Tugging at Harp Strings

Unlike the other Potok novels I read, Davita's Harp features a female protagonist, Ilana Davita, who is raised by her Gentile father and Jewish mother, both of whom are part of the Communist Party in the 1930s in New York.  As Davita grows into her own young adulthood, she becomes interested in her parents' pasts, as well as the religions that shaped them.  Ilana Davita's life is shaped by her parents' good friend Jakob Daw and the stories he tells her, her father's fierce love and laughter, and her mother's dedication to helping people.  Davita eventually forges her own path as she chooses to go to a yeshiva, only to discover that there are limitations to what she can achieve there, and is forced to make a difficult choice about how to move forward with her education.  I enjoyed this novel, but it was not as taut and climactic as some of Potok's more famous works. 

Pain in the You Know What

Pain was not a word I often thought about until this year.  Having been lucky to have lived most of my adult life without pain, it came as an unpleasant surprise to experience pain earlier this year when I had a temporary health issue.  While at Point Reyes Books, I stumbled upon this book, written by Dr. David Biro, which explores the loneliness of being in pain (which brings us "inward to the solitude of personal experience") and how difficult it is to express pain.  As Biro tells us,  "One out of every five Americans suffers from chronic pain."  Biro defines pain as, "an all-consuming internal experience that threatens to destroy everything except itself and can only be described through metaphor."  Given that pain is "the quintessential private experience," which is nearly impossible to convey to others, the only way we have to convey what we are feeling is through metaphor. 

Using both literary and artistic references, including Friday Kahlo, Jack London, Toni Morrison, and Edvard Munch, Biro culls from a variety of sources to demonstrate his point about pain being expressed and depicted through metaphor, often through expressions of battling against war and violence against the body.

Ultimately, Biro's book was an interesting philosophical and intellectual approach into the exploration and expression of pain.

The Rich and the Rest of Us

In this slim and accessible book, Tavis Smiley and Cornel West discuss poverty in the United States in a historical context and point out that in order to eradicate poverty in this country, which they believe is very possible, we need to take advantage of best practices in innovation.  As the authors put it, "One out of two Americans is living in poverty or near the poverty line," and the authors believe that the first step in eradicating poverty is destigmatizing it and recognizing that it exists.  Smiley and West outline "12 poverty changing ideas," which include things like providing jobs with living wage salaries, health care coverage for all, ending hunger and homelessness, and having the White House hold a conference on "the eradication of poverty."  They also outline in detail some suggestions for how to achieve each of these ends.  

For me, given my work with low-income populations and in community development, these ideas did not come as a surprise to me.  Therefore, while I did not have any "aha" moments, I was more impressed by the authors' vehemence and insistence that this is a crisis that needs to be solved or it could lead to catastrophe.  Some key quotes:

"With the rich getting richer, the poor getting poorer, and the class divide getting wider, there is very little reason not to believe that America could one day implode under the weight of escalating poverty."

...the poor have been stabbed with the blade of indifference."  

"Poverty is 21st-century-style slavery."

"Our intention is to prod America's consciousness toward righteously radical thinking and 21st century revolutionary action."

Ultimately, Smiley and West end by encouraging readers to take action to make poverty an "archaic remnant," which reminds me a lot of Muhammed Yunus' vision to put poverty in museums.  Let's work together to make this happen in our lifetimes.

Steinbeck, Always Burning Bright

Steinbeck's "play-novelette," which he defines as, "A play that is easy to read or a short novel that can be played simply by lifting out the dialogue," Burning Bright is a slim and punchy read, where something interesting occurs on nearly every page.  The story follows acrobat Joe Saul and his wife Mordeen.  Upon learning that he is not able to conceive, Joe Saul falls into a dark mood (You have the blackest eyes - like new split coal - that black!" says Mordeen) about not being able to pass on his lineage. Mordeen is also pursued by Joe Saul's acrobatics partner Victor.  Mordeen decides that she will give Joe Saul a child with Victor.  When Joe Saul learns his wife is pregnant (and thinks he is the father, he exclaims in delight "There's going to be a baby playing in this house.  There's going to be a child playing in that dust.  There's going to be a growing thing discovering the sky and kicking the chickens aside ane finding eggs."  Despite the agreement Mordeen thought she had with Victor, he cannot let go of the fact that he is the father and tries to force her to run away with him.  Luckily, Joe Saul's best friend, Friend Ed, takes the situation into his own hands and kills Victor.   It is a very dramatic and edgy tale.  Perhaps because the writing has some of the characteristics of a play, the story features a great deal of dialogue, which is one of Steinbeck's strongest suits. 

Other great quotes:
Joe Saul, to Mordeen - "Walk tenderly.  Oh, take gentle care.  Rest, and let your thoughts be high and beautiful."  
Friend Ed, to Joe Saul, in trying to get him to see the beauty of raising a son, even if it is not biologically his own - "You crush loveliness on the rocks of your stinking pride."  

All in all, another masterpiece from Steinbeck. 

Big Texas, Big Novel

Relatively fresh off the heels of reading some Larry McMurtry novels, in particular Lonesome Dove, I was ready to take on another epic Texas novel, which is embodied in Philipp Meyer's new novel, The Son.  The story shifts perspectives and time periods, but essentially follows the life and dynasty of the McCullough family.  In 1849, Eli McCullough is a young boy and witnesses the murder of his sister and mother by the Comanche tribe.  He and his brother are tortured and subject to various forms of brutality, and his brother soon dies.  Left to fend for himself among the Comanches, Eli soon adapts and becomes accepted by the tribe, and is even taken under the wing as a son of the chief known as Toshaway and is given his Comanche name, Tiehteti.  Eventually, the tried is faced with starvation and disease and dies off.  Eli is left alone and must acclimatize back among whites.  Torn between these two worlds, Eli forges a new path for himself.  Fast forward to the perspective of Jeanne Anne McCullough in present day, Eli's great-granddaughter who is an aging oil baroness coming to grips with a deeper understanding of her former marriages and the lives of her children.  Not for the faint of heart, Meyer's sweeping novel has no shortage of murders, scalpings, and ruthlessness.  But it also has very lush and generous language, meticulously researched details of the eras, and distinctive characters and voices.  I didn't know where the novel was taking me at first, and it took me some time to get into the story, but ultimately I enjoyed the novel and its exploration of family and ambition.

Home on the Ranch

Judy Blunt's memoir Breaking Clean, about her thirty years spent on wheat and cattle ranches in Eastern Montana will rid the reader of any idealized notion of living an easy life out in nature and attending the iconic one-room school house as one's place of education.  Ms. Blunt talks of her childhood, her own marriage, her relationship with the land and the farm animals, and her coming into an understanding of her own self. as a self-assured woman in a very patriarchal landscape.  In lyrical yet no-nonsense prose, we are brought into Blunt's world through various stories of her life out on her ranch.  She conveys the expansiveness yet isolation of living nearly 50 miles from any significant town.  This book captures the gritty, hardscrabble life in its most stark realities.  While i wasn't necessarily captivated or wrapped up in the memoir, I learned a great deal about what it was like to be a woman living a ranch life so far from creature comforts. 

Still a Mystery, To Me

Having enjoyed William Kent Krueger's most recent novel, Ordinary Grace, I decided to try his very first book, Iron Lake, which is the first of many in a series that centers around retired sheriff Cork O'Connor.  Set in the blistering cold and wind of Minnesota, Iron Lake is a tale of love, deception, and more.  Ultimately, yes, it was a page-turner, but I discovered by the end that I didn't care much about how the mystery unraveled.  I think I am learning that I am much more a fan of novels that really center around character development and dialogue, and less around plot and intrigue.  This is probably considered a good mystery among mysteries.  For me, it was enjoyable in the moment but not memorable or one I will ponder at all. 

Potok Prevails!

I devoured Chaim Potok's sequel to My Name is Asher Lev, called The Gift of Asher Lev, as well as his first novel, The Chosen, in just one week.  They were both riveting novels - highly recommended.

The Gift of Asher Lev fast forwards about twenty years in Asher's life, and we now find him a married man with two children, and an internationally known and successful artist. Having been exiled to France after creating art as a young man that was seen as a desecration to his Ladover Hasidic community, Asher is now more at home in France than he is in the neighborhood in which he grew up in Brooklyn.  Asher receives word of a death in the family, and needs to return to Brooklyn for just a few days, which turns into several months.  Torn between the desire to create community for his children and reconcile with his parents, and to live a more free and unrestrained life in France, the book navigates loyalty to family and how this can conflict with one's own self preservation.  There are many touching scenes in the book between the characters, thus making it come to life in a way that My Name is Asher Lev did not achieve.  Overall, I suggest reading the two of them together - you won't be able to put them down!

I read The Chosen probably twenty years ago in high school, and I am happy that I took the time to read it again.  The book follows the friendship between Reuven and Danny as they come of age. Reuven lives with his widowed father, who is supportive of his wish to become a rabbi, and who himself has Zionist beliefs.  Danny's father is a rabbi and a highly religious Hasidic Jew, who has raised his son in silence and only communicates with him about the Talmud.  Despite the fact that Danny is expected through his lineage to become a rabbi, he is more interested in becoming a psychologist.  The two boys share their experiences and hardships together, and form a bond despite their different upbringings.  We see these same two characters again in Potok's The Promise.  Again, these would be a great two books to be read in tandem!

Potok's writing is intellectual yet accessible, and brings the reader into the insular world of growing up Jewish in Brooklyn in WWII and beyond.  Not to be missed!

Troubled Bridge Over Water

It all comes full circle for me with my beloved Willa Cather!  Alexander's Bridge, Cather's first novel, was published in 1912, and it was one of the last of her novels that I have read.  Ironically, I read this book in one sitting just a stone's throw away from a bridge that crosses the great Stanislaus River.  The story's protagonist is Bartley Alexander, an engineer who builds bridges.  Torn between his love for his wife Winifred in Boston and his lover Hilda in London who makes him feel alive and youthful, Alexander must navigate these relationships and becomes increasingly tormented.  Perhaps, given all the weight on his shoulders and his inability to move forward in either direction, life comes crashing down on him, literally, when his newest bridge collapses, despite the description earlier in the book as a man who had shoulders that "looked strong enough in themselves to support a span of any one of his ten great bridges...."  Perhaps some heavy handed metaphor here, but for a first novel, it still showed signs of Cather's greatness.  One of my favorite descriptions in the book is how Cather writes of how Winifred's face suggested "stormy possibilities."  One of her better shorter works, but still not comparable to the wonderful My Antonia.