Books I Read Chanukah Edition
Last weekend I was having a conversation with a fellow homeless outreach worker who started volunteering post-Covid and whom I have only ever seen masked. A clever, forceful brunette, she nevertheless betrayed her goydom by suggesting that that, unveiled, I would struggle to determine her relation to the Second Temple—which is, of course, meshugenah. A yid is a yid is a yid.
Vos makht a yid? He gets by. Anyway, in honor of our least important holiday I decided to read exclusively fellow Hebrews this week, and if I have to wade through any more wry witticisms, maternal guilt and sexual neurosis I’m going to lose my shit. What follows are the books I've read this week along with how Jewy they are.
Fly Already by Etgar Keret – Even a not-my-favorite-Keret is a pleasant way to spend an afternoon. How Jewy is it? More Israeli than Jewy in the American sense. 5 out of 8 candles.
Pictures of Fidelman: An Exhbition by Bernard Malamud – A Bronx-born artist (Jewish, obviously) travels to Italy to pursue his craft, descends into penniless madness. A thoughtful commentary on the life of the Artist as depicted through Malamud's brand of dreamy absurdity, thoroughly enjoyable. How Jewy is it? Surprisingly not that Jewy, apart from a little bit of Freudian stuff. 3 out of 8 candles.
Shine On, Bright and Dangerous Object by Laurie Colwin – The early death of her WASP husband leaves our protagonist, a bright but underdeveloped Jewess, struggling to create a new identity amid the wreckage her life. A lot of thoughtful depictions of emotional states, but something about it left me kinda cold. How Jewy is it? Really not that Jewy, maybe 2 out of 8 candles.
The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon – In an alternative reality where the state of Israel died stillborn and a colony of refugee Jews built a shtetl city in Alaska, a brilliant but self-destructive noir archetype investigates the murder of Mashiach in a Jewish colony. I dig Chabon, especially his genre stuff, and this is an excellent, engaging work of neo-noir. How Jewy was it? It was pretty fucking Jewy, 7 out of 8 candles.
The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. by Adelle Waldman – An uncannily and discomfitingly accurate depiction of the romantic misadventures of a caddish if not entirely horrible Baltimore born Brooklyn based novelist. Ms. Waldman has an impressive degree of insight into the mindset of one of these sad breed, and this made for engaging if kind of cringy reading from my end. The versions of this story that I've read – all written by men – tend to be more cynical and crueler to their surrogates, as if to demonstrate the gap between the craven behavior of their protagonist and the author himself. Perhaps because she is free of this burden, Ms. Waldman manages an impressive sympathy for her characters, and genuine insight into the struggle of love in the modern day. How Jewy was it? However Jewy I am, that's how Jewy this book is—let's say 3 out of 8 candles.
The Escapement by Lavie Tidhar – Lavie is a friend, which means that I got to read an advance copy of his book. Normally this also means that I have to say nice things about it, or at least keep my mouth shut, but the thing about Lavie is that in addition to being my friend he is also that sort of Jew who is comfortable with a high degree of awkwardness (incidentally, this is one of the qualities which has made us such fine salesmen over the centuries, bargaining being (largely) a willingness to endure the discomfort involved in insisting on an unreasonable price). This makes him an occasionally irritating dinner companion, but it also means that you can walk up to him and say (as I have said) I think your last book wasn't nearly as good as the book before and he'll basically shrug it off because he, at bottom, just doesn't care that much about any opinion that isn't his. We have a lot in common.
Anyway none of this is relevant because I actually did quite like this book, which is going to come out at some point in the future by some or other publisher or something. The Man With No Name travels through an impossibly alien world peopled by brutalized clowns, superhuman bounty hunters, and titanic monsters indifferent to human suffering—although being a Lavie Tidhar book, there's a step beyond the main story that I'll avoid revealing. A blurb from me being at worst harmless, I will comment for the record that 'Tidhar's brand of surreal pulp continues to be one of the few truly distinctive voices in genre fiction.'
How Jewy is it? By Lavie's standards, really not that Jewy. There were, for instance, no Nazis, which must have been a real struggle for him to manage, good job on that. Actually, thinking on it this is far and away the least Jewy book that I read this week. I'm going to go with 1 of 8 candles
Herzog by Saul Bellow – In retrospect I do wonder what could possibly have led me, in high school and early college, to make a fairly comprehensive study of Saul Bellow, the most middle-aged writer who ever ran a hand through his thinning hair, took a look at his zaftig lover and had a thought about Nietzsche.. And the weird thing is like, I remember loving this book. I remember feeling like I really identified with Moses Herzog, despite having undergone literally none of the life experiences which consume him. Very odd.
Anyway my current incarnation found it to be a mixed bag Some of the internal soliloquy really sung, but basically all the characters that aren't Herzog are pretty crudely sketched. Not just the females either (though it is worth noting they span the gamut from 'Highly Sexed Current Lover' to 'Manically Sociopathic ex-lover') but the guys likewise—and not in a 'Herzog is self-obsessed' way either, more like a 'no one who ever lived talked like that' way. How Jewy is it? Enormously. Really very, very Jewy. Full marks, 8 out of 8.
Fleishman is in Trouble by Taffy Brodesser-Akner – A critique on the above Bellow, along with the 'Highly-Strung Self-Obsessive New York Jew Loses His Shit' genre more broadly. In theory I would be well-primed for this sort of meta-commentary but in practice I found this tedious enough not to want to say anything else about it—except that, for what it's worth, the entire Tinder subplot was off base entirely. It's also possible I just don't need to read any more books about wealthy New York intellectuals. How Jewy is it? Not that Jewy, maybe 3 of 8 candles.