A psychosexual relationship between a rabbi and the man devoted to him goes off the rails in this explosive novel.
The rabbi is, to the untrained eye, far from desirable. Lofty and unkempt, aging and constantly losing members of his flock, he is nonetheless the singular object of obsession for the self-abjecting narrator of My Lover, the Rabbi. From the start of their psychosexual affair, the two men torment, pleasure, and manipulate each other with ardor. When they’re apart, the narrator manically contemplates every element of the rabbi’s — his alluring adopted son, his false erudition, his patrilineage, his broken-down Pontiac, his out-of-state husband (who the narrator has also slept with), and, maybe most of all, the universe between the rabbi’s legs. Spending time together in the narrator's bed, in a tiny town near Hoboken, New Jersey, that our narrator is “devastated to admit is my personal address,” a tender, volatile intimacy brews and curdles. To sustain it, the narrator continues on an unrelenting, increasingly urgent quest to understand the mercurial, ardent rabbi's mysterious past—that is, until he begins to question reality itself. In the process, conflicting truths about the rabbi emerge, with drastic consequences for both men and those around them.
The first novel in nearly twenty years from one of our most acclaimed stylists, Wayne Koestenbaum’s My Lover, the Rabbi is a sui generis spiral of lascivious thrills and uncanny hilarity, exposing in delirious detail the dangers—and spoils—of true love.
Wayne Koestenbaum has published five books of critical prose, including The Queen’s Throat: Opera, Homosexuality, and the Mystery of Desire, which was a National Book Critics Circle Award finalist; and three books of poetry, including Ode to Anna Moffo and Other Poems. He is a Professor of English at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York.
First i was gooped. Then i was gagged. Then i was a little bored. Then horny. A poet’s novel in a unique sense of the term. Like getting dicked down by diction or sucked off by syntax.
What a strange novel. I did not expect anything less from Wayne Koestenbaum. Most chapters are less than a page long, which, in principle, should give the impression of speedy movement through the book—if not choppiness, which I usually hate. But no. I felt like a fly caught in amber, stuck in a viscous text - I can't call it a narrative because there isn't much of an arc - moving as slowly as sticky honey. If I may venture into some psychoanalysis, the short chapters are akin to object a, with their descriptions of dicks, asses, and bodily effluvia, while the entire text is the desire itself - immovable and insistent in all its sublime immensity.
I went into this one knowing it would be a bit unusual, and it definitely is. It felt more like a long exploration of desire and obsession than a traditional story.
I really admired how bold it is. The way it mixed explicit sexuality with religious stuff was pretty provocative and at times uncomfortable, but also kind of fascinating. There’s a strong psychosexual thread running through it, especially around how desire gets tied up with authority and fantasy.
That said, I found it more impressive than enjoyable. That might sound weird? What I mean is that the language is quite dense and sometimes hard to get through, and there is not a lot of plot to hold onto. It felt to me like I was sitting inside someone’s very analytical inner monologue for a long time.
Definitely not mainstream friendly, but I can see why Koestenbaum is so highly regarded. Even when I was struggling with it, I still wanted to crack on with it and see how far it was willing to go.
I was really excited for this one. The theme and plot is just too bombastic and eye-catching to miss, so I was very happy when the publisher approved my advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.
"My Lover, the Rabbi" is kind of unlike any book I have ever read before, it has a rythm of its own, cooking a plot of secrets behind the chapters where we get to see the extent of the Rabbi and the main character's relationship/ obsession.
I have to admit that, although I was going for the ride that the author was creating for the book, at the middle point I was a little bored of being too blind-sided. Again, we only get glimpses of what it is proven to be a very strange age-gap relationship, their power dynamics and erotic exchanges. The narration also feels a bit clunky at times, but I figure that it is intentional to better explain the psyche of the main character.
It is a read that took me more time than usual, and, at the end, I feel like the payoff was not as good as it could have been. A lot of time was spent with this acclimation for the plot and the characters and then all of a sudden we are at the climax, with a resolution that was too quickly written for me.
Overall, this book has the ability of staying with you after the read and I guess that goes beyond certain rhythm issues and lack of development on some parts. The lack of further exploration also goes with the theme of this blind love and obsession, not only for the main character, but all the characters that are part of the Rabbi's life.
This not at all an easy read, but strangely, it is a book I would recommend--with some precautions.
A masterful, challenging depiction of neurotic, erotic obsession and iconoclasm, and it comes out swinging.
It resists easy explanation - the reading experience is slow, textured, and at times infuriatingly obtuse, with Koestenbaum luxuriating in intellectual, acrobatic, and evasive prose that at points had me drifting off, only to hook me again when things suddenly get more…hands-on. Just when it feels like it’s all foreplay and no payoff, it delivers moments that are disarmingly direct and impossible to ignore.
It’s uproarious, playful, serious, perverse, and perplexing. I didn’t enjoy every page, the middle sagged like the rabbi’s gut, but I kept coming back for more, drawn in by his sinuous syntax and the way he explores human desire and unequal relationships with both complete, unflinching sincerity.
A very real story of yearning that flirts with the styles of Proust and Balzac with a knowing smirk.
I think that this is easily the best book that I have read this year. I out loud celebrated when I got an email saying I had received an ARC, and immediately dove in.
This is a book for a very particular person, I think, but I just so happened to be that exact person. It's gritty, language that makes you squirm at the exactness, and a story that doesn't do much to settle that feeling. At times, it felt so real and exact to the emotions of obsessiveness and unwavering idolization that I questioned if this was a real story.
It has teeny tiny chapters that help with the narration style, coming across as blurbs scribbled into a notebook, trying to get feelings and actions across through the narrator's own mind.
I totally loved it and can't wait to get it when it's published.
This was just too weird even for me. The short chapters should have made me feel like I was flying through it but in reality the book dragged quite a bit for me. It was written in such a way that I just found it hard to find a rhythm. The actual subject of the book itself was (I guess) intentionally uncomfortable but the constant shock after shock reveal was just a bit much, with little pay off or explanation.
This was a long 450 pages but the erudite and mesmerising language kept me engaged. It’s amazing how many different ways the author can describe the physical fixations of the narrator on his lover, the rabbi. Very little plot emerges, with a gradual shift to characters and a reveal about the rabbi’s deceased son and wife. The ending was heartbreaking, after all the obsession that had come before.
I wanted soooo much more out of this! Such an interesting premise, i really expected to love this, but we jump right into the story and i was disappointed it didn’t really explore how this relationship even began. It meanders with overly long and descriptive paragraphs, so much focus on describing bodies and sex instead of giving us story or emotion.
This was a really unique reading experience. It's such a fun, weird and unapologetically queer book that deals with the relationship between religion and erotic obsession and how they manifest in power dynamics.
The writing is very lyrical and long winded which I personally enjoy but don't think is for everyone. It works beautifully to let us get to know the narrator. Generally, I thought the portrayal of relationships and feelings was done very well, both in more and less plot heavy sections.
My one criticism is that the book drags quite a bit in the middle and could've cut down a bit to keep the flow going a bit better.
Still, while it did take me quite a bit of time, I am very happy to have read this and would absolutely recommend it. I feel like it's going to stick with me, especially the ending.
My Lover, the Rabbi is a lot. It is a work of art, a literal object that I want to proudly display on my bookshelf, it's thick spine showing off like a Jewish book from the 70s (My Name is Asher Lev). It is a joke, the title makes me giggle in the way that it counters the myth that rabbis are not sexy. This is a randy gay sex book, with the rabbi's cock described in the first line and we get to know it well over 452 pages, 188 chapters. It is an endurance test, a commitment. A conceptual art piece, a serial narrative seemingly written on the daily, the narrative twists unexpected. It has wackadoodle character names, tattooists, jewelry designers, suicide victims, a dead child, hot young academics. It includes "an overdose of vases" and other delightful lines. It is an unrateable literary place only Wayne can take you to, if you let him.
What a book! There's a part in the middle that got a bit tiresome, but this novel about abjection and relationships feels like an elegy for Meet-Cute romances. If only ...
Not quite my kind of book but at the same time enjoyed and I think we need more books like this - distinct style, sexy and profound, expands your vocabulary whilst maintaining regular use of “cock”
4.5 stars. As this story of one man’s (n)e(u)rotic obsession with a schmuck of a rabbi unfolds, it becomes more unhinged (bordering on absurd). Are we observing a descent into madness and conspiracy, or is this a more intellectual and filthy episode of Modern Love?