In JUMBO, Geoffrey London has crafted an introspective yet highly engaging meditation on the delicate choreography between identity and faith, set against the sun-bleached backdrop of post-war Perth. Through the lens of young Ray’s journey from the sheltered enclave of his Jewish community into the wider secular world, London weaves a tapestry of memory that speaks to the universal experience of spiritual and personal metamorphosis.
The narrative unfolds through a series of linked vignettes – cubs, a bar mitzvah, playing cricket and bridge, surfing, the movies, listening to records, observing architecture and more – each one a carefully preserved artifact of memory, illuminating the subtle ways in which identity takes shape in the spaces between tradition and transformation. Ray emerges as a fascinating study in contrasts: a self-imposed outsider whose keen observational skills serve as both shield and lens, a shrewd minimalist whose shortcuts through life paradoxically lead to expansive personal growth – both metaphorical and literal, as suggested by his eventual moniker, Jumbo:
‘All this excessive and unhealthy eating contributed to the making of Jumbo, the nickname Ray was given by his svelte classmates at school, exacerbating his sense of being an outsider.’
London’s architectural background manifests in the structural precision of his prose, while his drawing skills infuse the work with a visual richness that persists even as the book evolved from its planned graphic novel origins. The author’s decision to let the text take precedence over illustrations mirrors Ray’s own journey from the visible markers of religious identity to the more nuanced internal landscape of secular selfhood.
Particularly poignant is London’s exploration of how seemingly minor moments crystallise into profound turning points—what he calls ‘direction-changers or value-setters.’ This attention to life’s subtle inflection points reveals a deep understanding of how identity can often form not through dramatic upheavals, but through the accumulation of small choices, chance encounters, and quiet rebellions.
As both memoir ‘based on an actual life but with some liberties taken in the telling’ and meditation on the nature of memory itself, JUMBO stands as a testament to the complex interplay between personal history and collective memory, offering a novel contribution to the literature of secular Jewish identity in post-war Australia. Through Ray’s story, London illuminates the universal struggle to find one’s place in the world while navigating the delicate balance between heritage and personal truth.