Fractured family: Steppenwolf’s ‘The Book of Grace’ an apt metaphor for a fractured nation

“The Book of Grace” — 3 stars

Merriam-Webster defines “grace” as “divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration or sanctification. Grace also signifies an act of kindness, courtesy or clemency; a temporary exemption or reprieve and the state of being considerate or thoughtful.”

The titular character in Steppenwolf Theatre’s magnificently acted, timely “The Book of Grace” — Suzan-Lori Parks’ newly revised 2010 kitchen-sink drama — personifies the word.

Exquisitely portrayed by Broadway veteran Zainab Jah, Grace is a determinedly optimistic waitress at a small-town diner who fills her titular book with cheery newspaper articles, drawings, made-up tales with happy endings and other good things that sustain her during bad times.

She’s married to Vet (Brian Marable), a controlling, overly enthusiastic Border Patrol agent set to receive an award for single-handedly apprehending “illegals” attempting to cross into the U.S. with a truckload of guns and drugs.

We first encounter Vet preparing his acceptance speech decrying “aliens,” who he says are “not like us. That’s why we’ve got to keep them out. And a Border alone won’t do it.”

“Sometimes the Alien is right in your own home,” he says prophetically. “Sometimes right in your own blood. And you’ve got to build a wall around it.”

Enter Buddy (Steppenwolf ensemble member Namir Smallwood), Vet’s estranged son from his first marriage whom he hasn’t seen in 15 years. Hoping to affect a reconciliation, Grace invites Buddy — an unemployed U.S. Army veteran and Bronze Star recipient — to the award ceremony.

In a video on Steppenwolf’s website, director Steve H. Broadnax III describes “The Book of Grace” as a father-son reunion story that also addresses immigration, separation and “the borders we put up to protect what is ours.”

To that end, this portrait of a fractured family serves as an apt metaphor for a fractured nation whose dysfunction — xenophobia, grievance, patriarchy, radicalism — is mirrored in the play by Parks, who won a Pulitzer Prize for her 2001 drama “Topdog/Underdog” (which Steppenwolf stages next year with Smallwood and co-artistic director Glenn Davis).

Buddy clearly suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder whose roots predate combat service. They extend to a childhood (which possibly included abuse) spent without the father who emotionally abandoned him to make a fresh start with his new wife. Resentful and wary, Buddy is unsettled on the way to unhinged, a rebel looking for a cause, all of which are traits Smallwood plays to perfection. Few actors play vulnerable, wounded, potentially dangerous characters as convincingly and with as much nuance as the always excellent Smallwood.

Marable is equally impressive as a seemingly amiable tough guy with a spiteful streak who equates fear with respect. Fearing losing standing among his colleagues, the morally compromised patriarch tolerates his colleagues’ transgressions while demanding from his wife total obedience (ensured by the so-called backyard storm cellar whose real purpose Grace fully comprehends).

The Holy Spirit in this family trinity is the endlessly compassionate Grace (played with quiet conviction by Jah) determined to mend what her husband and stepson have broken. As a browbeaten wife, Grace earns our sympathy. Her strength (manifested in the play’s final moments) and resilience (evidenced by her unshakable belief in goodness) earns our respect.

In his videotaped interview, Broadnax expressed his hope that “The Book of Grace” will “spread evidence of good and how grace can endure, inspire and save.” Jah’s Grace makes a convincing argument.

Parks’ play is overly long and I found its final moments unsatisfying and less than credible. She is, however, a skilled writer who provides her characters with meaty monologues, which Broadnax gives his actors ample space to deliver. Literally. His characters keep their distance, which is appropriate considering the walls they have built between them.

As for the wall separating Texas from its southern neighbor, which Vet diligently patrols, it’s reflected in Rasean Davonte Johnson’s images of weathered fences papered over with fading advertisements that are projected onto the giant screens suspended above set designer Arnel Sancianco’s modest, middle-class home where Grace and grace — which we often lack — resides.

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Location: Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted St., Chicago, (312) 335-1650, steppenwolf.org

Showtimes: 7:30 p.m. Tuesday through Friday; 3 and 7:30 p.m. Saturday; 3 p.m. Sunday through May 18. No 7:30 p.m. performances April 22 and 23 and May 7 and 10; no 3 p.m. performances May 10 or 11

Running time: About 2 hours, 30 minutes with two intermissions

Tickets: $20-$102

Rating: For adults, contains adult language, mature themes, violence