American Pastoral

A persistent theme in Roth’s work is the meaning of American identity, Jewish American identity in particular. Roth’s American Trilogy, consisting of American Pastoral (1997), I Married a Communist (1998), and The Human Stain (2000), explores this theme through the lives of Jewish men coming of age in three distinctly epochal moments in American history. The Swede, whose identity is informed by two wars—World War II, in which he serves as a drill sergeant, and the Vietnam War—struggles throughout the narrative to reconcile his Jewish heritage with what he perceives as a separate American identity. He is torn between his cultural roots and the need to assimilate, and in typical Swede fashion, he tries to placate everyone and have it both ways. He takes over the family business—a gesture that satisfies his father and fulfills his obligation to repay his forebears’ sacrifice—but he marries a Catholic and moves into the predominantly Anglo village of Old Rimrock, New Jersey. The Swede may understand, intellectually, that a Jewish American is no less American than anyone else, but his feelings of inferiority persist, especially in the presence of men like Bill Orcutt, who can trace his American lineage back centuries (rather than mere decades). The Swede’s life is governed by his need to be admired and become everyone else’s version of himself. He excels in sports, he enlists in the military, and he runs a successful business, all endeavors he sees as purely American, but despite these accomplishments, his brother, Jerry, argues that his need to fit in has led to a life defined by “compromise” and “complacency.”

Praised for his successful assimilation, the Swede finds little room in his life to acknowledge his Jewishness. He doesn’t go to Temple, Merry is baptized rather than having a bat mitzvah, and he generally eschews any practice that he fears will set him apart from his neighbors. Even when a fellow Jew, Bucky Robinson, invites him to join his Jewish community, the Swede demurs, claiming, “I didn’t come out here for that stuff” (286)—“out here” being a mostly non-Jewish enclave. Although his father identifies as an American while still holding fast to his Jewish roots, the Swede has a more difficult time negotiating that fraught territory. Lou is an unapologetic Jew, but he participates fully in American civic institutions—he votes that he is passionate about politics—whereas the Swede remains more neutral, afraid of stepping too far into either identity. In the character of the Swede, Roth depicts the challenges faced by those whom “traditional” Americans don’t always welcome. What the Swede doesn’t realize is that “American” is a fluid term, the definition of which is (or should be) far more flexible than he believes.

Like Willy Loman, the protagonist of Arthur Miller’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play Death of a Salesman (1949), the Swede spends his life in pursuit of the American Dream. Unlike Loman, however, the Swede largely achieves his dream. In fact, his entire life has been defined by success—success on the playing field, success in business, and success in marriage. By most measures, the Swede has it all, but when his life begins to crumble when his daughter becomes a fugitive, he is forced to acknowledge the cracks in the foundation. Throughout his life, the Swede believes in hard work and the rewards of leading a virtuous life; for a time, his hard work pays off. But change is the only constant in life, and the Swede’s good fortune is swept aside in a tsunami of tragic events. It’s as if he’s used up his quota of luck in life and the time has come to balance the scales, and the payback is harsh indeed. Merry, after killing four people, now seeks to punish herself with privation to the point of death; Dawn wants to build an entirely new life, one that doesn’t include any reference to Merry or their past and that may even include a new husband; and in the end, the Swede dies of cancer. In Roth’s world, the pastoral serenity of Old Rimrock is a minefield of bad choices and severe consequences. The dream, as it turns out, is a nightmare.

The Swede’s grandfather, like many first-generation immigrants, understands the American dream as a multi-generational pursuit. He labors in a low-wage, dangerous job to build the barest beginning of a successful life. By the time the Swede, a third-generation immigrant, reaches adulthood, the expectations are different. He must continue the traditions of his father and grandfather, build on their success, and assimilate more thoroughly into American culture. Born into the spoils of all that striving, Merry feels less need to prove that she belongs in America, but her stutter and her weight make her feel that she doesn’t belong in her seemingly perfect family. Freed from the need to strive for social standing, she can look critically at a meritocratic system that rewards the hard work of some people and not others. She arrives at a moment when much of the country is undergoing a similarly painful reassessment of its self-image. The civil rights movement forces many comfortable, complacent white Americans to confront the reality of racial injustice. If World War II (in which the Swede enlisted but did not see combat) cast the US as the savior of the world, the war in Vietnam shows the country as an imperialist aggressor. For Merry and many others of her generation, the war makes it appear that the whole edifice of the American dream rests on a foundation of violence.