Sundress Reads: Review of The Whale Surfaces

Ruth Rotkowitz’s novel, The Whale Surfaces (Okapi Press, 2021), is an exploration of inherited trauma set against the backdrop of post-Holocaust America. The world of The Whale Surfaces envelops its characters in a shroud of past horrors, leaving them to navigate a present tainted by history.

The world and characters of The Whale Surfaces are infested by their pasts. The protagonist, Marcia Gold, grows up surrounded by stories of the pain and terrors her parents—Holocaust survivors—experienced in their youth; she is haunted by ghosts that are not her own. When Marcia complains about having to visit her grandparents one weekend, upset that her brother isn’t similarly bound by this familial duty, her father violently snaps, yelling, “What’s not fair? That you have grandparents who are alive when so many people have no grandparents! When so many grandparents were killed in Europe, like Mom’s parents… You don’t know how lucky you are!” (Rotkowitz 19). Unfortunately, while Marcia’s parents may intend for knowledge of this family history to instill more appreciation in Marcia for her daily life, it instead causes Marcia to feel undeserving and view herself as “a worthless parasite” (Rotkowitz 47).

Acutely aware of her parents’ past, Marcia’s life becomes one of constant hypervigilance and fear. Attuned to potential threats, Marcia becomes separated from her present reality. Since childhood, Marcia would have inescapable nightmares, causing her to toss and turn and scream in her sleep. Simple acts like her mother leaning into their apartment’s dumbwaiter to talk to her aunt upstairs would trigger Marcia’s panic over an imagined decapitation. Marcia is unreasonably enraged by her mother’s action, unable to understand why her mother couldn’t understand the contraption’s danger. 

Marcia’s unease extends to her time in the classroom, where she meticulously chooses her seat based on proximity to an exit in preparation for any catastrophic events. In one of her first college classes, Marcia immediately slides to a seat in the back row “so she could feel safe” (Rotkowtiz 36). From Marcia’s point of view, “Stormtroopers in big boots, Nazis with rifles, anyone at all could suddenly burst into the room and start killing…But she, in her chosen seat, would be able to make a quick getaway out that back door, if need be” (Rotkowitz 36). This constant alertness makes it difficult for her to relate to peers and friends, leading to intense feelings of isolation even during seemingly pleasant moments, like shopping with her girlfriends.

One of the novel’s most compelling elements is its depiction of how historical trauma is internalized and transmitted. Throughout The Whale Surfaces, Marcia has extended visions of a large whale—sometimes threatening to swallow her family, other times offering protection—which illustrate the conflicting relationship survivors and their descendants have with their traumatic past. In one particularly vivid childhood vision at the beach, Marcia sees a massive whale emerging from the sea onto the shore, its gaping mouth pouring out an endless stream of goose-stepping Gestapo soldiers. In Hebrew school, Marcia’s teacher recounts the biblical story of Jonah at dinner, and Marcia is initially terrified by the idea of being swallowed by a whale. However, at dinner, her mother offers an alternative perspective, saying, “Jonah is certain he will die when he gets thrown into the sea. But a whale saves him. He is safe and protected inside the whale. The ocean can’t harm him” (Rotkowitz 21). This duality illustrates how trauma can be both terrifying and a source of resilience, with the past offering both fear and, paradoxically, protection.

Marcia’s experience is further complicated by the gendered expectations placed upon her by her parents. While her older brother Eliot enjoys freedom—attending college away from home, dating openly, and living on his own—Marcia is constantly scrutinized and discouraged from pursuing her own desires. This disparity exacerbates her feelings of alienation and guilt, as she struggles to reconcile her family’s traditional values with her own yearning for independence.

Marcia comes of age during the 1960s, a period of intense social turmoil. She feels guilty about her relatively comfortable life and experiences intense empathy for victims of tragedies such as the Munich Massacre and the Kent State shootings. Rotkowitz skillfully portrays Marcia as a nuanced and complex character, whose empathy and moral compass—shaped by her family’s traumatic history—may not always align with readers’ expectations. Through Marcia’s struggles to process global events and personal relationships, including her friendship with the troubled Natalie, Rotkowitz invites readers to reflect on their own responses to tragedy and the complexities of human empathy. 

The Whale Surfaces isn’t all anxiety and fear. Rotkowitz’s characters strive for normalcy—they fall in love, they make difficult choices, they experience joy and embarrassment and empathy. Marcia uses her studies to ground herself. Her parents struggle to protect their children while grappling with their own past. Rotkowitz handles potent feelings such as guilt, fear, and loneliness with grace. 

Rotkowitz inspires readers towards openness and care, offering hope in The Whale Surfaces that our world may foster more compassion for the hidden burdens many carry. A call for understanding and empathy lurks beneath the novel’s exploration of Marcia’s struggles: while we cannot erase the past, we can strive to recognize its impact and support those still grappling with its legacy.

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Sophia Zhang is a Chinese-American writer from California. Her poetry and memoir—which centers around diaspora, joy, and womanhood—has been recognized by YoungArts, Columbia College Chicago, The Pulitzer Center, and others. In her spare time, she likes to browse thrift shops and binge movies. She is an incoming undergraduate student at Harvard University.