This is essentially a study of modern Jewish life, based in contemporary North London, in the context of comfortable, middle-class, middle-aged men.
The 'Finkler' in the title refers to Sam Finkler, one of the three main characters, who is a Jew. His childhood friend Julian (the first syllable of his name clearly deliberate) associates all Jewish topics with Sam, so - in his head - replaces the word Jew with 'Finkler'. One day, dawdling home after dinner with Sam and their former schoolteacher Libor (also Jewish), Julian is mugged. By a woman. And is potentially accused by his assailant of being Jewish.
The shock (and shame) of the incident, and of possibly being the victim of an anti-Semitic act, starts a snowball of ideas and fears within Julian's head. The purpose of the book is to share these ideas with the reader, and they touch upon Israel's actions, the link that British Jews have with Israel, the reliance on the Holocaust as a debating tool and the concept that there are levels of Jewishness. Julian is used by Jacobson as a dummy in these situations, explaining the arguments to the reader by having Julian consider them and be informed by his two Jewish friends.
Some of the arguments presented in the book are interesting and wouldn't have otherwise occurred to me, but I found the plot plodding and too thin a veil for this general discussion of Jewish culture. In a way, I felt that I would have enjoyed the book more if I myself was Jewish, and understood the arguments from the inside. What's more, Jacobson packs in the Jewish/Hebrew jargon, making both ceremonies and banter hard to follow. Perhaps this is intentional, to separate the Gentile reader from the argument and suggest that the issues themselves are difficult to understand for the outsider, but I'm not sure.
Jacobson does write well, and is occasionally witty. But the Daily Telegraph reviewer on the back of the book calls the author 'Our funniest living writer'. I felt that I missed the joke.
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Sunday, 19 September 2010
'In A Strange Room' - Damon Galgut
This is a trio of travelling tales that reflects on the nature of travel, but also human relationships themselves.
The book presents itself as autobiographical, but with an inconsistent person - the narrator switches between referring to himself as 'he' and 'I'. Throughout the book there are references to the stories being told from memory, allowing occasional hazy details or gaps in information. Each of the stories recounts an experience from long before, all on the road less travelled - Africa, rural Greece and India. The people that the narrator meets shape his experiences, suggesting somewhat that it's not where one is, it is who one is with that really matters.
What I found interesting was the way Galgut described the relationships that travellers build with their peers - people who are often from very different backgrounds and with contrasting personalities unite for a few days or much longer, sharing only an interest in the alien surroundings. These relationships become incredibly deep in a short space of time, but are based on shared experience rather than common values or attitudes. Initially there is always the comfort of strangers, a respite from loneliness, but over time the differences emerge. When circumstance or itinerary leads to a separation, the farewells are heartfelt, but immediately the traveller moves on (literally and emotionally).
What's more, travel is presented as a kind of dream, or an escape from reality that necessitates a change of attitude. In this world relationships are transitory, 'home' is an idea and the plans made deal only with the next few days. Only the locations are permanent. As Galgut writes, 'The roads you went down yesterday are full of different people now, none of them knows who you are...soon your presence, which felt so weighty and permanent, has completely gone.'
Throughout the book the narrator is also looking for a soulmate, someone with which to appreciate travel and to see the sights through the same eyes. Perhaps inevitably, no such person exists (at least not in this book). Frequently the traveller is able to meet those with whom he can communicate wordlessly, through only a look or a twitch, but initial hope of permanent happiness is each time extinguished by reality. What is present, time and time again, is the generosity of strangers and the general goodness of people.
I enjoyed 'In a Strange Room', it's a compact and pleasantly written book that conveys its message over time, in no rush - perhaps like the travel that is being undertaken. It's like an extended chapter from Alain De Botton's 'The Art of Travel', and has a light, dreamy quality that makes it easy to read.
The book presents itself as autobiographical, but with an inconsistent person - the narrator switches between referring to himself as 'he' and 'I'. Throughout the book there are references to the stories being told from memory, allowing occasional hazy details or gaps in information. Each of the stories recounts an experience from long before, all on the road less travelled - Africa, rural Greece and India. The people that the narrator meets shape his experiences, suggesting somewhat that it's not where one is, it is who one is with that really matters.
What I found interesting was the way Galgut described the relationships that travellers build with their peers - people who are often from very different backgrounds and with contrasting personalities unite for a few days or much longer, sharing only an interest in the alien surroundings. These relationships become incredibly deep in a short space of time, but are based on shared experience rather than common values or attitudes. Initially there is always the comfort of strangers, a respite from loneliness, but over time the differences emerge. When circumstance or itinerary leads to a separation, the farewells are heartfelt, but immediately the traveller moves on (literally and emotionally).
What's more, travel is presented as a kind of dream, or an escape from reality that necessitates a change of attitude. In this world relationships are transitory, 'home' is an idea and the plans made deal only with the next few days. Only the locations are permanent. As Galgut writes, 'The roads you went down yesterday are full of different people now, none of them knows who you are...soon your presence, which felt so weighty and permanent, has completely gone.'
Throughout the book the narrator is also looking for a soulmate, someone with which to appreciate travel and to see the sights through the same eyes. Perhaps inevitably, no such person exists (at least not in this book). Frequently the traveller is able to meet those with whom he can communicate wordlessly, through only a look or a twitch, but initial hope of permanent happiness is each time extinguished by reality. What is present, time and time again, is the generosity of strangers and the general goodness of people.
I enjoyed 'In a Strange Room', it's a compact and pleasantly written book that conveys its message over time, in no rush - perhaps like the travel that is being undertaken. It's like an extended chapter from Alain De Botton's 'The Art of Travel', and has a light, dreamy quality that makes it easy to read.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
'Room' - Emma Donoghue
Horrifying at times, and often uncomfortable to read, 'Room' is a story of imprisonment that eventually makes one appreciate the scale and complexities of the world we live in.
Jack is a five yr-old boy who has lived his whole life in a 12ft by 12ft garden shed. The only person he has ever spoken to is his mother, although he occasionally catches glimpses of their captor - a middle-aged man who arrives most nights to rape Jack's mother, occasionally bring supplies and take out the garbage. Jack's mother has created the most balanced world possible for her son, inventing activities to pass time and providing loving care, but has avoided explaining that a world exists outside the garden shed (and the television).
Jack narrates the story, allowing us to follow his emotions, keep track of his tantrums, and appreciate how the limited life that he knows is enough for him to be content. This is a life of stability and routine, the only fear being 'Old Nick's visits after dark. With Jack's boundaries being limited for his whole life, the revelation one day that there is a world beyond the walls of 'Room' - with 'real' people that interact with each other - is shocking and hard for him to take in.
Later in the book, Jack meets this outside world, with the difficulties it brings and its requirement for social interaction (an entirely new concept). His dealings with others are awkward to read, and his occasional musings that life in 'Room' may have actually been preferable horrify his mother. For her the prison brings nothing but terrible memories. Jack is portrayed as a freak by the media 'vultures', but - unable to climb stairs, never having had his hair cut and still breast-feeding at 5 - his innocence is affecting, and his introduction to new people and to society as a whole is not a smooth affair.
This is a powerful book. The characters are excellent, particularly the mother, of whom I have written little. There is a quotation on the front cover of my copy, advising the reader to finish the book in one sitting. I did so, and barely saw the time pass. Donoghue's creation of the 'Room' is a dank, depressing place, but Jack's eyes see it with happiness, brushing its horrors under the carpet. Outside the world is normal, but as we discover it with Jack it becomes a complex, busy and noisy maze. The book left me considering quite how much we take for granted around us, and quite how horrific it would be to lose it all.
Jack is a five yr-old boy who has lived his whole life in a 12ft by 12ft garden shed. The only person he has ever spoken to is his mother, although he occasionally catches glimpses of their captor - a middle-aged man who arrives most nights to rape Jack's mother, occasionally bring supplies and take out the garbage. Jack's mother has created the most balanced world possible for her son, inventing activities to pass time and providing loving care, but has avoided explaining that a world exists outside the garden shed (and the television).
Jack narrates the story, allowing us to follow his emotions, keep track of his tantrums, and appreciate how the limited life that he knows is enough for him to be content. This is a life of stability and routine, the only fear being 'Old Nick's visits after dark. With Jack's boundaries being limited for his whole life, the revelation one day that there is a world beyond the walls of 'Room' - with 'real' people that interact with each other - is shocking and hard for him to take in.
Later in the book, Jack meets this outside world, with the difficulties it brings and its requirement for social interaction (an entirely new concept). His dealings with others are awkward to read, and his occasional musings that life in 'Room' may have actually been preferable horrify his mother. For her the prison brings nothing but terrible memories. Jack is portrayed as a freak by the media 'vultures', but - unable to climb stairs, never having had his hair cut and still breast-feeding at 5 - his innocence is affecting, and his introduction to new people and to society as a whole is not a smooth affair.
This is a powerful book. The characters are excellent, particularly the mother, of whom I have written little. There is a quotation on the front cover of my copy, advising the reader to finish the book in one sitting. I did so, and barely saw the time pass. Donoghue's creation of the 'Room' is a dank, depressing place, but Jack's eyes see it with happiness, brushing its horrors under the carpet. Outside the world is normal, but as we discover it with Jack it becomes a complex, busy and noisy maze. The book left me considering quite how much we take for granted around us, and quite how horrific it would be to lose it all.
Sunday, 12 September 2010
'Parrot and Olivier in America' - Peter Carey
This is a tale of discovery and exploration, but one undertaken by the titular characters with an entertaining cynicism and confusion.
Olivier is the son of French aristocrats, and has grown up to expect a similar lifestyle to theirs, only to find himself in a dynamic France, one changed forever by the revolution. We first meet him as a young boy, one detached from his pre-occupied parents, schooled and accompanied by the family servants, and entirely unaware of the national horrors that preceded his birth. Olivier is pompous in his tone and comically aloof.
Parrot, a couple of decades older, is the son of an English printer/forger who we first meet in a grim Dickensian setting. After narrowly escaping death when his father's workplace is seized by the authorities - and his father killed - Parrot winds up first in Australia, and later France.
The two characters are brought together as Olivier is dispatched - rather against his will - to America; publicly to document American incarceration techniques, but rather more for his own safety as France teeters on the brink of another revolution. Parrot is sent along as a notary, but entrusted to spy on Olivier's actions and report back to his master.
Lurching between animosity and affection, the two make an unlikely pair, but both are impressed by their destination - a land where the new concept of democracy has gone beyond a mere experiment, and a class-less society where any man can something of himself. This raises questions about the contrast between class and wealth, and the two characters meet these questions in rather different ways. During the journey both men have to consider what they are looking for in life, and how this ties in with the expectations and demands of those they left behind.
Carey's writing style (with dual first-person prose that often overlaps when describing events) is enjoyable - at least once one has slogged through Olivier's initial pomposity and second estate jargon. The characters - often unwittingly humorous, with both wonderfully self-centred - are fun, and brought to mind 'English Passengers' by Matthew Kneale. I suspect this was partly because of the similar first person style of the book, but also the sense of discovery and frequent comedic moments. If you enjoyed that, I think you'll like this.
Olivier is the son of French aristocrats, and has grown up to expect a similar lifestyle to theirs, only to find himself in a dynamic France, one changed forever by the revolution. We first meet him as a young boy, one detached from his pre-occupied parents, schooled and accompanied by the family servants, and entirely unaware of the national horrors that preceded his birth. Olivier is pompous in his tone and comically aloof.
Parrot, a couple of decades older, is the son of an English printer/forger who we first meet in a grim Dickensian setting. After narrowly escaping death when his father's workplace is seized by the authorities - and his father killed - Parrot winds up first in Australia, and later France.
The two characters are brought together as Olivier is dispatched - rather against his will - to America; publicly to document American incarceration techniques, but rather more for his own safety as France teeters on the brink of another revolution. Parrot is sent along as a notary, but entrusted to spy on Olivier's actions and report back to his master.
Lurching between animosity and affection, the two make an unlikely pair, but both are impressed by their destination - a land where the new concept of democracy has gone beyond a mere experiment, and a class-less society where any man can something of himself. This raises questions about the contrast between class and wealth, and the two characters meet these questions in rather different ways. During the journey both men have to consider what they are looking for in life, and how this ties in with the expectations and demands of those they left behind.
Carey's writing style (with dual first-person prose that often overlaps when describing events) is enjoyable - at least once one has slogged through Olivier's initial pomposity and second estate jargon. The characters - often unwittingly humorous, with both wonderfully self-centred - are fun, and brought to mind 'English Passengers' by Matthew Kneale. I suspect this was partly because of the similar first person style of the book, but also the sense of discovery and frequent comedic moments. If you enjoyed that, I think you'll like this.
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