was crowded now. Ethel hadn’t noticed when it opened. She was too deep in her memories. “Bubbie, do you need some water?”

  “No.” Ethel smiled. “Do you think they’d mind if we look at the photos one more time?”

  “So long as you promise not to take anything else off the walls.” Lena threaded her fingers through Ethel’s and walked her grandmother back into the exhibit. They started at the beginning, at the photo of Miri and Sasha together in Russia.

  It had taken scientists and art historians a full year to authenticate Vanya’s work and the photographs, to declare him the true winner of the race to prove relativity. And once Vanya was crowned, the museum begged for the chance to showcase the discovery. They offered a handsome price for the painting that held Vanya’s work, and that helped Ethel to say yes. Once Ethel agreed, the curator worked magic. He dug up photos of Miri, Sasha, Yuri, Dima, Anya, and even Russell Clay, the American who had gone missing after the expedition for the 1914 eclipse. All of them were enlarged and framed, arranged in chronological order. The equations themselves were gilded behind bulletproof glass.

  “Gorgeous,” Ethel whispered as she stood, transfixed again by the photograph of the eclipse. The sun’s arms seemed to reach out around the moon. She could feel the gravity of the photograph. “It’s what I’ve always told you,” Ethel said to Lena. “Life and the universe are not written in stone. Gravity bends direction. Always keep your mind open.”

  “Open to what?” Lena asked.

  “Open to anything.”

  Acknowledgments

  The path to this book was a long one and I have many people to thank. Above all, I need to start with Adam, Ezra, Lily, Jonah—and Zishe. They inspire me every day with their unwavering belief that I can fix any problem and rewrite any scene. They are my first readers and my last. I can never thank them enough. Especially Adam for leading the charge.

  Thank you, thank you to my parents, Sol and Edna. And to my second parents, Nancy and Jerry. To my siblings, who know exactly when I need someone to remind me that everything is going to work out somehow: Aaron, Adam, Jen, Joshua, Joshua, Nicole, Sarah, and Stacey.

  I am grateful beyond measure to my mighty, mighty editor Millicent Bennett who has labored over every word with me and understood from the beginning that writing is love. And I can never thank the phenomenal Eve Attermann enough. She is my dream agent in every way, a woman who understands what I mean no matter how convoluted it may appear in a first draft or when I spill my guts on the phone. You two are a dream team. No writer could ever ask for more. Thank you.

  Marjorie Gellhorn Sa’adah was the first to ask: If you love writing so much, why are you wasting time on anything else? I couldn’t be more grateful for that, and for her teaching and mentorship. Thank you to Beverly Horowitz, who reminded me again and again to get inside a character’s head—and to just keep writing. To Karun Grossman and Judah Grossman, who taught me to write a better fight scene. To Linda Kleinbaum and Steve Anderson, who made sure I got to the point faster. To Sylvia Horowitz, who braved even the roughest early drafts. To Hilary Ryder, who offered crucial medical advice; any mistakes that remain are my own. To Matthew Henken, who helped me through those first one hundred pages—on my one hundredth pass. To Rebecca Makkai, who pointed out exactly what worked and what needed to go. To Erin Harris, who did the same—helping me slash pages. To Clio Seraphim for her brilliant eye and early cheers. To Joanna Josephson, Elizabeth Posner-Navisky, and Ernest Sachs, who read my earlier books t
hat weren’t up to snuff but still pushed me to keep writing. To Joni Cole and her Writer’s Center in White River Junction, who got me to start all over again. To Ryan Hickox, who helped me untangle Einstein and his field equations; all mistakes that remain are my own. And to Miriam Udel, whose expert knowledge helped me check several facts at the last hour. Again, all mistakes that remain are my own.

  The incredible Michelle Hoover and her Novel Incubator are the best thing that ever happened to my writing. An enormous thank you to Michelle and to my NI5 classmates: Louise Berliner, Helen Bronk, Denis Carey, Janet Rich Edwards, Robert Fernandes, Jen Johnson, Ayaz Mahmud, Andrea Meyer, and Tracey Palmer. And especially to those of you who kept reading—and keep reading. Thank you to all of Michelle’s alums, especially Susan Bernhard, Colwill Brown, Michele Ferrari, Kelly Ford, Louise Miller, Alison Murphy, Patricia Park, Julia Rold, Emily Ross, Elizabeth Shelburne, and Jennie Wood. All of you have gone above and beyond to help me at some point and I truly appreciate it. To Marc Foster for opening his family home for retreats and for talking engineering. And a huge thank you to Jenna Blum for introducing me to Grub Street in the first place.

  Eve Bridburg, thank you for building the amazing Grub Street with Christopher Castellani and so many others I can’t even name them all. To Chris in particular, your advice is always brilliant and appreciated more than you know. As I tell you all the time, you make my writing world a lot less lonely and you’ve inspired me to dive in headfirst. I can’t thank you enough for that. Thank you to Sonya Larson and Hanna Katz for the Muse. To the Grub staff, teachers, supporters, donors, and incredible fundraisers who made my scholarship possible: Thank you. You changed my life.

  A big, huge, giant thank-you to my exceptional team at Grand Central. Andy Dodds, your energy and enthusiasm are infectious and your talent is unmatched. I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done to launch this book into the world. Other incredible team members that I’d like to thank include Ben Sevier, Karen Kosztolnyik, Beth deGuzman, Brian McLendon, Alana Spendley, Meriam Metoui, Anjuli Johnson, Angelina Krahn (who can spot a homophone from a mile away), Karen Torres (whose love of the book pushed me to believe it was all going to come together), Chris Murphy, Alison Lazarus, Ali Cutrone, and the rest of the incomparable sales team at GCP.

  A huge thank-you to the WME team that always pulls me back together again. Haley Heidemann—you rock. Thank you to Matilda Forbes Watson and Alina Flint for careful reads and critiques early on. And thank you to the amazing duo on my international sales team, Svetlana Katz and Siobhan O’Neill.

  As for the text itself, thank you to Vladimir Nabokov and Robert Mann for their artful English translations of the Song of Igor’s Campaign. I used a sentence from each in the text. And thank you to George Bruce Halsted. I used his 1913 English translation of Poincaré’s 1898 publication “The Measure of Time” in the epigraph. Thank you to Eric Kimmel for his version of Gershon’s Monster, which reminded me of the tale I’d heard decades ago from Rabbi Cynthia Kravitz, who loved nothing more than sharing a good story. I may have acted like I wasn’t listening but I was hanging on your every word. “Levi’s Monster” in this book is based on the many versions of this old folktale.

  While writing a book is a solitary endeavor, publishing is not. Dozens and dozens of people are involved in the magic that pulls a manuscript together, and while I’m hoping I’ve thanked everyone, I need to apologize to anyone I might have missed. Truly, I could not have polished this book and sent it out into the world without the army of helpers at WME and Grand Central, and my family and friends cheering along the way. You all matter more than you could ever know. Thank you.

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  Reading Group Guide

  Discussion Questions

  In the novel’s opening scene, Ethel says to her granddaughter, Lena, “Life doesn’t travel in a straight line. Knowing the end doesn’t mean you can follow it back to the beginning.” Where did this bit of wisdom come from? What is she trying to teach Lena? And what does this particular lesson mean to you?

  A Bend in the Stars is organized by sections that are based around the Hebrew calendar. Why do you think the author made the choice to structure it this way? How does it change your experience of the story?

  Baba’s role as a successful and trusted matchmaker allows her an elevated position among the Jews of Kovno, yet it places her and her grandchildren in a liminal spot in Russian society, members neither of the working poor nor the more comfortable, respected higher classes. Is this “in-between” status good or bad, do you think, for the Abramovs? Can you think of examples of the ways in which they benefit or suffer from this unique spot in the social hierarchy? Are there any people or groups of people in our modern society who exist in this in-between space?

  When Yuri originally agrees to take Miri on as his student and train her to be the first female surgeon in Kovno, he warns her that her choosing this career path will require them both to make sacrifices. Did you have to make any sacrifices to follow your professional dreams? What about your personal dreams? Do you think Miri would have gone ahead and followed her ambition if she’d known where it would lead?

  At first glance, Dima and Vanya could not be more different: a gruff, violent, seaworn sailor looking only to save his hide and a timid, cerebral Jewish physicist with a head full of numbers and idealistic dreams. Yet, by the end of the book, they have both made immense sacrifices for the other. Do they have more in common than it originally appears? Why or why not?

  Many of the novel’s most pivotal scenes take place on trains. Why do you think Barenbaum made this choice? What importance do trains hold in the larger scheme of the book?

  After Miri saves Sasha from the river and their trust begins to grow, she finds herself with an unexpected problem: she is caught in a love triangle between two good but different men, both of whom are determined to love her the best way they know how. Do you think she makes the right choice in the end? Would you have chosen differently?

  On the day of the fateful eclipse, Vanya and his companions are starkly confronted by the dangerous superstitions that the villagers still hold about scientific events. Miri faces this in the medical community, too, when she tries to cure the tongue-tied baby who has been “cursed.” Can you think of any modern day equivalents to this fear and distrust?

  Baba encourages Miri to make her way in the world: “The word ‘Jew’ is not stamped on your forehead.” Does this idea of “passing,” of allowing your cultural, racial, or religious identity to be obscured, remind you of other similar situations either in the past, or even today? Is it ever defensible, or indefensible, to try to “pass” for something you’re not? Are there cases that can necessitate or excuse it?

  The historical crimes of the vicious Polyakov brothers haunt the novel, but Miri and Sasha don’t agree on whether they could happen again. With whom do you agree, and why?

  Why do you think the book is titled A Bend in the Stars? Is it purely about the eclipse, or does it hold other meanings for you?

  Are Vanya and Miri right to believe that ideas can change the world, or is Dima closer to the truth when he argues that greed and a lust for power are more powerful?

  Early in the novel, Ethel says, “History needs a narrator. Perhaps this museum chose the wrong one.” Do you agree? In your opinion, is there such a thing as a “right” or “wrong” narrator for history, and if so, how do you choose?

  Author Q&A

  Where did the idea for A Bend in the Stars come from?

  In 2014 I was reading Scientific American’s monthly installment of “50, 100 & 150 Years Ago” and learned that in 1914 an eclipse fell over Russia that could have proved Einstein’s theory of relativity but because of war and bad weather no scientists were able to mount an expedition and record the event. Even more, the brief noted it was a good thing because in
1914 Einstein’s equations were incorrect and a photograph of the eclipse taken then would have likely discredited him. Before I even put the magazine down I knew it was a book idea: What if someone did make it to the eclipse and did manage to take a photograph? Could he have taken Einstein’s place in history? I was already a bit obsessed with Russian history and knew it was one of the most fascinating and tumultuous times in the country’s history. And I knew that Einstein wasn’t working in a vacuum, that there were other scientists working to help him—and beat him. Could I bring that race to life?

  Why did you have such an interest in Russia?

  My father’s family came to the United States from Russia. When they arrived in Philadelphia they stopped speaking Russian and Yiddish and refused to speak anything but English. It never bothered me until I was around ten years old and my parents plastered our house with old family photographs, many of them from Russia. Who were those people carefully dressed in black, staring at the camera? Why did they look so scared? When I asked my grandparents and aunts and uncles, none of them wanted to talk about it beyond mentioning names and what they did in the United States. When I pushed for information about Russia, their answer was always the same: We left for a reason. Let’s not talk about it. And I hated that. Now that generation has passed away and I’m left knowing the end, but what I wanted more than anything was to follow it back to the beginning.

  What could have been so awful that they’d drop everything they had to come to a country they’d never seen, to learn a language they’d never heard, and to look for work where none of their qualifications would matter? That question has haunted me for a long time. And it’s one I ask often when I read about migrants today doing the same. Can you ever know if leaving is/was the right decision?

  Are you a physicist?