The Book of Tobit

What makes you cheer for a fictional character?

Ask any book lover, “Who is your favorite character?” and you’ll probably be met with a belabored sigh. There are just too many to choose from! Who should you go with? The underdog who rises above? The lovable oaf? The misunderstood villain? The relatable protagonist? 

Photo by Yuri Efremov on Unsplash

In my life as a book lover so far, I’ve found that many people default to a relatable protagonist when answering this question. I do it myself with a pretty basic reply: Hermione Granger, of course. Even though I don’t have magical powers, as I was growing up alongside the cast of Harry Potter, I could see myself in Hermione as she struggled with her frizzy hair, a know-it-all attitude, and a profound desire to fit in. 

Yet, there are other characters in books, movies, and TV shows who I’ve loved but don’t relate to. Charlie, President Bartlet’s Black, male assistant in The West Wing. Olaf, the gullible and extroverted snowman in Frozen. Tobit, a Jewish man from the 8th century BC and the title character in a tiny novella found in the Catholic Bible.

So what makes us love a character even if we can’t relate to him or her? I think it has to do with discovering how you define a good life and a good person.  

The first time I read the book of Tobit, I was pursuing a graduate degree in theology. The book doesn’t appear in the Sunday lectionary, the three-year schedule of readings that Catholics follow for Sunday masses, so even as an every-Sunday kind of Catholic, I had never encountered the story before. It was so refreshing to read something in the Bible that had the potential to surprise me. 

And surprise me it did! Tobit is a good man, generously taking care of his neighbors at great personal risk, and yet a drop of bird poop in his eye during an afternoon nap (yes, seriously!) leaves him sick and blind. Meanwhile, in another town, a parallel curse unfolds: a good, young woman named Sarah has been married seven times, only for each of these husbands to die on their wedding night. 

Bad things happen to good people in this story, and as I read it for the first time, my sense of justice was enraged. My desire to see this world set to rights drove me to read the entire story in one night. 

Of course, God brings about justice for the righteous. And as usual with God, it happens in unexpected and roundabout ways. Without spoiling it, I can say that the happy ending for all involved satisfied my desire for truth and order and taught me something about myself along the way. 

Tobit is clearly a model citizen, so his qualities tell us what ancient Jewish people valued and thought made a good person. I realized that his desire to help others is something I value, too, even if I don’t – or can’t – practice charity in the exact same way. Tobit’s radical and tenacious faith in God despite his affliction is also something I admire and aspire to. Although our life circumstances are much different from each other, perhaps Tobit and I have more in common than I initially thought.  

Finding these touchpoints with characters who seem “unrelatable” at first is a good way to practice giving others, as St. Ignatius would say, “a generous read.” If a fictional character haunts you long after you have finished their story, it might be worthwhile to examine why. Did they embody a virtue you’d like to see in yourself? Did they make choices that you agree with? Did they treat others in a way that you think is right? If we can spend time trying to understand fictional characters in this way, what more could this practice do for the real relationships we have with people we find unrelatable or different in our lives? 

And what about characters who are almost universally beloved? Surely not everyone can relate to Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant outdoorsman on staff at Hogwarts. (I know I can’t!) And yet, there is something about him that so many people find endearing and compelling and worthy. Perhaps it is that he embodies something that many – if not all – people value and see as good: a pure and deep fatherly care and concern for Harry and his friends, and a willingness to both protect and empower them as they grow into adults. 

Just like a character might haunt an individual reader, when a character stays in our cultural imagination as universally beloved, perhaps it’s because that character has something to teach us about what makes a good person and a good life. And maybe, just maybe, that lesson is coming from the One who is Goodness itself. 

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What I’ve been reading and writing lately:

I finally had the chance to read two books recommended by my dear friend The Librarian and I loved them both:

• The Banned Bookshop of Maggie Banks by Shauna Robinson - a cute contemporary adult romance (not too adult!) about a reluctant reader who takes over a bookstore that can only sell classics. A quick and fun read that gently addresses the tension I often feel between what I think I *should* be reading and what I’m *actually* reading.

• These Precious Days by Ann Patchett - a collection of heartfelt and thoughtful essays by an award-winning author. I cannot believe I haven’t read Ann Patchett before, and I am hooked! If you are a fan, which of her novels should I read next?

Coming up…

Next time, I’ll be reflecting on something written by one of my favorite saints that I’ve never actually read before. (Hint: His feast day is in October!) Be sure to subscribe so you don’t miss it.