"Goodbye, Columbus" by Philip Roth

I didn't plan on reading "Goodbye, Columbus" this year.  This collection of short stories by the great Philip Roth wasn't even on my reading list, but finding a paperback copy in my local used bookstore for $1 changed all of that.

The title story is a touching narrative of a young man searching for meaning.  Neil Klugman's search for both identity and meaning seems a conventional one at the start.  He's a young man, and young men in 1950s America had visions driven by personal urges in a post-World War II America filled to the brim with the expectations of success.  He becomes involved with a young woman, Brenda, from a rich Jewish family.  Throughout the narrative, Neil navigates a confusing map of love, materialism, identity, race and gender roles.  This is what Roth does best by way of style.  He creates characters that walk a thin line between making the best of the lot given to them, their struggle to reject/change that lot, and ultimately the reemergence of an altogether new person.  Neil is the great observer of the Patimkin clan, Brenda's family.  In this process of observation, Neil's own struggle with identity and "Jewishness" is detailed with masterful strokes.  Neil recognizes these struggles, but remains objective, reserving judgment of himself while still giving others the benefit of confidence and intimacy.  There's a very touching scene with Ron Patimkin, Brenda's brother, in Ron's bedroom that reveals the source of the title in the story and is perhaps one of the most intimate and disarming scene written by Roth in his early career.  The story really shows a mature writer, a man with a great sense of style and the talent to bring it forth with a sense of realism and believability unmatched at the time.

The stories that follow the title-story are perhaps the source of Philip Roth's early notoriety.  In "The Conversion of the Jews," "Defender of the Faith," and particularly in "Eli, the Fanatic," Roth really straddled hot topics related to the Jewish faith and identity.  For this reason, Roth was labeled a "self-hating Jew," and call a number of other unflattering names.  I suspect that those judgments were made by people rushing to conclusions about the real meaning of the stories.  There's a level of artistry and literary sophistication in Roth's work that would elude the conventional reader.  I am not saying this to be a snob about literary matters, especially in defending one of my favorite writers.  Yet, I tried reading the stories from the point of view of a Jew, to see, if I could to the extent that I could, what the controversy and the hot-buttons were.  I failed not because I am not sensitive to the concerns of those who brought forth the charges of anti-Semitism against Roth, but I think there's a disconnect to the cultural and religious climate of 1959-1960, and with that disconnect (and in our post 9-11 world) it is impossible for us to see the reality of this fiction being NOT critical, but rather looking at these topics at a microscopic level.  "The Conversion of the Jews" in particular strikes me as just that, a satire of that very absurd understanding of what it means to follow religion and dogma.

Throughout the criticism and the "hard years," Philip Roth endured.  He announced his retirement from fiction writing not too long ago, and, while I knew I still had some of his books to read, I made a note of those I am still missing in order to keep them flowing at snail pace, to enjoy every drip of masterful writing and down-right genius.  Aside from his fiction, I read whatever he publishes by way of book reviews or social/political commentary.  I think Philip Roth is, like a handful of others I admire, a national treasure.  My next one is "American Pastoral" and I can't wait to delve into it with all I've got.

What Thomas Pynchon and Andrzej Szczypiorski Have in Common

First I should point out that Pynchon and Szczypiorski have nothing in common; at least in terms of work and genre. I simply ended the year with "The Crying of Lot 49," and began the new year with Andrzej Szczypiorsky. Why? I don't know. Andrzej Szczypiorski's novel, The Beautiful Mrs. Seidenman is a complex story in and of itself. I bought this book exactly 20 years ago (seems like yesterday). The book has traveled with me to every single one of my nooks, apartments, tents, efficiencies, and finally home I have held in the last 20 crazy years of my life. And here we are, 2010, and the perfect time to pick up this little volume and become engrossed in this Jewish tale of survival and death, identity and race, nationalism and despotism.

The novel is more than simply episodic in nature. The chapters work like interlocking parts that vary from characters and point of view, to temporal abstractions and changes. Mrs. Seidenman is trying to pass for a non-Jew in occupied Poland. She has the support of a few good friends, but an informant of sorts (collaborator) turns her in to the Gestapo. From there, the wheel are in motion to get Mrs. Seidenman out of prison before it is too late. There are some fine passages here, and I am quite impressed by the translation (I do not speak Polish, but some other reviews place Klara Glowczewoska as the Polish language translator par excellence). One of the passages that most impressed me (and reached me for obvious reasons) follows: "The world lied, and their duplicity and profusion, made one's head spin. The multitude of betrayals and humiliations. The diversity of the means, methods, and shapes of betrayal. I betrayed that Jewess, but she too betrayed me. Even Christ didn't forsee that. He was too artless for that. To Judas He said "friend!" To Peter He cried, "Begone, Satan!" Perhaps that was His sense of humor." Even without the emphasis or content of the plot, this passage recalls the story of common trickery and hypocrisy. Eventually, all is restored and temporal changes indicate as many changes within the characters. For example, we see Mrs. Seidenman in 1968 still struggling with her identity as a Jewess and her Polish nationality. Pawelek Krynski, the young man who is secretly in love with her (much younger than her) grows up and becomes a leader of the Solidarity movement in the 1980s. A scene between him and a long forgotten friend displays how the young man has become disenchanted with his involvement in the movement. At the end, we are no closer to understanding the agonies of the characters as they struggle with identity, national pride and religion. This is a four star novel, but be forewarned there are many jumps and intricate changes from chapter to chapter.