Suzan-Lori Parks is known for writing plays about the inner lives of Black Americans. The Book of Grace is a companion to the Pulitzer Prize-winning Topdog/Underdog, where brothers Lincoln and Booth live out a twisted reality of the now mythical story of a savior president and his assassin. The Book of Grace features a character named Grace (Zainab Jah) who believes that she can bring about a reconciliation between her husband, Vet (Brian Marable), and his son Buddy (Namir Smallwood). They are sharply drawn characters in a story of a fractured reality based on the American dream of success and accomplishment.
Parks pulls back the flesh on a festering wound between a son with PTSD from military service, but also from being abandoned by his birth mother. Steve H. Broadnax III ably directs the Book of Grace but his direction suffers from uneven pacing. Grace breaks the fourth wall and announces each chapter or occurrence in the book bearing her name. She always carries a notepad and transcribes it into a red composition book that she hides under the floorboards. Those announcements are well-timed and lighten the mood. Grace is no shrinking violet. If anything, she allows her optimism to blind her to Vet's twisted psychology. Grace keeps her thoughts private in her notebook, but it is unclear how much Vet has her under his thumb.
Zainab Jah is fantastic as Grace. She is the story's conscience, who wants to see the good in everyone and tries to keep the peace. She portrays Grace as a spiritual person who writes her story almost as medicine to heal broken people, including herself. It's how she keeps her bright outlook despite being isolated in the house, other than to work at a diner. I find the role of Grace heartbreaking because of how hard she tries to make things right. It is a story typical of abused domestic partners. They try so hard to keep the peace and please everyone. There is no pleasing when everyone around her is damaged.
Buddy, her stepson, shows up with his footlocker and a massive chip on his shoulder about how his life has turned out. Namir Smallwood is riveting in the role of a man whose PTSD began in childhood but was weaponized by military service. There is a cry in his voice and unexpected outbursts of raw emotion triggered by Vet's cruelty. Buddy's sanity disintegrates in a frightening manner that is becoming more common in this instant communication and live streaming era. Three screens around the stage help explore Buddy's thoughts. The projection design by Rasean Davonté Johnson is done in grainy cinema verité style using black and white imagery.
Vet believes that he has his life figured out with Grace, and has a good middle-class existence in a town near the border between the United States and Mexico. Vet is a border patrol officer who embodies the bigotry and violence against Mexicans. He calls them rapists and drug dealers and lacks the empathy of being Black and in a similar position as far as the government and law enforcement are concerned. Vet is a sociopath who can only see how he can benefit in any situation. Grace is as disposable as the people crossing the border. Marable is chilling as Vet. There are no cracks in the veneer. He has to be first in everything and part with nothing.
Despite the outstanding performances and carefully constructed characters, Act I drags. Director Broadnax should change the beats and pacing of the staging. The first act is shorter, but the tension is at a low simmer, perhaps rather than risking too much reveal about the relationship between Vet and Buddy. More should have been made of the failed backyard party with everyone in matching tropical attire as they put on the front of being a happy family.
The action ramps up in Act II, but I feel the foreshadowing could have been more overt and better paced in Act I. The sense of danger and aggression should seep more vividly into the dialogue earlier. Marable is good at expressing his discomfort with his son dropping in unexpectedly. I think Vet's obsessive behavior could have used more looming and aggressive body language to show his need to destroy any situation that does not suit him.
Parks is a master of creating archetypes based on literature. In Fucking A, a character named Hester is an abortionist trying to make enough money to buy her son out of jail. The A is not for adultery but the more illegal sin of not reproducing in a dystopian society. There could be several Greek tragedies or bible stories to call upon in The Book of Grace. Fathers cursing their sons and casting them into the wilderness, or worse. Cronus and Zeus come to mind as examples of bad parenting. Vet could be Cronus devouring his children to prevent them from overthrowing him. In Vet's case, he batters Buddy and Grace psychologically, eating away at anything that may give them joy or relief.
I enjoyed The Book of Grace, mainly seeing how Parks uses the social ills of war and the bad treatment of veterans returning from service without resources. It also reflects on the housing practice of deliberately breaking up Black families by not allowing affordable housing if the father is in the home. It began a systematic pattern of fathers not being home to set a good example. The roots of lousy behavior segueing into atrocities can be found in every race and social station. The cast has great chemistry, and each plays their role with the necessary intensity, but it felt as if the first act did not escalate enough tension, making the second act feel contracted despite being longer.
It's a tricky balance to pull off, and Parks' writing is taut with the constant threat of catastrophe. I would rate this higher if the pacing matched the overarching theme of danger brewing in both acts. The cast is stellar, and I like watching them, but I would prefer the heightened undercurrent of danger that was present in Topdog/Underdog and Fucking A. I recommend seeing this play whether you have experienced Parks' work. The performances are worth it.
The Book of Grace continues at Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted St., through May 18. Running time is is 2 hours and 30 minutes with one intermission.
For more information on this and other productions, see theatreinchicago.com.
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