In the course of the book we are introduced to two generations of
Ingmars, and their love stories are quite as compelling as the
religious motives of the book. Forever unforgettable is the scene
of the auction where Ingmar's son renounces his beloved Gertrude
and betroths himself to another in order to keep the old estate
from passing out of the hands of the Ingmars. Thus both of these
heroes in our eyes "play yellow." On the other hand they have our
sympathy, and the reader is tossed about by the alternate undertow
of the strong currents which control the conduct of this farming
folk. Sometimes they obey only their own unerring instincts, as in
that vivid situation of the shy, departing suitor when Karin
Ingmarsson suddenly breaks through convention and publicly over the
coffee cups declares herself betrothed. The book is a succession of
these brilliantly portrayed situations that clutch at the
heartstrings--the meetings in the mission house, the reconciliation
scene when Ingmar's battered watch is handed to the man he felt on
his deathbed he had wronged, the dance on the night of the "wild
hunt," the shipwreck, Gertrude's renunciation of her lover for her
religion, the brother who buys the old farmstead so that his
brother's wife may have a home if she should ever return from the
Holy Land. As for the closing pages that describe the departure of
the Jerusalem-farers, they are difficult to read aloud without a
sob and a lump in the throat.

The underlying spiritual action of "Jerusalem" is the conflict of
idealism with that impulse which is deep rooted in the rural
communities of the old world, the love of home and the home soil.
It is a virtue unfortunately too dimly appreciated in restless
America, though felt in some measure in the old communities of
Massachusetts and Virginia, and Quaker homesteads near Philadelphia.