Shadows on the Hudson

by Isaac Bashevis Singer, Joseph Sherman (Translator)

Shadows on the Hudson in set in New York City in the late 1940s and details the intertwined lives of a circle of prosperous Jewish refugees. From gloomy Upper West Side apartments to the pastel Yiddish resorts of Miami, Singer covers the territory of American Jewry in the aftermath of the Holocaust in this impressively expansive novel.

Genres: Fiction, Jewish, Nobel Prize, Historical Fiction, Literature, Judaism, American

542 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1957

About the author

Isaac Bashevis Singer was a Polish American author of Jewish descent, noted for his short stories. He was one of the leading figures in the Yiddish literary movement, and received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1978.
His memoir, "A Day Of Pleasure: Stories of a Boy Growing Up in Warsaw", won the U.S. National Book Award in Children's Literature in 1970, while his collection "A Crown of Feathers and Other Stories" won the U.S. National Book Award in Fiction in 1974.

Reviews

[Paolo del ventoso Est · Rating 5 out of 5]

Oh mio Dio che meraviglia. Avevo appena nominato il mio romanzo preferito di sempre e per sempre, ora come faccio? Mi smentisco? Cerco un escamotage parlando di generi? Ma che me frega. Questo è il mio romanzo preferito del 2018 e delle epoche precedenti. E sì, lo era anche l'altro (quello di McMurtry).
Isaac B. Singer, quante volte ho visto il suo nome stampato in libreria e quante volte sono passato oltre. Miserevole miscredente. Cosa mi perdevo; un uomo innervato di cultura ebraica, con il talento dei migliori scrittori nordamericani, caustico, penetrante, sottile, divertente. In questo romanzo c'è tutta la forza dirompente del mondo yiddish emigrato occidentale; quella stoffa, quel genio, quel caratteraccio, quella instabilità emotiva, quell'enorme baratro dentro figlio dell'Olocausto. C'è la lotta eterna e quotidiana del profano con il sacro, della modernità con la tradizione, dell'inettitudine contro la santità. Che poi l'inettitudine è umana, profondamente umana, stupida e tenera, a volte insopportabilmente maldisposta, misantropa, egoista, pusillanime, altre volte rimane l'ultima ancora di salvezza in un mondo ingessato dalla tradizione e ossessionato dalla contaminazione. Chi ha ragione, chi ha torto? Chi è nel giusto? Dov'è Dio? E' davvero buono? Domande a cui ciascuno ostenta la "risposta del taschino"; per fortuna ci sono i romanzi, romanzi come questo, con le loro perlustrazioni mascherate da finzione, quei pungoli acuminati sotto il buffo e il grottesco. Singer è un toccasana.

[L.S. Popovich · Rating 4 out of 5]

I would like to point out to any would-be literary authors that adultery is not a fundamental physical law of the universe.

I. B. Singer first ensorcelled me through his stories. Those are recommended for any fan of Chekhov or Maupassant. But like those two masters, this one's technique becomes too apparent in the long form, and the technique is not innovative when stretched out over 560 pages.

In this first novel of his I have read, and passively enjoyed, I was treated to much indecent exposure to the author's comfort zones. These are similar to erogenous zones in the sense that successful authors can't stop stroking them. When author's choose to write about one sect, about one type of personality, and about one act countless times, it lowers the value of their overall output. They seem to be trying to tell us something important in the space of 8000 pages which might have been expressed more poetically over 300 pages. I. B. Singer writes about the Jewish people, their tenure in New York, Poland, and selected other locales. Yet, the beauty of these depictions lie in their universal moral core, their grounding in Torah, their subtle humor, and their clean exuberance. Yet, if you believe that Woody Allan remade the same movie 55 times then you will suspect this author of applying the formula to his books, I fear. He recasts characters, who go through the same process of sinning and repenting, growing and dying, whining and excreting, blubbering and moaning, rutting and birthing new monstrosities, accusing and casting the first stone. This mechanistic approach may be effective in moderate doses, but you can decide rather to focus on the author's pristine snippets of wisdom, summing up religious truths in secular format, boiling down all of the wretchedness of this life, which is the pigpen we have fashioned from the mud of our vices and repetitious behavior. One life resembles another. Nature persists, even as our bones molder, our families fall to ruin, our houses crumble and new children are born that they may fight this tide of iniquity and prejudice, this competitive game with incomprehensible rules. Superstition composes the entire fabric of existence.

[Sandra · Rating 5 out of 5]

E’ un romanzo corale, che narra con grande lucidità il disagio esistenziale di un gruppo di ebrei polacchi e tedeschi sopravvissuti all’immane tragedia dell’Olocausto e rifugiati in America, a New York. E’ un romanzo di ampio respiro, sono più di 600 pagine, se dovessi parlare della trama dovrei scrivere pagine e pagine: ma in realtà non c’è bisogno di scrivere molto per far comprendere la grandezza di quest’opera. Basta dire che tutti i protagonisti portano su di loro i segni indelebili dell’Olocausto, ed ognuno sopravvive portandosi addosso la lacerante memoria delle atrocità del passato, che si accompagna con la sfiancante necessità di ricercare il Dio buono e giusto dei padri; talmente forte è il bisogno della presenza divina, definita ineluttabile, che i più segnati ed inquieti, come Hertz Grein, del quale seguiamo fin dall’inizio le vicende sentimentali tra la moglie Leah, l’amante storica Ester e la giovane amante Anna, giungono fino alla blasfema conclusione che il loro Dio, il Dio padre e misericordioso degli Ebrei, è rimasto silenzioso spettatore di fronte al massacro del popolo eletto. L’uomo si sente abbandonato, è solo in balia del maligno e ha perso i connotati dell’umanità.
“Negli ultimi trent’anni, tutto ciò che ho osservato in me e negli altri mi ha dimostrato che in quest’epoca l’umanità non è che una massa di criminali..” dice uno dei tanti ebrei del romanzo. Nonostante gli anni trascorsi da quando il romanzo fu pubblicato, negli anni ’50, nonostante la storia sia andata avanti, questa frase riecheggia nella nostra mente di uomini e donne del ventunesimo secolo.

[Francesco · Rating 5 out of 5]

Meraviglioso... isaac sapeva scrivere e soprattutto sapeva di cosa scriveva, 633 pagine che sono volate... l'eterna questione dell'unione tra ebrei e goy... da una parte i nazisti che impedivano i matrimoni misti e così pure i vecchi ebrei che non erano molto felici quando la/il figlia/o si innamorava di un/a goy... però gli ebrei accettavano che le figlie sposassero un goy a patto che il goy si convertisse diventando ebreo a sua volta... i primi a confinare gli ebrei nel ghetto furono i veneziani più di mezzo millennio fa, e gli ebrei sono sempre rimasti nel ghetto, a sposarsi tra di loro in modo da rimanere PURI (ehm ehm) e i matrimoni con persone non ebree venivano visti come offese verso i genitori che si battevano il petto per aver tirato su una figlia/un figlio tanto degenerata/o...

[Elise · Rating 4 out of 5]

This one was good, dark but good, the kind of world it's rewarding to get lost in. These characters were human, real, flawed, beautifully written and developed. They make bad choices, some several times because they don't seem to learn from their mistakes, but Singer is such a master that he allows us to care about what happens to them nonethless. "Shadows on the Hudson" chronicles the lives of a community of Jewish survivors, refugees of WWII, as they build lives in New York City, and the demons that follow them on their journey. I have always loved Singer's writing, but until this point, I had only read his short fiction which is filled with devils, angels, and Old World magic. This long novel, posthumously published, was staunchly realistic, which was only slightly disappointing (because I almost think of Singer as a Magic Realist writer given my previous familiarity with his short fiction), but his writing is just as strong. In fact, I feel like I learned a great deal about human psychology and relationships from "Shadows..." The experience was similar to reading Dostoevsky or Tolstoy--very enjoyable, but not light, and that defines a good read for me.

[David Carrasco · Rating 4 out of 5]

¿Y si el exilio no fuera una patria perdida, sino una forma de castigo divino?

No uno impuesto por Dios, sino por uno mismo, como una penitencia lenta y silenciosa que se cumple entre cócteles kosher, nevadas eternas y cenas cargadas de neurosis. Sombras sobre el Hudson, de Isaac Bashevis Singer, no es solo una novela sobre judíos neoyorquinos tras el Holocausto. Es una crónica mordaz de un exilio que no termina en la geografía, sino en la memoria rota, en la incapacidad de dejar atrás el pasado y en la amarga ironía de intentar construir futuro sobre cenizas ajenas. Pero, al tiempo, es un banquete de culpa, deseo y derrotas cotidianas servido en una vajilla de diálogos brillantes y silencios llenos de remordimiento. Y sí, hay algo casi perversamente adictivo en ver a esta colección de almas rotas intentar reconstruirse en la ciudad que nunca duerme pero siempre juzga.

La historia gira en torno a Boris Makaver, un acaudalado hombre de negocios que parece más interesado en la moral ajena que en la suya propia, y un grupo de personajes que orbitan a su alrededor: contertulios de mesa, amigos, familiares, exiliados, buscadores de redención que, como suele pasar en las novelas buenas, no encuentran ni lo uno ni lo otro. Es una novela coral, sí, pero con un corazón roto en el centro. Y sin necesidad de contarte lo que pasa, te diré que no hay redención fácil, ni respuestas claras. Esto es Singer, no Paulo Coelho. Aquí nadie pasa hambre, pero todos están famélicos por dentro. El dinero sirve para pagar el alquiler, pero no para callar la culpa.

Pero lo que de verdad atrapa no es solo la historia, sino cómo Singer la cuenta. La prosa de Singer, aquí traducida del yiddish directamente al español —sin pasar por el inglés— con esa cadencia inconfundible de su lengua materna, es un prodigio de contención y filo. A primera vista puede parecer sencilla, casi desnuda. Pero ahí está la trampa: su aparente sencillez esconde una precisión brutal. En esa precisión y contención me recuerda a Saul Bellow, otro explorador de la complejidad del ser judío en América, cuya prosa lírica y filosófica hila la identidad con la historia personal y colectiva, una afinidad que hace que la novela de Singer resuene con ecos que van más allá del tiempo y el lugar.

Cada diálogo, cada pensamiento lanzado al aire por los personajes, es una esquirla que se clava donde duele. Y esa traducción directa se nota en cada palabra, en ese ritmo que no busca adornos, sino decir lo esencial con una economía de medios que desarma y atrapa. No es la fluidez cómoda del inglés, sino la cadencia áspera y punzante del yiddish, con sus silencios pesados y su melancolía incrustada entre líneas. Y lo más fascinante es que Sombras sobre el Hudson fue escrita a mano y publicada en forma de episodios o entregas en el Jewish Daily Forward, en yiddish, en los años 50, pero nunca revisada ni publicada por Singer en vida. Es decir: la novela es doblemente exiliada, y eso se nota en su estructura y en su tono. Singer no escribe desde la nostalgia, sino desde la sospecha de que todo lo perdido quizá merecía perderse. Y esa complejidad se refleja también en la voz que nos cuenta la historia.

El narrador es omnisciente, pero no omnipotente. Más bien una mirada triste, lúcida y a veces sarcástica, que acompaña a los personajes como quien observa a un grupo de náufragos discutir sobre filosofía mientras el barco se hunde. Esta elección narrativa refuerza la ironía trágica de la novela: personajes que lo han perdido todo discuten sobre la inmortalidad del alma mientras engañan a sus cónyuges y fantasean con mudarse a Florida. Hay algo chejoviano en esa mezcla de miseria emocional y humor sutil, aunque también podríamos invocar a Dostoievski, con quien Singer comparte la obsesión por las preguntas sin respuesta y las almas corroídas por su propio pensamiento.

La novela no hace prisioneros con su elenco; Singer se empeña en desnudarlos sin piedad, con sus miserias y contradicciones, sus deseos inconfesables y sus huidas imposibles. No hay héroes ni villanos, solo humanos atrapados en el barro de sus propias decisiones. Porque los personajes —y aquí está uno de los grandes logros del libro— son insoportablemente humanos. Boris Makaver es un magnate devoto que intenta sostener con rezos un mundo que se le descompone entre adulaciones hipócritas y decisiones que ni Dios entendería. Anna, su hija, vive prisionera de un deseo de autonomía que no sabe cómo ejercer sin dinamitarlo todo, incluida a sí misma. Hertz Grein, el verdadero eje de esta tragedia espiritual, es un intelectual errante —no tanto en geografía como en convicciones—, dividido entre el judaísmo que no puede seguir y el secularismo que no le ofrece consuelo alguno.

Y Esther, su amante, es quizá el personaje más desgarrador: atrapada en una pasión que ya no le da respuestas, pero tampoco la libera, como si amar fuera otra forma de condena. Cada uno arrastra su propia teología del fracaso, su propio exilio íntimo. Aquí nadie encuentra hogar, pero todos viven como si lo estuvieran buscando. Y eso, precisamente eso, duele más que el desarraigo. Esther, en particular, encarna esa trampa donde la pasión se convierte en una cadena invisible: amar sin esperanza, entregarse a un fuego que no quema pero tampoco libera. Una condena que no grita, pero que duele más que mil heridas abiertas.

Y luego está Yasha Kotik, el comediante que podría haber salido de una película de Billy Wilder escrita por Dostoievski. Cada vez que aparece, la novela se sacude como si alguien hubiera abierto una ventana en una habitación llena de humo: es el tipo que dice verdades insoportables como si fueran chistes, y cuya autodestrucción tiene más lucidez que toda la espiritualidad del resto. Su frase sobre la Segunda Avenida —“dado que yo estoy medio muerto, y la calle está medio muerta, juntos hacemos un cadáver perfecto”— es puro oro Singeriano.

Porque en Yasha, con su humor cáustico y su autodestrucción lúcida, se condensa esa pregunta profunda que atraviesa toda la novela. El gran tema del libro, claro, es el judaísmo después del Holocausto. Pero Singer, que nunca fue precisamente un propagandista religioso, se atreve a plantear preguntas que incomodan a creyentes y ateos por igual: ¿Tiene sentido seguir buscando a Dios después de Auschwitz? ¿Qué queda de la identidad cuando se ha perdido la tierra, la lengua y el relato común? Estas preguntas no se responden. Solo se formulan, una y otra vez, en conversaciones que parecen escritas en la antesala de una crisis nerviosa. Porque son preguntas que no pueden responderse sin que tiemble el alma. Preguntas que resuenan en los pasillos vacíos de la fe, en los diálogos a media voz, y en el desarraigo que no sabe si es físico o espiritual. Singer no las formula para desafiar, sino para habitar la incertidumbre, esa casa sin ventanas ni puertas. El Holocausto nunca se menciona, pero es el espectro que ocupa cada habitación, cada cama compartida, cada silencio prolongado. Como si ponerle nombre fuera restarle gravedad. O peor: convertirlo en anécdota.

Y aquí es donde Sombras sobre el Hudson se convierte en algo más que una novela de exiliados: se vuelve una novela sobre el pensamiento como enfermedad. Los personajes no piensan para comprender el mundo, sino para justificar su inercia, su cobardía, su desesperación educada. En eso, Singer se cruza con Musil y su Hombre sin atributos, o incluso con la parálisis moral de Los enamoramientos de Javier Marías, donde la reflexión es un atajo hacia la impotencia. Pero mientras Musil y Marías son más elegantes, más abstractos, Singer es más urgente, más de carne y hueso. Más yiddish, en definitiva. Si Dickens hubiese vivido para ver el Nueva York de Singer, quizá habría encontrado aquí un paisaje igual de roto, pero con menos esperanzas de redención y más con esa ironía amarga que solo los exiliados pueden permitirse.

En el fondo, la gran pregunta de la novela es filosófica, y terrible: ¿puede una vida seguir adelante cuando el alma ha quedado congelada en el pasado? Y la respuesta, si la hay, está escondida en los silencios, en las fugas de los personajes, en los gestos que repiten como autómatas mientras la historia avanza hacia ninguna parte. Aquí todo gira en torno al otro: el otro como espejo, como condena, como promesa incumplida. Nadie puede librarse de los demás, ni siquiera odiándolos. Y también hay algo del absurdo cotidiano, claro: ese sinsentido que se infiltra incluso en las discusiones sobre Dios en salones recargados, entre platos fríos y miradas que esquivan la culpa.

Singer no escribe para dar consuelo. Escribe para mostrar cómo la lucidez también puede ser una forma de condena. Sombras sobre el Hudson no es un libro amable ni redondo, pero es de esos que te siguen hablando días después, como una voz que no logras identificar pero sabes que es la tuya. Leer esta novela es sentarte a cenar con tus propios fantasmas, y darte cuenta de que algunos comen más que tú.

Una joya incómoda, áspera, que a ratos quizá te haga sonreír, pero profundamente trágica. Y si la acabas sin sentir un poco de culpa, entonces quizá no la hayas entendido del todo.

[Marina · Rating 5 out of 5]

New York, anni ’40. Boris Makeover, uomo d’affari ebreo, invita spesso amici e intellettuali a casa sua per dibattere su vari temi. La situazione cambia quando sua figlia Anna, sposata, fugge con il suo ex precettore Hertz Grein, anch’esso sposato e con due figli. La fuga ha ripercussioni su vari personaggi: su Boris che, essendo molto religioso, rimane scioccato e disereda la figlia, su Leah, la moglie di Hertz, che si sente sempre più sola e triste, su Esther, l’amante di Hertz, che diventa sempre più instabile psicologicamente, e su Luria, il marito di Anna, che si avvicina alla parapsicologia, illudendosi di poter incontrare la prima moglie morta nell’Olocausto.
Ma la fuga d’amore è destinata a fallire, perché il peso dell’Olocausto è troppo forte e vince su tutto, rendendo la felicità un mero miraggio.
 
“Ombre sull’Hudson” è un romanzo lento, ripetitivo e ossessivo che ha, come tema centrale, il disagio esistenziale della comunità ebraica - disagio dovuto alla tragedia dell’Olocausto e al difficile inserimento in una società capitalistica superficiale come quella americana. Tutti i personaggi, privi di identità, hanno forti disagi piscologici, provano un forte senso di colpa per essere dei sopravvissuti, non fanno che interrogarsi sul senso della vita, sull’esistenza di Dio e sulla malvagità dell’uomo e tentano disperatamente di aggrapparsi a qualcosa: alla fede, alla razionalità, alla parapsicologia o a uno stile di vita ascetico. Quello che compiono nel romanzo è un percorso erratico, pieno di contraddizioni e ripensamenti, alla ricerca di risposte che, purtroppo, non esistono. Alcuni soccomberanno, altri troveranno un equilibrio, altri ancora proseguiranno nel loro tormento fino alla fine.
 
Quello di Singer non è un romanzo facile da leggere, a livello psicologico. Ma è un romanzo meraviglioso, con un’introspezione pressoché unica nella letteratura e con uno stile altamente lirico - le descrizioni della New York notturna o innevata, specchio delle ombre che pesano sui personaggi, sono eccezionali.
Non vedo l’ora di conoscere meglio l’autore con “La famiglia Moskat”.

[Hank1972 · Rating 4 out of 5]

"A dispetto di tutte le mie disillusioni e di tutto il mio scetticismo, io credo che le nazioni possano apprendere ancora molto da questi ebrei: dal loro modo di pensare, di educare i bambini, dal loro trovare la felicità laddove altri vedono soltanto sventura e umiliazione. " Dal discorso per il Nobel di IBS.

Vale la lettura solo per le intrecciate e appassionanti storie d’amore tra il protagonista Hertz Dovid Grein e le sue tre donne, la moglie Leah, l’amante di lungo corso Esther, la caparbia Anna. Set principale New York - Manhattan, Brooklyn, Williamsburg – con escursioni al sole di Miami e alla pioggia del Maine.

Il plus sta nell’ambientazione di tutto questo nell’ambito della comunità ebraica nel secondo dopoguerra del '900 e la ottima caratterizzazione dei tanti personaggi e delle n storie che portano, con tratti in cui ci scappa anche un sorriso.

Una comunità innanzitutto di sopravvissuti dalla immensa tragedia dell’Olocausto, ciascuno toccato da propri drammi personali e familiari e incapace di comprendere ed assimilare una simile enormità. Di comprendere la malvagità dell’uomo, sull’uomo e verso gli animali (Singer è stato vegetariano, Grein lo vorrebbe essere). Ponendo in dubbio l’esistenza di Dio e la sua bontà.

Una comunità ancorata alle tradizioni religiose ortodosse, originaria di piccoli villaggi dell’est Europa e risalente nei secoli, impegnata nello studio delle sacre scritture e fortemente identitaria, anche nell'aspetto (barba, cernecchi), vestiario (gabbani, yarmulke, cappelloni), ammennicoli (scialli rituali, filatteri), lingua (Yiddish, lingua in cui scriveva Singer), precetti alimentari. Comunità che si scontra da un lato con la modernità secolare, rappresentata, ad esempio, dai figli di Grein e da Anna – da cui anche il tema genitori vs figli - piuttosto che dal diffondersi dell'ideologia comunista, dall’altro con le passioni e tentazioni individuali. Scontri e temi universali che ci coinvolgono.

Credo che serie che ci sono piaciute quali Shtisel e Unorthodox siano debitrici a IBS.

[Ferliegram · Rating 5 out of 5]

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.

[flaminia · Rating 5 out of 5]

non ho nulla da dire tranne questo: MERAVIGLIOSO.

[Paradoxe · Rating 5 out of 5]

- Κάπου υπάρχει ευτυχία.
- Για κάνε πως απλώνεις το χέρι σου να την αρπάξεις κι όλες οι ουράνιες και γήινες δυνάμεις θα φωνάξουν: Μη! Συχνά σκέφτομαι πως όλοι οι ανθρώπινοι θεσμοί έχουν ένα στόχο: να μας εμποδίσουν να χαιρόμαστε υπερβολικά. Ο κόσμος φοβάται την καλή τύχη περισσότερο απ’ το θάνατο.

Παραμένει η βαθειά σύνδεση με το Σίνγκερ, να μου δημιουργεί εικόνες. Αυτά που υπάρχουν, εκείνες που εννοούνται κι όσες ανακαλώ κι αναδημιουργούνται. Σαν ένας αναζωογονητής κοινών ανθρώπινων βιωμάτων που ξαναποκτούν χρώμα, ανάλογο των περιστάσεων του βιβλίου, μα και της ιδιοσυγκρασίας του αναγνώστη. Αφήνουν μια αίσθηση και δημιουργείται μια ενότητα, μια ολότητα εγκαθίσταται. Και σα να περνώ σε μια τρίτη ενότητα, μετά το Δούλο και τα Δικαστήρια του Μπετ Ντιν κι από ‘κει σε μια μάχη κουβέρτας στη Νέα Υόρκη, που ουσιαστικά ανοίγει την αυλαία του σύγχρονου ανθρώπου που κυνηγιέται, όσο κι ορίζεται απ’ το χρόνο: όσο πιο σύντομα περνάμε απ’ τη μια φάση στην άλλη, όσο λίγο διαρκεί η κάθε κατάσταση, τόσο καλύτερα καμουφλάρεται η πλήξη της έλλειψης ουσίας, τόσο περισσότερο κρύβεται το τεράστιο κενό ενός κόσμου, που περνάει σε μια άλλη εποχή απ’ την ειρήνη μέσα στον πόλεμο, στον πόλεμο μέσα στην ειρήνη.

Πράος κι όμως αμείλικτος, συγχωρετικός κι ωστόσο ανυποχώρητος. Ουσιαστικός στις γλυκές επιταγές, ανίκανος να ανεχτεί τις τυπολατρίες, τέλος μαχητής, μα όχι κατακτητής. Διεκδικητής όμως, ναι. Πιστός στη δική του παράδοση, ο Σίνγκερ, μένει στο πλευρό του ανθρώπου, αυτού του συνονθυλεύματος καλού και κακού, παραλόγου και λογικού, αληθινού κι υποκριτικού, μονόφθαλμου και κοντόφθαλμου, ερωτευμένο με τη ζωή σαν μια προέκταση του εαυτού του κι όσων πασχίζουν να βρουν μια εξήγηση πραγματική, ή υπερβατική για της θηριωδίες του ΒΠΠ κι ο συγγραφέας παραφυλάει, πανέτοιμος ν’ αναποδογυρίσει τις σκέψεις που κάτι στη σύνθεση τους μαρτυρά πραγματικότητα και κάτι άλλο αταβισμό και καταδεικνύει την έλευση ενός κόσμου που βλέπει το χρόνο να περνά σα χαλί μαγικό και τον καβαλά, αλλά κλείνει τα μάτια, βουλώνει τα αυτιά, ζει μέρες μικρές μέσα στα χρόνια, σκύβοντας το κεφάλι στον ουρανό, μα κοιτώντας το έδαφος αφ’ υψηλού.

Υπάρχουν δυο μεγάλες θεές: η Αντιξοότητα κι ο Πόνος και που χωρίς την παρ��μικρή παρακίνηση, μαραζώνουμε, τελματώνουμε. Μπορούμε να φτάσουμε ως τα χειρότερα εγκλήματα. Χρειάζεται ένας βαθμός δυσκολίας, χρειάζεται να βαδίζεις στο βουνό κι όχι σε πεδιάδες. Μα κι αν όλα πάνε πρίμα; Εμπλέξου. Με κάτι. Σε κάτι. Μην κάνεις φόνο. Σκέψου όσα ονειρεύτηκες κι είναι τώρα απτά, μη τα θυσιάζεις, καλύτερα χάρισε τα. Να γλυκάνουν και να μπορέσουν να γίνουν πάλι δικά σου. Είναι ίσως ο λόγος να μπλέκουμε σε κακοτοπιές, σαν αυτοάνοση, υποσυνείδητη θεραπεία. Και μέσα σε αυτό να βρίσκεται ο Θεός και να τον έχουμε τόσο αδικήσει, αγιοποιώντας λέξεις και τούβλα.

Οι άνθρωποι προσπαθούν να ζήσουν, να βρουν κίνητρα και ευκαιρίες. Κι άλλοι κάθονται, τηρώντας απόσταση, παρατηρούν μόνο το κοινό και το προκαθορισμένο, δημιουργούν τις συνθήκες να δουν το βάλτωμα. Μα όμως εσύ; Τι κάνεις εσύ; Είσαι παρών; Απών; Ποιος σε όρισε κριτή; Ποιος σου έδωσε το δικαίωμα της μη συμμετοχής; Από πού πήρες τη θανατερή ελευθερία να κρατήσεις αποστάσεις και να σου στερούν τη χαρά της εγγύτητας, αυτά που βγαίνουν σαν στέκεις μαζί με τον άλλο, ταλαντεύεσαι μαζί του στις συνθήκες. Μια χειρονομία, μια δυσκολία, ένα αλισβερίσι με τους άλλους που σου αποδεικνύει πως από μακριά δε διαφέρουν από λέξεις ξερές, απρόσωπης ιστορίας. Με ποιο δικαίωμα μπαίνεις και βγαίνεις; Πως μπορείς να βλέπεις τους άλλους σαν παιχνίδια που κουρδίζεις για να υπάρχουν όταν το επιθυμείς; Οι άλλοι δεν υπάρχουν για ‘σενα, μα μπορούν να υπάρξουν με ‘σενα. Αν δε θες, πήγαινε στο διάολο, μα αν είσαι εκεί, αν το επέλεξες τώρα ή κάποτε, ζήστο, ανέλαβε το.

Η ευτυχία ισοδυναμεί με την ευσέβεια. Όταν ένα ανθρώπινο ον είναι ευτυχισμένο, κάθε ερώτημα εκλείπει, γιατί τότε το ανθρώπινο ενώνεται με το θείο. Τα αποκαλούμενα άψυχα αντικείμενα είναι πάντα ευτυχισμένα, κι επομένως δεν παραπονιούνται ποτέ. Η ζωή, ωστόσο, έχει παραχωρήσει ένα άλλο δώρο, που διαρκώς απομακρύνει τους ανθρώπους από την ευτυχία – το δώρο της ελευθερίας. Η ελεύθερη επιλογή είναι δυνατή μόνο εφόσον υπάρχει όχι μόνο η ευτυχία αλλά και η δυστυχία, όχι μόνο η αλήθεια αλλά και το ψέμα, όχι μόνο η επιτυχία αλλά και η αποτυχία. Η ελευθερία συμβαδίζει με την ατομικότητα.

Ένας κόσμος που έχει φθαρεί, κατά κάποιο τρόπο το να μάθει πάλι να ζει σε ειρήνη, χωρίς να αισθάνεται κυνηγημένος, διωκόμενος, έχει θέση σε ισχύ μηχανισμούς κοσμιότητας ανάμεσα σε αγέλες λύκων, που δεν πρέπει κανένας να ξεχωρίζει για το είναι, παρά μόνο για το έχειν. Με ποιο τρόπο είναι αυτοί οι άνθρωποι Εβραίοι; Με ποιο τρόπο ειν’ αυτοί οι άνθρωποι συγγενείς μ’ εμένα; Γιατί να με πειράζει αν σφαγιάζουν ανθρώπους σαν κι αυτούς ή αν τους καίνε στους φούρνους; Το τραγικό είναι πως κατέστρεψαν τους καλούς. Ένας κόσμος που πενθεί, που βρίσκεται σε κρίση εθνικής ταυτότητας, να ξεδιαλέξει τα θρησκευτικά πιστεύω απ’ την ουσία του, να καταλάβει αν διαχωρίζοντας τα ωθείται στην αφομοίωση ή αν υπάρχει κάτι άλλο. Ένας κόσμος που διαφωνεί με τον εαυτό του. Ένας κόσμος που άλλοι έτρεξαν κυνηγημένοι και πρόλαβαν και άλλοι δεν τα κατάφεραν και χάθηκαν, είτε ζουν δίχως να ζουν. Ένας κόσμος που στον πυρήνα του αυτοί που δεν πρόλαβαν να ξεφύγουν αλλά επέζησαν δεν κατηγορούν εκείνους που είχαν ήδη φύγει, αλλά κάτι μέσα σ’ αυτούς τους ίδιους τους ωθεί προς την αυτοσυντριβή, ή την αλλοίωση. Κι αυτό δεν πρέπει να μας ξενίζει. Ας θυμηθούμε, στη Μικρασιατική καταστροφή, κάποιοι είχαν καταλάβει και είχαν προλάβει, άλλοι πηδούσαν απ’ τα παράθυρα ή σφαγιάζονταν. Ο ίδιος κόσμος 20 χρόνια πριν. Είναι ο κόσμος του οποίου τελικά επιφαινόμενα ήταν ο Χίτλερ και ο Στάλιν.

Το περιστατικό που εμφανίζεται η Κατς στο ξενοδοχείο ανήκει στις σκηνές που μου έχουν προκαλέσει τα πλέον δυσάρεστα συναισθήματα. Δεν είναι τι λέγεται, ή πως, είτε γιατί, είναι η επίμονη κακία, η καμουφλαρισμένη σε πουριτανισμό. Δεν πρόλαβα να λυπηθώ, δεν ξέρω αν η έκφραση έχει κανένα νόημα, αισθάνθηκα ακατάσχετο θυμό, για όλους τους τίμιους ανθρώπους, που όχι μόνο έχουν έρθει αντιμέτωποι με κάποια Κατς, αλλά και για όλους τους αρπακτικούς θεατές.

Στη μια άκρη του στόματος της φαινόταν κάτι το απροσδιόριστο, που δεν το είχε προσέξει μέχρι εκείνη τη στιγμή - μια έκφραση πικρίας αναμεμειγμένη με ταπεινότητα και κάποια εξωγήινη επιείκεια, σαν κι αυτή που βλέπει κανείς συχνά στα πρόσωπα των νεκρών. Η έκφραση αυτή που έμοιαζε να λέει: Συγχωρώ. Συγχωρώ. Επέζησα. Επιβίωσα.
Τώρα, τώρα την αγαπώ αληθινά, μουρμούρισε στον εαυτό του. Εκείνη η έκφραση στην άκρη του στόματος της έμοιαζε να του έχει αφιερώσει μια νέα, την αληθινή. Μια μυστήρια, μυστική δύναμη του είχε επιτρέψει να δει φευγαλέα την ψυχή της, κατά κάποιο τρόπο και είχε δει την ευγένεια και την μεγαλοψυχία που ήταν κλειδωμένη στη φυλακή του σώματος της. Η έκφραση της του είχε αποκαλύψει το μυστικό: Του είχε πει πως πίσω από την εξωτερική πρόσοψη, πίσω απ’ όλο το πάθος, όλη τη φιλοδοξία, όλη την ανοησία, υπήρχε ένα άλλο, ανώτερο ον, το οποίο δεν είχε ακόμη δοκιμαστεί, ένα ον με μεγαλύτερη γνώση και υψηλότερους στόχους. Από ‘δω κι εμπρός θα της φέρομαι διαφορετικά. Θα της δώσω ό,τι της οφείλω. Την αγάπη αυτή θα τη δώσω και στους άλλους. Όλοι μας θα πεθάνουμε κάποτε. Σε είκοσι χρόνια, οι περισσότεροι απ’ τους ανθρώπους σ’ αυτή την καφετέρια θα κείτονται στο νεκροταφείο. Λόγου χάρη εκείνος ο γέρος με το σάντουιτς και τον παγωμένο καφέ. Κι εκείνη η γυναίκα με το γιαούρτι της. Γιατί ποτέ μέχρι τώρα δε μου πέρασε αυτή η σκέψη απ’ το νου; Γιατί σπαταλάω τη ζωή μου σε παραλογισμούς και κοινοτοπίες; Πόσο καιρό θα ενδίδω σε ότι η καββάλα αποκαλεί μικρότητα του πνεύματος; Στο κάτω – κάτω, αυτό που ήθελα πάντα είναι να είμαι ένα ανθρώπινο ον, όχι ένα σκουλήκι.
Καθόταν χαμένος στις σκέψεις του μέσα στην άναρθρη σιωπή που προκαλείται απ’ τη μετάνοια και μια διστακτική αναζήτηση του ουσιαστικού. Και δεν πάει πολύ ώρα που είχα τέτοιες σκανδαλώδεις σκέψεις! Δικαιολογούσα μάλιστα το χιτλερισμό! Ένα ρίγος διέτρεξε τη σπονδυλική του στήλη. Εσύ που είσαι στον ουρανό, βοήθησε με! Είμαι πολύ μικρός! Δυσκολεύομαι. Μη με αφήσεις να μαραζώνω τυφλός όλα τα χρόνια της ζωής μου. Πως μπορώ να είμαι ένας αξιοπρεπής όταν κάνω τόσο κακό σε κάποιον άλλο; Δε βρήκε απάντηση κι οι σκέψεις του σταμάτησαν ξαφνικά.
Ένας κόσμος που γεννάει το όμορφο μέσα στη μεταμέλεια για να χαθεί το επόμενο λεπτό που συνειδητοποιεί τις ανθρώπινες αδυναμίες του και θα θυμίσει εκείνους τους ανθρώπους που κάνουν εξαντλητικές δίαιτες και σαν τους κεράσουν ένα γλυκό μια μέρα που ο περιορισμός τους δεν ήταν τόσο σθεναρός, μετά χαλαρώνουν και παραδίδονται όλη μέρα σε μια λαιμαργία υστερική και καταλήγουν σε νυχτερινές τύψεις και νέα εξάντληση του εαυτού τους, στην τύψη και τον καταναγκασμό. Κι όλα αυτά για να ‘ναι μόνοι.

Είναι ακατανόητο γιατί με άφησαν ζωντανό οι ναζί. Το διασκέδαζαν να με κοροϊδεύουν που είμαι τόσο κοντός. Έστελναν ήρωες στους φούρνους, εμένα όμως μ’ άφησαν να ζήσω. ‘’Χέστη’’ – έτσι με αποκαλούσαν. Μ’ έβαζαν να τους τραγουδάω ύμνους του Σαββάτου και να χορεύω. Ποτέ άλλοτε δεν υπήρξαν τέτοιου είδους άνθρωποι. Όποιος δεν το ‘χει δει με τα ίδια του τα μάτια δεν ξέρει τι είναι το ανθρώπινο γένος στην πραγματικότητα. Όταν τους έκανε κέφι μας διάταζαν να κατεβάζουμε τα παντελόνια μας και να κάνουμε κάθε λογής αηδιαστικά πράγματα. Δεν έχεις διόλου αλλάξει. Στην Αμερική οι άνθρωποι μένουν νέοι. Αυτό το είδος αποδομημένα άναρχου λόγου έχει κάτι το βαθειά συγκινητικό και φυσικό, που αποκλείει κάθε προκαταβολικό στοχασμό, αν δεν έχεις αγαπήσει και δεν έχεις συμπονέσει τους ανθρώπους. Λέει αλλού, μπορείς να σκοτώσεις τον άνθρωπο, δε μπορείς να σκοτώσεις τη ζωή.

Το βιβλίο μοιάζει σαν συνδετικός κρίκος ανάμεσα στο Λυκόφως των ανθρώπων, τη Σταυροφορία χωρίς σταυρό, τους Υπνοβάτες και την Κόψη του ξυραφιού. Είναι αυτοί και οι άλλοι. Εκείνοι που πολέμησαν, αντιστάθηκαν, κατακρεουργήθηκαν, δεν πρόλαβαν να ξεφύγουν, δεν πρόλαβαν να ζήσουν κι η φύρα που επιπλέει κι επιβιώνει και μετά όλοι εκείνοι που διέφυγαν, ανάμεσα στη συνείδηση και την ασυνειδησία, σ’ ένα κόσμο διπλό. Παλεύει να νικήσει τις σχεδόν αυθύπαρκτες διακρίσεις μέσα του. Πολύ χρώμα, πολύ φούσκα, πολύ μεγάλο κενό, σε σύγχρονες ‘’Ουδετερίες’’, αλλά κι ο κυριούλης που ανεβάζει το βραχοτόπι του σε μια κορφή και μετά παίρνει πάλι την κατρακύλα. Σε ένα κόσμο που παλεύει να διατηρηθεί ανάμεσα στο φαινομενικό και την παράδοση, αποφεύγοντας τον εαυτό του, αποφεύγοντας να τον ονομάσει.

Συγγραφείς που κοιτούν με διορατικότητα και ανυποχώρητη ειλικρίνεια την αμερικάνικη κοινωνία από έξω προς τα μέσα, σε κάνουν να εκτιμάς περισσότερο την αντίστοιχη ματιά του Πύντσον από μέσα προς τα έξω. Κάπου μέσα στο κείμενο, γίνεται ένα λογοπαίγνιο με το όνομα Πύντσον και το όνομα ενός χωριού και επίσης στο σημείο που συναντιέται ο Μπόρις με το Γιάσα κι ο Γκρέϊν τρέχει να κρυφτεί στην τουαλέτα, βγαίνει προς τα έξω, η αίσθηση πως ο συγγραφέας πρέπει να διασκέδαζε πολύ, όταν έγραφε τη σκηνή. Ο τρόπος που είναι γραμμένη, μοιάζει σαν να την εμπνεύστηκε ο Τσέστερτον, να τη συνέγραψε ο Πύντσον με την ιδιότυπη ευφράδεια του, αλλά και την κοφτή ματιά, του Γκρην.

Ένας χαρισματικός δημιουργός εικόνων κι οπτασιών. Όλα μέσα απ’ τη ζωή κι όμως πιο ψηλά απ’ τις λέξεις, την αφή, την όραση. Είναι μιαρές για όλο αυτό. Αντανακλούνται πάνω μου εικόνες που με κάνουν να αισθάνομαι ερωτευμένος. Έξω απ’ το σπίτι μου κοάζουν τα τζιτζίκια κι είμαι ακόμη σ’ εκείνη τη διάθεση που με βάζει ο συγγραφέας, ο ήχος γίνεται εικόνα πολλών μνημών και μια σιγή με τρόπο βασανιστικό γίνεται ανακουφιστική και μ’ έναν αναπόφευκτο τρόπο δυσάρεστη. Ο Σοπενάουερ, ο Σπινόζα, το Ταλμούδ ελαχιστοποιούνται σα λέξεις, γίνονται φορείς εικόνων κι όλο είναι όμορφο, αυστηρό, ακάθεκτο. Απέχεις ένα τοίχο απ’ τους άλλους, χοντρό σαν το σύμπαν, παράλογο σαν το χάος. Υπάρχει αγάπη; Το βιβλίο είναι το αριστούργημα μιας κυριακάτικης αγάπης μεσοβδόμαδα, που σθεναρά νικά τις ασάφειες κάθε Κυριακής και κατασπαταλά την αγάπη, στην αγάπη. Συντρίβεται στον ήχο, το φως, στις χείριστες έξεις, στις εγκληματικές ροπές και χάνεται μόνο για να σημειώσει τα εγκλήματα και να τα εκτοξεύσει στο κενό, που ανήκουν. Κι αισθάνομαι, πάλι ερωτευμένος και πάλι τα τζιτζίκια σιγούν.

Η μήπως είναι η πρώτη φορά που συμβαίνει ένα τέτοιο μπέρδεμα στην ιστορία του σύμπαντος; Πόσες πιθανότητες υπάρχουν να επαναληφθεί μια τέτοια κατάσταση; Αν ο αριθμός των ατόμων είναι περιορισμένος, το συμβάν οφείλει να επαναληφθεί κάποτε, μάλιστα όχι μόνο μια φορά αλλά τρισεκατομμύρια φορές και κάθε φορά μ’ ελάχιστη μόνο απόκλιση. Έτσι είναι που τρελάθηκε ο καημένος ο Νίτσε. Βέβαια, η συμπεριφορά μου είναι παράλογη, ωστόσο αποτελώ μέρος της φύσης, κατόπιν τούτου όσα κάνω έχουν τη θέση τους στο σύμπαν. Αφού δεν μπορούμε να πούμε πως μια μύγα κάνει λάθη, γιατί να πούμε πως ένα ανθρώπινο ον σφάλλει; Ο Σπινόζα έχει δίκιο: Δεν υπάρχει θέση για λάθη στο σύμπαν. Γιατί τον απασχολούσε τόσο ο έλεγχος των συναισθημάτων; Φαίνεται πως αυτοί που πλησιάζουν περισσότερο την αλήθεια είναι οι πιο ακραίοι φαταλιστές – αυτοί που παίζουν ρώσικη ρουλέτα

Βλέπουμε την ασυμπτωματική συνέπεια που αναγνώρισε ο Καμύ στο τι μπορεί να συμβεί όταν το Παράλογο κλείνει το ρήμα ‘’ζω’’. Αναρωτιέται κανείς για τις ομοιότητες του τρελού που κάνει το λογικό, του τρελού που παριστάνει τον τρελό και του Παραλόγου, που κυνηγά με τρελή λογική, την επανάληψη. Αναρωτιέσαι τι συμβαίνει, όταν στη σκηνή εμφανίζεται εξαγνισμένος, ο λογικός τρελός. Μια σπουδαία αλληγορία, μια επινοημένη τρέλα, μ’ ένα λογικό μηχανισμό, ή ένα λογικό πραγματικό σ’ ένα παράλογο κόσμο. Το Παράλογο δεν έχει πέος, έχει αιδοίο και κάθεται με βιαιότητα, ξανά και ξανά πάνω στα θύματα του, τιμωρώντας τα πιστεύω τους
Ο κόσμος που γνωρίζουμε σήμερα δεν είναι παρά ένας αχανής υπόκοσμος.
Η αναμονή του θανάτου είναι ένα προνόμιο για το οποίο τελικά πληρώνεις. Το τίποτε μπορούσε να τετραγωνιστεί. Το τίποτε θα επέστρεφε στο μηδέν, στην αμορφία και στο κενό που θα κειτόταν αδρανές στη μεταδημιουργική κενότητα. Μήπως δεν ήταν γραμμένο πως όταν τελειώσουν όλα, όταν πάψουν όλα τα όντα να υπάρχουν, θα κυριαρχήσει το Μη Ον; Τέρμα ο κόσμος, τέρμα ο Θεός, τέρμα ο χρόνος, τέρμα ο χώρος. Σιωπή, ησυχία. Δε συνέβη τίποτε. Όλα σβήστηκαν χωρίς ν’ αφήσουν ίχνη. Η σαπουνόφουσκα έσκασε χωρίς ν’ αφήσει πίσω της ούτε σαπούνι, ούτε νερό. Έχει πάψει να υπάρχει ως και η νιρβάνα. Και τότε ποιος είναι αυτός που λαγοκοιμάται; Εγώ.

Η συνάντηση της Φρίντα και του Άνφανγκ, είναι η πεμπτουσία κάποιας φύσης, για την οποία αδυνατώ να εκφραστώ.

( Η συνέχεια στα σχόλια )

[Amber Anderson · Rating 5 out of 5]

I will treasure this book forever and ever.

The beginning of the novel focuses on a love story between two married people. They are passionate and willing to risk it all to be together. And they do.

The whole of this novel weaves together the lives of these and other New Yorkers (like a Jewish Magnolia!)

Post World War Two, the characters recount the holocaust and its effect. They question (or denounce) God. Some remain devout. Some hold seances. Some lose themselves is romance, business, or politics.

Shadows on the Hudson is deeply philosophical and just plain lovely. I spent many late nights absorbed in it and I will probably read it again. I zealously recommend it.

[Marica · Rating 4 out of 5]

La grande mela e i suoi popoli
Isaac Bashevis Singer si guarda intorno e fa un inventario delle anime ebraiche a New York, dopo la seconda guerra mondiale. Si parte da una sera nel salotto di Boris Makaver, dove tutti i personaggi compaiono nel comune sblaterare di una sera fra amici e si percorre i pensieri di questa gente, che prendono strade imprevedibili. Il personaggio principale è Grein, un uomo d’affari in bilico fra le donne e l’ortodossia religiosa; è un singolare equilibrio fra l’applicazione letterale della religione della sua gioventù e il vettore somma dell’attrazione suscitata dalle varie donne fra le quali si divide. Sembra uno scherzo, ma Grein è serissimo. Il panorama è molto vario, come sempre nel genere umano, il mio preferito è Boris Makaver, che condivide la sua ricchezza con una corte di amici che non hanno il suo senso degli affari e sono sbarcati in America ricchi di cultura e poveri da tutti gli altri punti di vista. Questo libro del 1956 ha raccontato una parte del mondo ebraico di New York e rivela quotidianità e i pensieri che li agitavano: integrazione in un paese diverso dalla Polonia yiddish, il ricordo dei loro cari inceneriti e peggio, i racconti dei reduci, come continuare a rivolgersi ancora a un Dio che non ascolta le preghiere del suo popolo e d’altra parte come fare senza la preghiera, sulla quale si appoggia l’ebraismo. Mi stupisce il grande successo incontrato dal libro, perché è interessante e profondo, ma anche pesante per chi non abbia una dimensione religiosa. Forse sottovaluto la religiosità dei lettori. Una cosa che ho trovato affascinante è la rappresentazione di New York, grande, caotica, magica.

[Palomar · Rating 5 out of 5]

And who, shall I say, is calling?

Premessa: grazie a mamma e papà Singer per aver dato al mondo i loro figli.
Isaac Singer scrive la storia in yiddish, che esce a puntate sul Jewish Daily Forward nella seconda metà degli anni ’50.
Nel 1957, sempre in yiddish, è pubblicata in un volume unico, nel 1978 Singer vince il Nobel, muore nel 1991 e finalmente, nel 1998, il libro viene tradotto e pubblicato in inglese.
La cornice è quella delle avventure amorose di Hertz Dovid Grein, un broker della New York di fine anni’40 con una moglie e due amanti, ma già la prima scena suggerisce una vicenda corale, in cui tutti i personaggi che compaiono, anche fuggevolmente, hanno umanità e spessore.
Grein, Anna e Boris Makaver, Esther, il dottor Margolin, Freda, Yasha Kotik…mi hanno accompagnato per diverse settimane e adesso mi mancheranno, con tutta la loro debordante umanità, i loro desideri, i loro errori, i tormenti ed i fantasmi (veri e finti, chi legge il libro capirà...) che li perseguitano.
Sono ebrei scampati alla Shoah, quasi tutti, come Singer, hanno abbandonato l’Europa prima - molto o poco - della tragedia.
Si sentono fuori posto a New York, schiacciati fra nazismo, comunismo e capitalismo, si sentirebbero fuori posto ovunque.
Non perdonano Dio, lo inseguono e lo rifiutano al tempo stesso, lo pensano, gli parlano, lo pregano - ciascuno a modo proprio - lo accusano duramente ma lo cercano, lo cercano sempre.
Non perdonano neppure loro stessi, cercano disperatamente espiazione, consumati dal senso di colpa e dalla rabbia per l’orrore che ha inghiottito il mondo che amavano.
Singer non fa sconti, lungo tutto il libro ci sono molte riflessioni e domande crude, durissime e difficili, non era per niente ovvio essere così diretti alla fine degli anni ’50.
Tanti sono i dialoghi pregevoli, le riflessioni intime che raccontano non solo la crisi d’identità ebraica, ma anche la crisi dell’uomo del Novecento e i suoi dilemmi cruciali, tutto grazie a personaggi così vivi, così veri da farci sentire lì con loro, per le strade di New York, nei locali notturni, negli appartamenti in cui celebrano riti religiosi, negli alberghi in cui combattono con desideri e impulsi, sentimenti e raziocinio.
Credo che, dopo quasi settant’anni, il valore di queste riflessioni sia pressoché intatto.
E poi ci sono poche pagine, quasi a metà del libro, un breve incontro che - per il modo in cui si svolge, per le parole che lo concludono – è come la candela che rischiara le tenebre.
***
Leonard Cohen ha scritto tante canzoni meravigliose, ma per “Who by fire” deve molto a un poema religioso (Unetanneh Tokef) cantato in occasione del Rosh Hashanah (il Capodanno ebraico) e dello Yom Kippur (il giorno dell'espiazione dei peccati).
Il testo originale l’ho trovato tradotto così:
"Nel giorno del Rosh Hashanah [il verdetto del destino di tutte le tue creature] verrà inciso e nel giorno dello Yom Kippur sarà sigillato - quanti passeranno dalla terra e quanti saranno creati; chi vivrà e chi perirà; chi morirà al momento predeterminato e chi prima che quel momento arrivi; chi a causa dell'acqua, chi a causa del fuoco, chi a causa della spada, chi a causa di una bestia, chi di stenti, chi di sete, chi di rivolte, chi di peste, chi di strangolamento, chi di lapidazione. Chi riposerà e chi sarà costretto a vagare, chi vivrà in armonia e chi irrequieto, chi godrà della pace e chi soffrirà, chi sarà reso povero e chi verrà arricchito, chi sarà umiliato e chi sarà esaltato. Ma Pentimento, Preghiera e Carità allontanano il severo Decreto."

La canzone di Cohen, invece, pone una domanda difficile, come le domande di Singer in questo libro.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=251Bl...

And who by fire, who by water,
who in the sunshine, who in the night time,
who by high ordeal, who by common trial,
who in your merry merry month of may,
who by very slow decay,
and who, shall I say, is calling?

[Sara · Rating 5 out of 5]

Simply one of the best things I’ve read in years.

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

This ensemble cast of survivors of the Shoah all struggle with going on in New York City, the few who escaped the Nazis. Singer in short chapters skillfully interweaves the stories of a combative handful of intellectuals, for the most part, complicating each other's lives. Affairs, adultery, assimilation, and atrophy of Jewish traditions which bound their parents back in Poland, Germany, and Russia haunt their waking actions, sleepless worries, secret hotel liaisons, and fever dreams.

It's also a novel of ideas. These folks embody the generation haunted by their guilt of having made it to safety. A few collaborated and the others endured. Now, around 1946, they must reckon with whether the beliefs of their murdered relatives will sustain their offspring. Secularism, academic fads, inchoate philosophies, psychoanalysis, Stalinism parading as "progressivism," and desperate seances tempt skittish, surly minds. Their souls, which among them certain ones deny, tug at fears of mortality. Sins befall them all in what a key figure labels as "the underworld" of hedonistic America shatter their complacency and dim delights of constant, conspicuous, callow consumption.

Rare to find a successful saga which manages to dramatize afflictions of the mind, body, and spirit, without reducing their embodiments to stock roles. Singer creates flawed men and women, neither romanticized nor idealized. He nimbly delivers sharp dialogue, a few roguish cameos who enliven a generally somber mood, and tragicomic situations that allow rich complications of matchmaking to play out as farce, folly, and fantasy. A satirical Miami interlude; a Russian big spender; an unctuous comedian; his slatternly sidekick; an unhinged harridan; a pious revert to Orthodoxy; a Gentile daughter-in-law who finds an attraction to the Law; an unfaithful, weary, hypocritical three-timer.

Out of the long-form works of Singer I've so far read, this lengthy immersion as both erudite entertainment and uncertain enlightenment carries its thoughtful weight adroitly. Singer refuses to provide facile platitudes for the horrors of twentieth-century history. He can't decide between competing, contradictory, explanations for the absence of a God who didn't intervene to save millions, or the logic of praising such a Creator amidst evil, pain, and the suffering and slaughter of innocent children, men, women, and, as he movingly adds, animals we eat and kill. He returns to this theme in much of his work, although as one won over to his side, I concur with his principled vegetarianism, as he expresses memorably and disturbingly a disgust with industrialized death.

While this, published in English seven years after the author's passing, [originally 1957-8; as with many of his novels, serialized in the Yiddish Daily Forverts ("Forward")] apparently met with mixed reviews in English, as it seemed to recapitulate signature tropes of Singer's career, I applaud its deft blend of vivid personalities who pontificate in smart fashion serious ideas. And meanwhile, deeply indulging in the tawdry pleasures, often between the sheets, which make this akin to the narratives of Saul Bellow, Philip Roth, and, yes, Woody Allen in their depictions of that certain breed of highly educated, intimidatingly erudite, relentlessly cerebral, formidably articulate, neurotic, lusty New Yorker (if here the recent immigrants rather than their children or grandchildren as main subjects).

Their fraying Jewish identity tangles with the frenzied forgetfulness which unravels to tear them away, amidst crises of faith, morality, political and spiritual extremism, as their progeny continue to battle with an age-old dilemma of whether to surrender to the dominant culture, or to doggedly resist its dark inclinations...Immersed in it, not knowing of its late-Fifties composition, I thought Singer was writing from the perspective of a couple of generations later, in the 1980s looking back, so prescient were his observations about fading of post-war Jewish continuity within mainstream American families. Echoed in his novella "The Penitent," from 1983, through a single protagonist.

(More than 4, not quite 5 stars due to repetition of Singer's variations on a single theme, but compared to the competition, a significant achievement in style, tone, imagination, insight, and intelligence. There's hard thinking, ethical courage, and brutal honesty within nearly 500 pages.)

[Renata · Rating 5 out of 5]

Isaac Bashevis Singer
Sjene nad Hudsonom (Shotns baym Hudson / Shadows on the Hudson)
✒️
Svakom čitatelju kojeg zanima povijest Židova na tlu Amerike, naročito ona poslijeratna, uvijek ću preporučiti Singera i samo Singera! Po meni, najveći pisac jidiš književnosti ikad, pisao je remek-djela dočaravajući nam toliko ljudske sudbine, stvarajući složene i dobro razrađene likove, s lakoćom opisujući to zamršeno klupko muško-ženskih odnosa i dok bi se klupko rasplitalo od njegovih bi niti tkao ćilim u čijoj su se osnovnoj potki redale niti požude, ljubomore, strasti, pobožnosti i bogohuljenja, ljubavi i nevjere, sve zastrto niskim strastima i dvostrukim aršinima, a s druge strane vjerom obogaćenom arabeskama mudrih misli i izreka, kako starozavjetnih, tako i filozofskih.
✒️
Sjene nad Hudsonom su sjene Holokausta i sjene preživjelih koji se svi odreda bore s duhovima prošlosti vukući na svojim plećima teret preživjelih. Kao da su svi uhvaćeni u škripcu. Njihovo židovstvo kakvo su poznavali u Europi je okaljano, u dušama pustoš kao golemi kontrast neonskim svjetlima Amerike. Svi su oni na neki način "oštećeni", definitivno izgubljeni, njihova vjera poljuljana visi u zraku, pomalo suluda plejada likova. Ipak, to su likovi s kojima ćete se bez problema poistovjetiti, na to neće utjecati ni činjenica da 99,9 % svih likova čine Židovi u New Yorku koncem '40-ih. Njihove duše i postupci su naši, zablude i maštarije ljudske da ne mogu biti ljudskije, voljet ćete ih, možda mrziti, prezirati i žaliti, a vjerujte ponajviše voljeti unatoč svim njihovim manama, ravnodušni sigurno nećete ostati.
✒️
Singerova veličina ogleda se i u činjenici da se cijelo vrijeme sve čini toliko stvarnim, kao da živite tu, uz njih. A sve to začinjeno tipičnim židovskim humorom, nudeći čitatelju savršenu tragikomediju.
Singer ne laže, on nam pokazuje kako čovjek nije baš uvijek pametan da bi učio na vlastitim greškama, stoga iste greške ponavlja, kaje se, pokušava nešto ispraviti, um možda i shvaća, ali grijesi bivaju jači od volje grešnika.
✒️
Sve njih, sve odreda, progone duhovi, bilo da su stigli za njima, bilo da su ih donijeli sa sobom k'o mater nerođeno dijete u utrobi, oni doniješe svoje breme. Tijela bijahu spašena, duše uništene. Sve je to dovodilo do ludih i nesuvislih odluka, još luđih postupaka, nečega što u staroj domovini nikada ne bi učinili, ali tu, nad Hudsonom, činilo se tako prirodnim, opravdanim, kao da svaka radnja, bezumna, ishitrena, glupa, spada baš tu. Godine sukoba sa samim sobom gnječile su im umove, a karaktere pretvarale u gnjecavo tijesto, te dovodile do preljuba, mržnje, izdaja, do konfuznosti i osveta.
Likovi su specifični i po tome što komuniciraju na nekoliko jezika: njemačkom, engleskom, jidišu, poljskom, čak i hebrejskom. Nerijetko sve u istom razgovoru.
Radnju možemo pratiti kroz nekoliko prizmi:
-opise likova kroz njihove greške, posrtanja, pokajanja, patnje, moral i nemoral koji ih razdire u svojim sukobljavanjima.
-kroz globalne opise ljudi i ljudske ćudi kao čimbenika koji pokreću ratove, razaraju da bi se u sljedećem trenu okrenuli budućnosti kao da se nije desilo ništa.
- i vjerojatno najažnije što pisac želi poručiti: prolazna smo bića na ovom svijetu, koji bi, samo da želimo poštovati Božje zakone, olakšali život i sebi i drugima. Citat: "Kad bi se ljudi držali Deset zapovijedi, ne bi nam trebala ni policija, ni vojska, ni atomska bomba, ni jedan od toliko nam mrskih oblika društvenog nadzora."
✒️
Singer je majstor obrata i velemajstor psihološkog oslikavanja i razrade karaktera svojih likova, te me ni najmanje ne čudi da ga je Kirkus Reviews nakon ovog romana usporedio s Tolstojem, a Publisher Weekly s Dostojevskim.
S pravom književni nobelovac koji je, isto tako, mogao biti doktor psihologije.
Moja je preporuka ogromna, a poslušate li me - bit ćete sami sebi zahvalni zbog toga.
✒️
Djelo je u Americi tiskano 1957. na jidišu, a tek posthumno 1998. prevedeno i tiskano na engleskom.
✒️
Izdavač: V.B.Z.
Preveo s engleskog: Tomislav Kuzmanović
✒️
P.S. Inače ne pišem ovako duge osvrte, no ovaj put sam morala, jednostavno morala. That's it!

[Mary · Rating 5 out of 5]

Quite simply, a masterpiece. The full scope of Singer's passions and interests on display. Its Shadows are those of the Holocaust and its survivors: the haunted,the abandoned, the betrayed. Grein is an odd hero: conflicted, faithless, eternally seeking a kind of peace in romantic love that does not come. And yet we love him, root for him. Singer's women are no less complex. What's truly remarkable, though, is the humor and wisdom he wrings from tragedy. Hats off.

[Pete Dematteo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Upper West Side intellectuals, East Side capitalists, all types of angles of New York Jewry in the late 1940's. Those with great religious tradition seem to make a career out of struggling with undiagnosed and/or untreatable mood disorders, manic-depressive personality, conspicuous consumption, or sex and even love addictions galore which are so strong that spouses with terminal cancer or suicidal thoughts are abandoned for greener pastures and actually have the nerve to ask for forgiveness when it suits their needs to do so afterwards. For those of us who are plagued with mental turmoil, these damaged characters are so highly jaded with Holocaust memories and refugee displacement issues and have lost all patients with anyone or anything, including God, that the only thing that matters to them is getting doped up via deceiving people to the maximum.

Engrossing and arresting, indeed!

[Barry Pless · Rating 5 out of 5]

If it is as good to read as it is to listen to the audio version, it is simply wonderful. The writing is so well tuned and adept that you feel as if you are in the same room as these marvelous, complex characters. Part of the miracle here is that it is not difficult for non-Yiddish speaking readers to follow and enjoy. I wish I had not waited until my eighties before discovering the brilliant Isaac Singer

[Lorenzo Berardi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Will I ever dislike anything wrote by Singer?
This one even adds a great sense of humour to another deliciuos multi-flavored recipe.

At first I was enjoying this book, but being not really able to get into its mood and characters. Now, after 285 pages, I am kidnapped once again.
And more will follow soon!

[Eileen Fireman · Rating 5 out of 5]

Every once in a while a book comes along that almost makes it impossible to read another with satisfaction. Try getting on stage after The Rolling Stones! Shadows on the the Hudson was just such a book for me. I certainly heard of Isaac Bashevis Singer through the years, but I never read him. It seems with the passing of time the less likely you are to read the oldies. Of course there are books that are centuries in the past that we do read. Most likely it's because it's taught in schools and universities, or Hollywood makes it into a film. The older ones are caught in a spider's web of literary amber. It seems every day dozens of books are being published. Who can catch up with the past I'm barely keeping up with the the present. Isaac Bashevis Singer's name was very familiar to me. I certainly have read about him for years. I knew he won the Nobel Prize for Literature and wrote for a Yiddish newspaper in New York where his work was serialized. This book was published posthumously along with some others. Kirkus Reviews called this a work of genius and compared him to Tolstoy. Publishers Weekly compared him to Dostoyevsky. Yes, he is right up there. The story will hold up for years to come because it deals with the human condition that anyone can relate to or find intriguing.

[Ellen · Rating 4 out of 5]

The story of the interweaving of lives of Manhattan Jewish-American friends after WW II. They are a combination of intellectual, devout, atheist, capitalist and Communist. The overlaying story is about an affair between two of the main characters and the effect on themselves and the rest of the group. The book contains uncontrollable sexuality while also having the characters tortured by their memories of their traditional Jewish upbringings.

I guess this is my own bias, but I was supprised that such sophisticated, modern issues could be discussed by a writer in Yiddish. My bubbies and zayedes certainly didn't talk of such things!

[Azeeza · Rating 5 out of 5]

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!

[Clayton Foschiani · Rating 5 out of 5]

My first Singer book, more than 15 years ago. Hooked me straight away. It has a more melancholic tone, nostalgic. But it shows the same prose and narrative of the master.
Excellent!

[Lisa incipitmania (profilo lettura) · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Gli esseri umani non vivono a lungo, che senso ha ammazzarsi a vicenda?”
(Citazione)

[Kirstie · Rating 4 out of 5]

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."

[Ramón S. · Rating 5 out of 5]

¡Una obra maestra! ¡Un clásico!!!!Hacia tiempo que no disfrutaba tanto con la lectura de un libro. El autor comprende perfectamente el combate y el drama del ser humano que tiene su paradigma en el pueblo hebreo.
Desde Dostoyevski no había encontrado un autor tan consciente de la psicología humana y de su unión íntima con la espiritualidad.
La prosa es maravillosa. Doy gracias por la excelente traducción.
Lo volvería a leer. Lo recomiendo encarecidamente

[Katie · Rating 5 out of 5]

In short, this is a beautiful masterpiece that candidly addresses the bitterness, desperation, and coping strategies of a close-knit group of well-off refugees who settled in New York City after World War II. Each character battles his or her demons related to faith and love amidst lengthy but elegant philosophizing; even in translation, the debates and soliloquies are poignant, haunting, and thought provoking. The characters aren't lost in these passages but rather come to life through them; often the lengthier the debate, the more human the participants become, the more nuanced and tragic and relevant their flaws seem.

Some characters cling steadfastly to faith, but many more question and lose theirs. Some run towards love or away from it, and others desperately rush from one lover to another and back again while hating themselves the whole time. The Holocaust hangs over everything but is never called by that name, with many reflections referencing "the six million" and often wondering how one's own sins are any better than the sins of Hitler or Stalin: "I have broken the eternal bridle which God's immutable law places on human conduct. I belong with the Bolsheviks, the Nazis, the criminals of all nations. I embody the limbo of the underworld."

Hertz Grein is the character who thinks the above lines. He spends years restlessly craving and bouncing between three lovers -- his wife, his long-term mistress, and the daughter of a close friend -- never finding the relief or happiness he is so desperate for and deeply wounding many people in the process. He contemplates becoming devoutly observant and ignoring the commandments in much the same way, and vacillates between abandoning himself to his desires and tightly reigning himself in. It's during one of his soliloquies about these choices that he muses: "Whatever other complexes the Jew suffered from, the God complex was his ineluctable fate: he could as little escape from Him as from his skin, his blood, his marrow. Whenever a Jew imagined that he was fleeing from God, he was in reality turning blindly in circles like a donkey in a mill or a caravan lost in the desert. Actually, this was true of the whole of humankind. One could as easily free oneself of the concept of God as one could free oneself of time, space, causality. The good and the just, the true and the omnipotent had to be indwelling somewhere."

One of the reasons I chose this book is because part of the story unfolds in Miami. The way Bashevis Singer describes Grein's first impression of the city is marvelous: "Grein never left the window. In the middle of the winter it was like Shavuot in Florida and it smelled like the Bible. With scraggly beards, wrapped in rags like holy recluses, the palm trees stood at crooked angles, ready to kneel and bow down before God and His might."

This book manages to be both heavy and light. Many of the characters are so hopelessly flawed and lost that it becomes darkly comic. For example, Grein somehow finds himself at a Russian nightclub with his mistress's new husband, his mistress, and his third lover's ex-husband, an actor who knows Grein's mistress's husband. The actor ex-husband has brought along his lover, an actress who participated in a stunt that negatively affected the health of Grein's third lover's current husband. All this unfolds in a mishmash of Yiddish, English, Polish, German, and Russian, and you can't help but laugh.

[Pavlov813 · Rating 5 out of 5]

Grande libro. Ambientato a New York a fine anni '40, parla di quella generazione di ebrei che prese ad abitare negli Stati Uniti dopo essere sfuggiti alla minaccia nazista. Hanno carriere, hanno famiglie, hanno denaro, ma come fare a vivere facendo finta di niente dopo tutto quello che si è passato? Singer ci regala un romanzo corale: c'è Boris Makaver, uomo d'affari religiosissimo che fa da mecenate a diversi studiosi del Talmud, c'è il Professor Shrage, matematico che dopo aver perso la moglie nel lager si è dato alla parapsicologia, c'è il Dott Solomon Margolin, acculturatissimo medico e profondo conoscitore della religione ebraica, salutista di ferro e baluardo di lucidità nel suo gruppo di conoscenti. Poi ovviamente ci sono Anna, la figlia di Boris con il pallino degli affari, e Grein, avvocato sposato con figli, che quando Anna era piccola e viveva in Polonia le aveva fatto da precettore, lasciandole un ricordo tanto tenero quanto indelebile. Gli argomenti che Singer sfodera sono serissimi, ma il tono è spesso leggero, in alcuni momenti sembra di ascoltare le nevrosi delle grandi città americane che per anni abbiamo visto al cinema. Sì perché questi personaggi sono confusi, sono indecisi, passano da un affare all'altro, si rovinano economicamente, lasciano le mogli, poi le amanti, poi tornano dalle mogli, fanno un gran carnaio di relazioni sociali e lavorative e hanno una crisi religiosa dietro l'altra. Sono dei sopravvissuti ma da quello non deriva alcuna forza, solo grandi dubbi: perché il loro dio, così severo e punitivo, ha consentito che succedesse tutto quello che è successo senza muovere un dito? E la loro giustizia, dove sta adesso? Consigliato, bel libro.