Discovering Humanity Through a Child’s Eyes: A Review of Vera, or Faith by Gary Shteyngart
When I first cracked open Vera, or Faith, I couldn’t help but feel an immediate pull—Gary Shteyngart’s name atop the cover indicated that I was in for a journey rich with emotion, wit, and sharp social commentary. As someone who often finds solace and understanding in the pages of a book, I was intrigued to see how Shteyngart tackled familiar themes like identity and family through the perceptive eyes of a ten-year-old girl. What I discovered was an unexpected blend of hope and heartbreak that made me both laugh and cry, often at the same time.
At its core, Vera, or Faith is a poignant exploration of American life in a near-future world veiled in political uncertainty. Shteyngart’s young protagonist, Vera Bradford-Shmulkin, navigates this treacherous landscape with a voice that is both childlike and intellectually aware. As a half-Jewish, half-Korean child, Vera embodies the essence of America’s multicultural promise, but she also reveals its constraints. I found myself resonating deeply with her struggle for belonging—her “Things I Still Need to Know Diary” serves as a brilliant vessel for the confusion and complexity wrought by adult decisions, illustrating beautifully how children internalize what they see and hear.
The family dynamics in Shteyngart’s novel are beautifully rendered. Igor "Daddy" Shmulkin, an immigrant grappling with the pressures of financial and ethical instability, and Anne "Anne Mom" Bradford, the stern yet caring matriarch, crackle with tension that feels both relatable and specific. Their arguments, tinged with educated diction, reflect greater societal fractures, echoing a sense of inevitable decline in American democracy. Moments like when Anne calls Daddy "a monster, but not even a fascinating one," cut to the core of their relationship—and it hurt in the best way possible, spotlighting failure amidst a backdrop of unmet aspirations.
What stood out to me was how Shteyngart deftly wove political commentary with personal narratives. The creeping authoritarianism framed by the “Five-Three” voting amendment serves not just as a plot device but as a character in its own right, capturing the ways in which public unrest seeps into private lives. Vera’s insomnia grows heavier as she absorbs the fear from protests outside her window, and her empathy for others becomes a poignant counterbalance to the adult betrayals she uncovers. In fact, the moment when her AI chess companion Kaspie reveals her father’s treachery is both a miraculous blending of technology and raw human emotion, a moment that made my heart ache.
Shteyngart’s narrative style—a mix of humor, poignancy, and clever insight—paired with Vera’s voice, creates layers that are both accessible and meaningful. The chapter titles beginning with “She Had to” accentuate the pressure Vera experiences, mirroring both her internal struggles and the unfolding political chaos. However, I did find some pacing difficulties in the middle sections where Vera’s school experiences occasionally felt like they diverged from the main narrative thread.
Ultimately, Vera, or Faith is a novel that speaking to readers hungry for authenticity. If you enjoy intimate family sagas that dig deep into the intricacies of human relationships while grappling with larger social issues, then this book is for you. More than just a portrayal of family dysfunction, it invites reflection on identity, belonging, and the fragile nature of community.
Reading this book was more than just a passive experience; it was a reminder of the fragile beauty of human connection amidst chaos. I found it to resonate with me long after turning the last page, a gentle reminder that amid our differences, we share a collective yearning for understanding and empathy. In a time of division and uncertainty, Shteyngart offers us a glimmer of hope—a faith in each other, through the eyes of a child.