‘Zookeeper’ a Mixed Bag

It is difficult not to speculate about a book when its title is “The Zookeeper’s Wife.” Such a stamp holds out a million possibilities: a zesty and comical “Life of Pi”-type novel, a steamy romance, or, taking into account its setting in Nazi-occupied Poland, a war story as heart-wrenchingly quirky as Roberto Benigni’s film “Life is Beautiful.”

Yet Diane Ackerman’s new book doesn’t fit into any single genre. Rather, Ackerman—poet, author of various nonfiction books on nature, and an essayist whose work has appeared in National Geographic—has combined all her talents to create a chaotic cornucopia of primary documents, creative narration, lyrical prose, and journalism.

The book is told chiefly from the perspective of Antonina Zabinski, who, with her husband Jan, served as the keeper of the Warsaw Zoo under the Nazi regime. The two Polish Christians turned their war-ravaged zoo into a center of resistance against the Nazis and a safe haven for Jewish escapees.

The Zabinskis managed to keep their zoo under the guise of running a pig and fur farm to supply German troops, but scores of fugitives from the Warsaw ghetto and other Nazi victims were hidden in the villa, the empty cages, and among the animals. As the Germans took over the grounds for recreation and artillery storage, the zoo’s increasing exposure both endangered and camouflaged its secret occupants.

It is a beautiful and intriguing story, and were it structured differently, there is no doubt that Ackerman’s narrative would have been as emotionally gripping as Benigni’s. But plot is clearly not the driving force of the book. Instead, Ackerman focuses on stylistic experimentation as well as naturalist observation.

The latter is enthralling in its meticulousness, but it distracts and disengages the reader from Antonina. Ackerman the writer clearly has difficulty separating herself from Ackerman the naturalist. Antonina frequently disappears from the page to make room for long and enthusiastic descriptions of the zoo’s animal and plant life.

These passages are gorgeously written and reveal extensive knowledge, and Antonina’s status as a zookeeper’s wife renders them less irrelevant than they would otherwise be. Still, the overall effect is to make parts of the book read less like an historical narrative and more like a farmer’s almanac; it reads as though Ackerman ripped entries out of her personal field journal and pasted them into the book alongside Antonina’s diary.

The book’s style is not revolutionary: well-known writers as far back as Twain incorporated mixed media into their novels. More recently, W.G. Sebald sprinkled his prose with photographs in “The Emigrants.” And Ackerman’s speculations on Antonina’s diary entries are reminiscent of Laurel Thatcher Ulrich’s “A Midwife’s Tale.” But what is striking about this book is that the patchwork is not nearly as seamless as that of its predecessors.

The constant—and abrupt—changes between narrative voices make the book an occasionally disconcerting read. Still, it is an apt representation of Antonina’s life—perpetually subject to explosive changes—and knowledge of her world, which consisted of information gleaned from personal observation, stories heard from friends, and impressions from the media.

“The Zookeeper’s Wife” is a sweet and lovely book with both a fascinating story and a fascinating protagonist—when Ackerman actually chooses to write about them. It’s nice that Ackerman is able to evoke such sympathy for the victimized animals that populate her story, but it would have been even nicer if she had given a bit more consideration to the human refugees who shared their zoo.

—Staff writer April B. Wang can be reached at abwang@fas.harvard.edu.