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burstona's review against another edition
dark
emotional
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
A brutal, devastating, and psychologically brilliant portrayal of Jewish life, romance, and psychological anguish following the Holocaust.
zyzah's review against another edition
5.0
I really enjoyed this book, it read like some sort of psychoanalysis of the characters? It’s the story of some Jews who survived the Holocaust.
There’s a lot of philosophy and psychology stuff written in a way that interests you. All the characters seemed broken, some suffered Survivor’s guilt, some were stuck in existential crisis, finding answers about God, their purpose, the world, and then you start to wonder if you know the answers too.
So many bookmarked paragraphs in this book. The tone is nostalgic, the writing is beautiful, the dialogues/monologues are interesting and my favorites has to be the metaphors!
There’s a lot of philosophy and psychology stuff written in a way that interests you. All the characters seemed broken, some suffered Survivor’s guilt, some were stuck in existential crisis, finding answers about God, their purpose, the world, and then you start to wonder if you know the answers too.
So many bookmarked paragraphs in this book. The tone is nostalgic, the writing is beautiful, the dialogues/monologues are interesting and my favorites has to be the metaphors!
ferliegram's review against another edition
5.0
Dopo essere stato in cima alla mia wish per quasi un anno, la settimana scorsa spinto da un avvilente blocco del lettore che si protaeva da troppo, ho deciso di acquistarlo e l’ho letteralmente divorato!
Fine anni ‘40, una New York piovosa di fine marzo (molto in linea con il clima di questi giorni), un gruppo di ebrei emigrati forzatamente dall’Europa in seguito agli eventi bellici si incontrano nell’Upper West Side a pochi isolati dalle brezze gelide dell’Hudson e dal coas di cui è impregnato Central Park
Uno dei rari esempi nella mia (limitatissima) esperienza da lettore di personaggi molto ben caratterizzati e pertanto indimenticabili. Nonostante la loro “numerosità”, Singer è abilissimo nel tratteggiare le loro personalità a 360 gradi (debolezze, vizi ricorrenti, drammi del passato che si ripresentano di tanto in tanto), così come fa con i luoghi dove si svolgono gli eventi: dopo un centinaio di pagine conosciamo a menadito l’appartamento di Grein sulla Quinta Avenue e la relativa vicinanza con quello di Anna sulla Lexington, o ancora la villa di Esther a Hicks Street svoltando a destra dopo il ponte di Brooklyn.
Un testo molto scorrevole nonostante le numerose dissertazioni filosofiche che potrebbero appesantire la narrazione e rendere più tortuosa l’esperienza di lettura ma che ho trovato molto illuminanti.
“In realtà ogni filosofo aveva concepito il suo sistema di pensiero soltanto per se stesso. Il principio di individualità era così forte che pensieri adeguati per una persona non lo erano per un’altra. La filosofia di Nietzsche era stata creata solo per Nietzsche, quella di Schopenauer solo per Schopenauer e quella di Spinoza solo per Spinoza. Se lo stesso pensiero veniva a due persone, diventavano due pensieri diversi. Come aveva detto Leibniz? Le monadi non hanno finestre. Come può un essere umano vedere all’interno di un altro? La vera conoscenza accessibile soltanto a Dio, che Leibniz definiva la monade di tutte le monadi”
E a proposito di esperienza di lettura, tirata d’orecchi ad Adelphi per la totale mancanza di un apparato note che mi ha costretto a dover interrompere la lettura di tanto in tanto per documentarmi circa il significato dei termini correlati all’ebraismo presenti in gran quantità nel testo: nomi di festività (Rosha Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Shabbat), nomi di testi sacri (Qohelet, Shulchan Arukh, Gemarah), oggetti rituali, accessori utilizzati durante le celebrazioni, pietanze tipiche e soprattutto interessanti episodi biblici molto connessi con gli eventi narrati (la cui conoscenza avrebbe arricchito il lettore doppiamente).
Insomma un autore Premio Nobel che sono contentissimo di aver scoperto e di cui voglio assolutamente leggere altro (mi incuriosisce molto “Nemici” ambientato sempre a New York) e di cui spero Adelphi continuerà a tradurre molte delle opere ormai fuori catologo.
Fine anni ‘40, una New York piovosa di fine marzo (molto in linea con il clima di questi giorni), un gruppo di ebrei emigrati forzatamente dall’Europa in seguito agli eventi bellici si incontrano nell’Upper West Side a pochi isolati dalle brezze gelide dell’Hudson e dal coas di cui è impregnato Central Park
Uno dei rari esempi nella mia (limitatissima) esperienza da lettore di personaggi molto ben caratterizzati e pertanto indimenticabili. Nonostante la loro “numerosità”, Singer è abilissimo nel tratteggiare le loro personalità a 360 gradi (debolezze, vizi ricorrenti, drammi del passato che si ripresentano di tanto in tanto), così come fa con i luoghi dove si svolgono gli eventi: dopo un centinaio di pagine conosciamo a menadito l’appartamento di Grein sulla Quinta Avenue e la relativa vicinanza con quello di Anna sulla Lexington, o ancora la villa di Esther a Hicks Street svoltando a destra dopo il ponte di Brooklyn.
Un testo molto scorrevole nonostante le numerose dissertazioni filosofiche che potrebbero appesantire la narrazione e rendere più tortuosa l’esperienza di lettura ma che ho trovato molto illuminanti.
“In realtà ogni filosofo aveva concepito il suo sistema di pensiero soltanto per se stesso. Il principio di individualità era così forte che pensieri adeguati per una persona non lo erano per un’altra. La filosofia di Nietzsche era stata creata solo per Nietzsche, quella di Schopenauer solo per Schopenauer e quella di Spinoza solo per Spinoza. Se lo stesso pensiero veniva a due persone, diventavano due pensieri diversi. Come aveva detto Leibniz? Le monadi non hanno finestre. Come può un essere umano vedere all’interno di un altro? La vera conoscenza accessibile soltanto a Dio, che Leibniz definiva la monade di tutte le monadi”
E a proposito di esperienza di lettura, tirata d’orecchi ad Adelphi per la totale mancanza di un apparato note che mi ha costretto a dover interrompere la lettura di tanto in tanto per documentarmi circa il significato dei termini correlati all’ebraismo presenti in gran quantità nel testo: nomi di festività (Rosha Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Shabbat), nomi di testi sacri (Qohelet, Shulchan Arukh, Gemarah), oggetti rituali, accessori utilizzati durante le celebrazioni, pietanze tipiche e soprattutto interessanti episodi biblici molto connessi con gli eventi narrati (la cui conoscenza avrebbe arricchito il lettore doppiamente).
Insomma un autore Premio Nobel che sono contentissimo di aver scoperto e di cui voglio assolutamente leggere altro (mi incuriosisce molto “Nemici” ambientato sempre a New York) e di cui spero Adelphi continuerà a tradurre molte delle opere ormai fuori catologo.
kirstiecat's review against another edition
4.0
It's really interesting to read a book so entrenched in the Jewish faith followed by one so deeply invested into Mormonism. I enjoy reading about the Jewish faith much more and even tend to feel I'd be willing to convert to Reform Judaism and be an observer of that faith. There was a time about a decade ago when I felt so at odds with Christianity (mainly for their very non progressive stances on liberal issues like gay marriage) that I started looking more into all religions.
In any case, if you are interested in Judaism, this is a good book for you to read. I found it fascinating to read about those Jews who were living in New York (primarily, though a small section of the book takes place in Florida) in the later part of the 1940s. Singer explores the issues for people who are Jewish that came from Russia, Poland, and Germany, their different philosophies and ways of dealing with their experiences under Hitler's horrific reign and also their views on Stalin. I had no idea that some of those in this community had actually deluded themselves into thinking Stalin was this great leader...that was quite scary to me and I never realized that there was a significant part of the population that believed this. I did realize there were people who tried to communicate with the dead who became rather popular around this time, though, and that is also a part of this novel just as this novel is sort of an inadvertent homage to New York City at this time.
Singer really delves into not just the traditions that people in this community follow but also their personal lives. He takes us on a journey where we really get a feel for dealing with their anxieties, paranoias, even religious contradictions. There is quite a great deal of moody contemplation or brooding that takes place amongst many of the male characters but Singer also introduces us to a variety of these different people with contrasting levels of religious devotion and personality. It's interesting to see how their different insights on life and their life choices as well vastly differ from one another in this novel and, considering the 550 page length, we really see these people grow over time.
Memorable Quotes:
pg. 21 "Humankind's greatest possession is still logic."
pg. 34 "All three were silent with the speechlessness that comes of doing something against one's will, as though at this late hour the powers that determine human action had made known what they normally keep hidden... In the middle of the night every object was alive with its own thoughts, its vital essence exposed as if intruders had stumbled upon it in the midst of furtive activity."
pg. 35 "In always in a crisis, a dilemma. The Maker of Dreams is like a great writer. He never lacks a plot. Every night he comes up with something new, but the main theme is always the same. I'm caught in a quandary."
"It must be something in your subconscious mind."
"I don't have to delve into my subconscious. Modern man's whole life is one long predicament."
pg. 55 "Although the window did not overlook the street, even from here one could catch the sounds of New York awakening. A truck revved its motor, gasping repeatedly like a mortally wounded monster hovering between life and death..."
pg 71 "The kitchen window faced south, and from it one could see the buildings of Central Park South, the skyscrapers of Rockefeller Center, and the Empire State Building. The twilight mist deepened. Here and there a window was already lit up, and the sharp electric light sent a glow through the haze. A solitary airplane flew overhead, shrieking like some monstrous bird. The Central Park reservoir was framed in snow like a silver mirror. In the evening dusk, New York appeared still, white, a city without people, a forgotten settlement locked in ice on the shores of the Arctic Ocean. Even the rows of automobiles winding along the roads in Central Park had a mechanical emptiness about them, like toys that had been wound up and now moved automatically. The window was open a crack and cold air blew in."
pg. 131 "What's there to see at the movie theater? Only gangsters, over and over. In Russian pictures they show endless tractors, and in ours-gangsters. That's because each side shows what it's got the least of. If the Russians were to show all their gangsters and we were to show all our tractors, the movie would never end."
...
"When a catastrophe happens, however, and the ground disintegrates beneath your feet and you're left suspended in midair with one foot in the real world and the other over an abyss, then all the arts in the world can't console you. Then a man sees that he's been walking the whole time on a narrow plank straddling Gehenna."
pg. 160 "How time flies! Time is also a Hitler. It too destroys everything."
pg. 179 "In places where the naked eye could see only a solitary, half blurred, tiny light, the telescopic lenses revealed entire clusters of stars, laughing with golden glee in the infinite heights..."
pg. 183 "Bit it's boring without God. Faith is the only force that keeps people from insanity.
pg. 222 "The world as we know it today was in reality one huge underworld."
pg. 230 "Anfang stretched out on his bed and covered himself with his overcoat. He looked up at the pale blue wintry sky through the glass roof. Something was trembling and vibrating up there. The sky, too, was probably waiting for some kind of cataclysm, the manifestation of some power that would rip space and time apart like a sheet of paper, leaving nothing behind. Less than nothing. Nothing could be squared. Nothing would return to nothingness, to formlessness and void that would lie inert in post-Creation vacancy. How was it written? "When all things have ended, after all Being has ceased, non-Being will have dominion." No more world, no more God, no more time, no more space. Hush, quiet. Nothing has happened. Everything has been erased without a trace. The soap bubble has burst and neither soap nor water remains. Even nirvana no longer exists. Who is dozing, then? I, Jacob Anfang.
He suddenly heard footsteps on the stairs. Someone had come to visit him. he sat up. Who could be calling on him so early? God, perhaps?"
pg. 287 "They had names for everything: for murdering six million Jews, for liquidating millions in Russia. As soon as they gave the monster a name, it ceased to be monstrous. They needed nothing more."
pg. 304 "A human being is like a Hanukkah top that children spin. One top spins for a long time and another barely gets started before it falls over."
pg. 312 "Knowledge can never come only to a single individual-it grows out of the cumulative experience of the whole human species."
pg. 323 "The display windows of the fashionable boutiques were now dim. In the darkness the mannequins laughed with secret midnight life, their daytime inanimateness nothing more than a charade."
pg. 339 "Her type dances on graves. For them death is something that happens to other people."
pg. 361 "Confusion now hath made his masterpiece."
pg. 439 "His entire being is predicated on mistakes. He is, you might say, one of God's typographical errors, and that's where his charm lies."
pg. 469 "There's no greater destroyer than the human species."
pg. 493 "Would anyone have believed all this if it were described in a book? ow could one make others understand such a bizarre chain of events?
...
In the middle of the night, Anna started laughing in bed. Her fate amused her."
pg. 525 "Did this mean that Nature had room for purposeless things? If so, then everything might be purposeless."
pg. 525-526 But how was it possible that nothing existed beyond the earthly? Was it conceivable that the cosmos was the result of pure chance? What possible relevance could the chance have in regard to the operation of the universe? How could it be supposed even for a moment that the powers which had brought forth a Plato, a Newton, a Pascal could themselves be deaf and blind? If a patch of earth could give life to a rose, and the womb of a woman could bear a Dostoevsky, how could millions, billions, trillions of worlds be nothing more than insensible matter. One thing, however, was surely possible: that human beings remained just as limited later as the were earlier. They had puny bodies and tiny souls. The bodies rotted and the souls burst like soap bubbles."
In any case, if you are interested in Judaism, this is a good book for you to read. I found it fascinating to read about those Jews who were living in New York (primarily, though a small section of the book takes place in Florida) in the later part of the 1940s. Singer explores the issues for people who are Jewish that came from Russia, Poland, and Germany, their different philosophies and ways of dealing with their experiences under Hitler's horrific reign and also their views on Stalin. I had no idea that some of those in this community had actually deluded themselves into thinking Stalin was this great leader...that was quite scary to me and I never realized that there was a significant part of the population that believed this. I did realize there were people who tried to communicate with the dead who became rather popular around this time, though, and that is also a part of this novel just as this novel is sort of an inadvertent homage to New York City at this time.
Singer really delves into not just the traditions that people in this community follow but also their personal lives. He takes us on a journey where we really get a feel for dealing with their anxieties, paranoias, even religious contradictions. There is quite a great deal of moody contemplation or brooding that takes place amongst many of the male characters but Singer also introduces us to a variety of these different people with contrasting levels of religious devotion and personality. It's interesting to see how their different insights on life and their life choices as well vastly differ from one another in this novel and, considering the 550 page length, we really see these people grow over time.
Memorable Quotes:
pg. 21 "Humankind's greatest possession is still logic."
pg. 34 "All three were silent with the speechlessness that comes of doing something against one's will, as though at this late hour the powers that determine human action had made known what they normally keep hidden... In the middle of the night every object was alive with its own thoughts, its vital essence exposed as if intruders had stumbled upon it in the midst of furtive activity."
pg. 35 "In always in a crisis, a dilemma. The Maker of Dreams is like a great writer. He never lacks a plot. Every night he comes up with something new, but the main theme is always the same. I'm caught in a quandary."
"It must be something in your subconscious mind."
"I don't have to delve into my subconscious. Modern man's whole life is one long predicament."
pg. 55 "Although the window did not overlook the street, even from here one could catch the sounds of New York awakening. A truck revved its motor, gasping repeatedly like a mortally wounded monster hovering between life and death..."
pg 71 "The kitchen window faced south, and from it one could see the buildings of Central Park South, the skyscrapers of Rockefeller Center, and the Empire State Building. The twilight mist deepened. Here and there a window was already lit up, and the sharp electric light sent a glow through the haze. A solitary airplane flew overhead, shrieking like some monstrous bird. The Central Park reservoir was framed in snow like a silver mirror. In the evening dusk, New York appeared still, white, a city without people, a forgotten settlement locked in ice on the shores of the Arctic Ocean. Even the rows of automobiles winding along the roads in Central Park had a mechanical emptiness about them, like toys that had been wound up and now moved automatically. The window was open a crack and cold air blew in."
pg. 131 "What's there to see at the movie theater? Only gangsters, over and over. In Russian pictures they show endless tractors, and in ours-gangsters. That's because each side shows what it's got the least of. If the Russians were to show all their gangsters and we were to show all our tractors, the movie would never end."
...
"When a catastrophe happens, however, and the ground disintegrates beneath your feet and you're left suspended in midair with one foot in the real world and the other over an abyss, then all the arts in the world can't console you. Then a man sees that he's been walking the whole time on a narrow plank straddling Gehenna."
pg. 160 "How time flies! Time is also a Hitler. It too destroys everything."
pg. 179 "In places where the naked eye could see only a solitary, half blurred, tiny light, the telescopic lenses revealed entire clusters of stars, laughing with golden glee in the infinite heights..."
pg. 183 "Bit it's boring without God. Faith is the only force that keeps people from insanity.
pg. 222 "The world as we know it today was in reality one huge underworld."
pg. 230 "Anfang stretched out on his bed and covered himself with his overcoat. He looked up at the pale blue wintry sky through the glass roof. Something was trembling and vibrating up there. The sky, too, was probably waiting for some kind of cataclysm, the manifestation of some power that would rip space and time apart like a sheet of paper, leaving nothing behind. Less than nothing. Nothing could be squared. Nothing would return to nothingness, to formlessness and void that would lie inert in post-Creation vacancy. How was it written? "When all things have ended, after all Being has ceased, non-Being will have dominion." No more world, no more God, no more time, no more space. Hush, quiet. Nothing has happened. Everything has been erased without a trace. The soap bubble has burst and neither soap nor water remains. Even nirvana no longer exists. Who is dozing, then? I, Jacob Anfang.
He suddenly heard footsteps on the stairs. Someone had come to visit him. he sat up. Who could be calling on him so early? God, perhaps?"
pg. 287 "They had names for everything: for murdering six million Jews, for liquidating millions in Russia. As soon as they gave the monster a name, it ceased to be monstrous. They needed nothing more."
pg. 304 "A human being is like a Hanukkah top that children spin. One top spins for a long time and another barely gets started before it falls over."
pg. 312 "Knowledge can never come only to a single individual-it grows out of the cumulative experience of the whole human species."
pg. 323 "The display windows of the fashionable boutiques were now dim. In the darkness the mannequins laughed with secret midnight life, their daytime inanimateness nothing more than a charade."
pg. 339 "Her type dances on graves. For them death is something that happens to other people."
pg. 361 "Confusion now hath made his masterpiece."
pg. 439 "His entire being is predicated on mistakes. He is, you might say, one of God's typographical errors, and that's where his charm lies."
pg. 469 "There's no greater destroyer than the human species."
pg. 493 "Would anyone have believed all this if it were described in a book? ow could one make others understand such a bizarre chain of events?
...
In the middle of the night, Anna started laughing in bed. Her fate amused her."
pg. 525 "Did this mean that Nature had room for purposeless things? If so, then everything might be purposeless."
pg. 525-526 But how was it possible that nothing existed beyond the earthly? Was it conceivable that the cosmos was the result of pure chance? What possible relevance could the chance have in regard to the operation of the universe? How could it be supposed even for a moment that the powers which had brought forth a Plato, a Newton, a Pascal could themselves be deaf and blind? If a patch of earth could give life to a rose, and the womb of a woman could bear a Dostoevsky, how could millions, billions, trillions of worlds be nothing more than insensible matter. One thing, however, was surely possible: that human beings remained just as limited later as the were earlier. They had puny bodies and tiny souls. The bodies rotted and the souls burst like soap bubbles."
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