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3.22 AVERAGE
3.22 AVERAGE
A bit hard to follow, required more historical knowledge than I have, and I never really grew to like the characters.
I appreciate it for portraying the difficulties of asylum and immigration, though.
I appreciate it for portraying the difficulties of asylum and immigration, though.
3.5 stars, actually. Good read...but not much substance or plot to it.
Couldn't really get into it - I had to force myself to finish it.
This extended-family story of Russian Jewish emigres in Italy during the late 1970s/early 1980s covers an interesting historical period. I was a little lost in the beginning because there were so many characters in the family and outside the family. When I finally figured out who everyone was, I found I didn't care all that much what happened to them.
There are some really great moments in this book, some of them laugh out loud funny or incredibly quirky, and I really like that it doesn't simply anything, but it just didn't hold together as a cohesive text for me. Part of my lack of enthusiasm for it might have been due to the fact that I had just read arguably Dickens' and Hemingway's best books. Having said that, I would read his next book to see where he goes from here as an artist.
Samuel's story was very engaging and the fact that he adhered to communism as a philosophy and was critical of Israel's policies is both realistic and not what one expects from a story about Latvian Jewish emigres based on the dominant discourse of the cold war. If the story had just been told through his eyes, it would have not been what the author intended, but would have held together. The incidental and undeveloped characters are much more colorful and likable than the couple that he has tell the rest of the story. Alec is completely banal and Polina could be interesting, but I just don't see that her actions are consistent with how her personality is portrayed. It seems like she is being described as Alec understands her and he isn't really capable of understanding her.
When authors try to represent the inner thinking of their characters, I usually favor 1st person narratives, and the reason is well demonstrated in this book. Though each character that tells his or her story is meant to be original, they didn't really have distinctive voices, which ironically causes the transitions between sections to be more jarring. What I mean is that if we enter into the voice of Samuel. for example, and then go to Alec with his own voice, I can accept this shift. On the other hand, if it is all the same voice and such a big switch is made between stories, I find it really jarring. Underlying this is the fact that he really was telling at least 3 different stories in one novel that didn't really adhere.
One thing he did get right is the lack of a sense of place and time for these people in limbo. Interestingly, this is sometimes how I feel moving from country to country every few years. It isn't all bad -there is a certain amount of freedom and excitement in this situation, especially if you have chosen it. This is a definite subtext of this work, which is praiseworthy.
Samuel's story was very engaging and the fact that he adhered to communism as a philosophy and was critical of Israel's policies is both realistic and not what one expects from a story about Latvian Jewish emigres based on the dominant discourse of the cold war. If the story had just been told through his eyes, it would have not been what the author intended, but would have held together. The incidental and undeveloped characters are much more colorful and likable than the couple that he has tell the rest of the story. Alec is completely banal and Polina could be interesting, but I just don't see that her actions are consistent with how her personality is portrayed. It seems like she is being described as Alec understands her and he isn't really capable of understanding her.
When authors try to represent the inner thinking of their characters, I usually favor 1st person narratives, and the reason is well demonstrated in this book. Though each character that tells his or her story is meant to be original, they didn't really have distinctive voices, which ironically causes the transitions between sections to be more jarring. What I mean is that if we enter into the voice of Samuel. for example, and then go to Alec with his own voice, I can accept this shift. On the other hand, if it is all the same voice and such a big switch is made between stories, I find it really jarring. Underlying this is the fact that he really was telling at least 3 different stories in one novel that didn't really adhere.
One thing he did get right is the lack of a sense of place and time for these people in limbo. Interestingly, this is sometimes how I feel moving from country to country every few years. It isn't all bad -there is a certain amount of freedom and excitement in this situation, especially if you have chosen it. This is a definite subtext of this work, which is praiseworthy.
I needed some context to really understand and Bezmozgis doesn't really provide that much. Also nothing really happens to the characters - I guess the plot is more character driven in that case. The prose was nice.
1.5/5
At some point in the last year or so, I started integrating my classically trained English major sense with my atypically raised queer/insane/systematically disenfranchised sense in a much more balanced fashion, meaning that my observations of what is good writing and what is just riding on the coattails of status quo more fully takes into account 'character development' and 'plot closure' and all that jazz. It's helped me both enjoy more works and hone my critical appreciations more thoroughly, to the point that, when I say that a story isn't working, I can point exactly to when the author outpaced their skills or forgot their audience is human or did any number of things that broke the rules without building them up in the first place. My issue with this book centers around exactly that, for while the author certainly did his research and the venue is rather unique and the tone doesn't (overly) rely on the sensational or the plot on the lazy, one has to ask oneself, what, exactly, is the point? It would have been different had the writing style not been so strictly straight-laced (think Lahiri at her most list-makingly ponderous) or had otherwise developed a far strong strain of flights of fancy in its focus, but as it stands, it really does feel like following a couple of losers around and watching them fuck up their lives in some of the most boringly soap opera ways imaginable across several countries and economic systems. By the end of it, I had certainly learned some interesting factoids regarding Soviet Jews migrating into southern Europe and from there across various seas to their final site of immigration. The problem was, there was no real reason for me to care.
For whatever reason, I went into this with thoughts of Seghers' [b:Transit|1793889|Transit|Anna Seghers|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1188429527l/1793889._SY75_.jpg|2283306] in my head: 1937 rather than 1978, Nazi Germany rather than Soviet Russia, Rome rather than Marseille, but with similar questions of immigration papers, national cataclysms, and diasporic survival hanging over every character's head. I have a feeling I'll have to reread that first one, as I have my doubts that my self of 2013 did that work sufficient justice, but this particular, more recently read piece is definitely not my jive. It's the sort of writing that certainly did its research with regards to the historical contexts and cultural references of its particular venue, but then decided to hitch the narrative to the kind of people that only exist in disgruntedly male gaze fashion, where the men always cheat and the women always tell themselves that, deep down, they asked for it. It makes for some truly pathetic plot climaxes and nonexistent character development, and while I can't disagree with the reviews that don't criticize the writing, in my mind, the adjective 'pedestrian' applies a great deal more than 'well written'. True, I'm not the most emotive of readers, but if one character dies and the other gets the living shit beaten out of them and all I can do is criticize the timing and the lack of adequate character development, whatever writing that's going into the piece certainly isn't much concerned with engaging the reader, and if something's not in the least bit experimental or is otherwise engaged in stretching the status quo, there's a problem. I'm very glad to finally get this off my shelves, seeing as how it's been hanging around since 2011, but in this particular case, the average rating doesn't surprise me.
I tend to have a hankering for historical fiction, alongside well researched settings, plots that are more intent on the Middlemarch esque momentums than grand pulp fiction escapades, and more complicated portrayals of life under communism. This piece technically had all of that, but it dropped the ball too many times, if most of them admittedly in a mild manner, to pull itself together by the end. Considering the times we continue to live in, I may also just not be in the mood for anything that portrays the past in a uniquely complicated manner but still can't quite bring itself to slip in even one (1) queer character. In any case, the read is done, the book is off my shelves, and I can stop getting distracted every time the title (and likely the author as well) comes across my path. Not the worst thing to have happen during the last month of the year, but I gotta say, would it kill cishet white male authors to let themselves feel for two seconds and write something that didn't sacrifice credibility for authorial safety? So the women just throw themselves at this main character male who cannot for the life of him view them as anything other than successive chew toys. So what?
At some point in the last year or so, I started integrating my classically trained English major sense with my atypically raised queer/insane/systematically disenfranchised sense in a much more balanced fashion, meaning that my observations of what is good writing and what is just riding on the coattails of status quo more fully takes into account 'character development' and 'plot closure' and all that jazz. It's helped me both enjoy more works and hone my critical appreciations more thoroughly, to the point that, when I say that a story isn't working, I can point exactly to when the author outpaced their skills or forgot their audience is human or did any number of things that broke the rules without building them up in the first place. My issue with this book centers around exactly that, for while the author certainly did his research and the venue is rather unique and the tone doesn't (overly) rely on the sensational or the plot on the lazy, one has to ask oneself, what, exactly, is the point? It would have been different had the writing style not been so strictly straight-laced (think Lahiri at her most list-makingly ponderous) or had otherwise developed a far strong strain of flights of fancy in its focus, but as it stands, it really does feel like following a couple of losers around and watching them fuck up their lives in some of the most boringly soap opera ways imaginable across several countries and economic systems. By the end of it, I had certainly learned some interesting factoids regarding Soviet Jews migrating into southern Europe and from there across various seas to their final site of immigration. The problem was, there was no real reason for me to care.
For whatever reason, I went into this with thoughts of Seghers' [b:Transit|1793889|Transit|Anna Seghers|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1188429527l/1793889._SY75_.jpg|2283306] in my head: 1937 rather than 1978, Nazi Germany rather than Soviet Russia, Rome rather than Marseille, but with similar questions of immigration papers, national cataclysms, and diasporic survival hanging over every character's head. I have a feeling I'll have to reread that first one, as I have my doubts that my self of 2013 did that work sufficient justice, but this particular, more recently read piece is definitely not my jive. It's the sort of writing that certainly did its research with regards to the historical contexts and cultural references of its particular venue, but then decided to hitch the narrative to the kind of people that only exist in disgruntedly male gaze fashion, where the men always cheat and the women always tell themselves that, deep down, they asked for it. It makes for some truly pathetic plot climaxes and nonexistent character development, and while I can't disagree with the reviews that don't criticize the writing, in my mind, the adjective 'pedestrian' applies a great deal more than 'well written'. True, I'm not the most emotive of readers, but if one character dies and the other gets the living shit beaten out of them and all I can do is criticize the timing and the lack of adequate character development, whatever writing that's going into the piece certainly isn't much concerned with engaging the reader, and if something's not in the least bit experimental or is otherwise engaged in stretching the status quo, there's a problem. I'm very glad to finally get this off my shelves, seeing as how it's been hanging around since 2011, but in this particular case, the average rating doesn't surprise me.
I tend to have a hankering for historical fiction, alongside well researched settings, plots that are more intent on the Middlemarch esque momentums than grand pulp fiction escapades, and more complicated portrayals of life under communism. This piece technically had all of that, but it dropped the ball too many times, if most of them admittedly in a mild manner, to pull itself together by the end. Considering the times we continue to live in, I may also just not be in the mood for anything that portrays the past in a uniquely complicated manner but still can't quite bring itself to slip in even one (1) queer character. In any case, the read is done, the book is off my shelves, and I can stop getting distracted every time the title (and likely the author as well) comes across my path. Not the worst thing to have happen during the last month of the year, but I gotta say, would it kill cishet white male authors to let themselves feel for two seconds and write something that didn't sacrifice credibility for authorial safety? So the women just throw themselves at this main character male who cannot for the life of him view them as anything other than successive chew toys. So what?
This book gave a depiction of Jewish-Russian life in the limbo that was Italy for Soviet Jews. This setting was a new subject for me and I was interested to read about it, but none of the characters in the book grabbed me, and none of them redeemed themselves. The book left me with a sense of disappointment in humankind, but I guess that means it was very true to life.
The book tells the story of the Krasnansky family, Latvian Jews moored for five months in Rome in 1978 as they await visas to migrate to North America. The main characters are Samuil, the family patriarch and autocratic doctrinaire Communist; Karl, the eldest son and pragmatic capitalist-in-the-making; Alec, the second son and apolitical, carefree playboy; and Polina, Alec's long-suffering Gentile wife. Differences in political and religious ideologies inevitably result in domestic tensions.
The various family members must deal with dislocation and nostalgia, and the promises and perils of life in the free world. While facing uncertainty about their future, they must eke out a subsistence with their own activities, both honest and dishonest, and the help of refugee organizations. Through flashbacks, the reader learns each person's individual history and motivations for deciding to abandon life in the Soviet Union. None are idealistic or very admirable emigrants; most are self-interested or confused; they find themselves caught up in the absurdist underworld of emigration where they are encouraged to fabricate or embellish tales of persecution in order to get permanent asylum in the free world.
As I read, I found myself disagreeing strongly with the many glowing reviews the book has received. The characters left me cold; they seem to be representatives of specific ideologies rather than human beings. Their lifelessness may be appropriate to their living in a bureaucratic limbo, but it precludes the reader from having any emotional connection with them.
In terms of plot, the book drones on and on, and I kept plowing through hoping something would happen. Perhaps the author was trying to convey the pointlessness of the lives of the emigrants-to-be, but the lack of momentum makes reading a chore. Only in the last quarter of the novel does anything of consequence transpire. Structurally, the book is not a cohesive whole; rather, it is a series of vignettes loosely stitched together.
Another caveat: there is little background explanation so the reader is expected to know a great deal about both Jewish and Soviet history. A knowledge of Czarism, Bolshevism, Zionism, and Fascism is needed, especially since the name-dropping in the book is not restricted to just the most well-known leaders of the various political movements. At times I was left wondering whether the author had a specific intended audience of which I was not a member. Complete dialogues in Italian - untranslated - may have been intended to convey to the reader the language difficulties of the emigres, but they also needlessly frustrate the reader who may infer an attitude of superiority on the part of the author.
Readers interested in the theme of exile and aspirations or in the Jewish immigrant story should look elsewhere. It is a story worthy of telling, but Bezmozgis' attempt to tell it has not proved worthy.
Please check out my blog (http://schatjesshelves.blogspot.ca/) and follow me on Twitter (@DCYakabuski).
The various family members must deal with dislocation and nostalgia, and the promises and perils of life in the free world. While facing uncertainty about their future, they must eke out a subsistence with their own activities, both honest and dishonest, and the help of refugee organizations. Through flashbacks, the reader learns each person's individual history and motivations for deciding to abandon life in the Soviet Union. None are idealistic or very admirable emigrants; most are self-interested or confused; they find themselves caught up in the absurdist underworld of emigration where they are encouraged to fabricate or embellish tales of persecution in order to get permanent asylum in the free world.
As I read, I found myself disagreeing strongly with the many glowing reviews the book has received. The characters left me cold; they seem to be representatives of specific ideologies rather than human beings. Their lifelessness may be appropriate to their living in a bureaucratic limbo, but it precludes the reader from having any emotional connection with them.
In terms of plot, the book drones on and on, and I kept plowing through hoping something would happen. Perhaps the author was trying to convey the pointlessness of the lives of the emigrants-to-be, but the lack of momentum makes reading a chore. Only in the last quarter of the novel does anything of consequence transpire. Structurally, the book is not a cohesive whole; rather, it is a series of vignettes loosely stitched together.
Another caveat: there is little background explanation so the reader is expected to know a great deal about both Jewish and Soviet history. A knowledge of Czarism, Bolshevism, Zionism, and Fascism is needed, especially since the name-dropping in the book is not restricted to just the most well-known leaders of the various political movements. At times I was left wondering whether the author had a specific intended audience of which I was not a member. Complete dialogues in Italian - untranslated - may have been intended to convey to the reader the language difficulties of the emigres, but they also needlessly frustrate the reader who may infer an attitude of superiority on the part of the author.
Readers interested in the theme of exile and aspirations or in the Jewish immigrant story should look elsewhere. It is a story worthy of telling, but Bezmozgis' attempt to tell it has not proved worthy.
Please check out my blog (http://schatjesshelves.blogspot.ca/) and follow me on Twitter (@DCYakabuski).