What do you think?
Rate this book
Disobedience
Disobedience is Naomi Alderman's richly told, endearingly evocative tale of two women and the choices they make as they come to terms with their identities in a traditional Orthodox Jewish community. In this groundbreaking debut, Alderman puts her characters to work, forcing them to confront issues of rebellion, isolation, loneliness and self-acceptance in a place where deviating from the norm often results in cold stares and hushed whispers at the kosher butcher shop.
Ronit Krushka is a lapsed Orthodox Jew, who fled the confines of Hendon, England, and her traditional upbringing for a secular lifestyle on Manhattan's Upper West Side. When her father, the community's revered Rabbi passes away, Ronit returns home to retrieve her mother's precious Shabbat candlesticks, and to revisit her troubled past. She reconnects with Esti, a former lover, whose choices have left her unsure and unfulfilled. As Ronit and Esti navigate through the demons of their past, each woman is forced to decide what kind of life she wants to lead, and with whom she wants to share it.
Alderman alternates between a lyrical and familiar style, introducing each chapter with a page of religious commentary that relates directly to the novel. While the commentary is interesting, readers may find themselves skimming it as the plot thickens and these introductions become more like diversions from the story's main message. Still, interruptions aside, Disobedience marks an important debut, and one that extends outside the lives of these characters to personify the struggle between conformity and individualism for everyone who has felt like an outsider. --Gisele Toueg
Audible Audio
First published September 5, 2006
594 people are currently reading
15774 people want to read
About the author
Naomi Alderman
42 books4,547 followersNaomi Alderman (born 1974 in London) is a British author and novelist.
Alderman was educated at South Hampstead High School and Lincoln College, Oxford where she read Philosophy, Politics and Economics. She then went on to study creative writing at the University of East Anglia before becoming a novelist.
She was the lead writer for Perplex City, an Alternate reality game, at Mind Candy from 2004 through June, 2007.[1]
Her father is Geoffrey Alderman, an academic who has specialised in Anglo-Jewish history. She and her father were interviewed in The Sunday Times "Relative Values" feature on 11 February 2007.[2]
Her literary debut came in 2006 with Disobedience, a well-received (if controversial) novel about a rabbi's daughter from North London who becomes a lesbian, which won her the 2006 Orange Award for New Writers.
Since its publication in the United Kingdom, it has been issued in the USA, Germany, Israel, Holland, Poland and France and is due to be published in Italy, Hungary and Croatia.
She wrote the narrative for The Winter House, an online, interactive yet linear short story visualized by Jey Biddulph. The project was commissioned by Booktrust as part of the Story campaign, supported by Arts Council England. [3]
Alderman was educated at South Hampstead High School and Lincoln College, Oxford where she read Philosophy, Politics and Economics. She then went on to study creative writing at the University of East Anglia before becoming a novelist.
She was the lead writer for Perplex City, an Alternate reality game, at Mind Candy from 2004 through June, 2007.[1]
Her father is Geoffrey Alderman, an academic who has specialised in Anglo-Jewish history. She and her father were interviewed in The Sunday Times "Relative Values" feature on 11 February 2007.[2]
Her literary debut came in 2006 with Disobedience, a well-received (if controversial) novel about a rabbi's daughter from North London who becomes a lesbian, which won her the 2006 Orange Award for New Writers.
Since its publication in the United Kingdom, it has been issued in the USA, Germany, Israel, Holland, Poland and France and is due to be published in Italy, Hungary and Croatia.
She wrote the narrative for The Winter House, an online, interactive yet linear short story visualized by Jey Biddulph. The project was commissioned by Booktrust as part of the Story campaign, supported by Arts Council England. [3]
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,382 reviews
March 3, 2021
First, I am a horrible person. I bought this book because the idea of Rachel McAdams and Rachel Weisz romance shorted my brain. That said, this managed to hit all of the predictable boxes of a mainstream queer narrative circa 1995: forbidden love, religious pressure--even hubby is a prominent religious figure in the community, oh noes!--while also being an utter cop out on lesbianism. Ronit spends a lot of the book, even the final page, with a dude. Esti stays with her religious hubby because of a pregnancy we can see coming from Proxima Centauri, but it's okay because he totally supports her in telling everyone in the community that she's a lesbian. She just can't act on it. Whoakay then. Meanwhile, we get rambling monologues from Ronit that sound totally like that hipCatherine Zeta Jones character in The Haunting who drops word that she has a girlfriend and a boyfriend--just titillating enough to know you'll never see the former. Also, pages and pages of Dovid's headaches and food description, which hey! I like food. The author even puts some recipes in the back of the book. I wish I liked this more, but it felt cliche, gimmicky, and also--yeah, going to say it--a tiny bit offensive in that lesbian-as-an-accessory kind of way.
Come on, Hollywood! Cheapen the ending! It can only be an improvement.
Come on, Hollywood! Cheapen the ending! It can only be an improvement.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 12, 2020
Sometimes a book comes along that you just click with. Sometimes you can't even fully explain why. Its strange for me to favourite a book that I don't resonate with in some way but this book is just so well written, has such a soft, warm essence, and is such a pleasure to sink into. Disobedience is an unexpected, yet delightful new friend. I took my time with it and relished every page.
August 20, 2020
The only force that pushed me to read this book was the trailer of its film adaptation starring the two Rachels (Weisz and McAdams). Only having a vague idea that this included lesbianism (one of my favourite topics) in the Orthodox Jewish community—deducing from the nicely made trailer—I was surprised with how this came across as lesbophobic. Sadly while I found the religious aspect strong and educational, even going at length to detail some Orthodox Jewish practices and beliefs (and how these could be stifling and limiting to women; moreso when one's identity/sexuality is repressed), it fell short as a good lesbian representation. It focused mostly on men and religious politics, particularly Dovid, and even when it talked about the nature of Esti and Ronit's relationship these women were still concerned about a certain man. Talk about Bechdel fail. One of the women's intention was also murky and ambiguous it was hard to believe how her character did a 360 degree turn near the end; you'd think love could be summoned just like that. But I guess that was the point of this novel? It was too convenient for everyone and the ending was an unacceptable, lazy cliché. How could ? So much potential was lost there. A happy ending was not necessary nor the but to end it like that? God it was actually insulting to me.
"Honesty has its limits."
I guess do yourself a favour and watch the trailer instead. The film itself seemed to be taking the opposite direction and I'm cautiously glad. This could be one of those rare situations where the film is better than the book (and I sure hope it is!).
Edit, 20/03/2019: I have watched the film months back and I was pleasantly surprised because it was indeed better than the novel in my opinion. Like the meme itself: Rachel Weisz if you read this I'm free on Thursday and would like to hang out. Please respond to this and then hang out with me on Thursday when I'm free.
"Honesty has its limits."
I guess do yourself a favour and watch the trailer instead. The film itself seemed to be taking the opposite direction and I'm cautiously glad. This could be one of those rare situations where the film is better than the book (and I sure hope it is!).
Edit, 20/03/2019: I have watched the film months back and I was pleasantly surprised because it was indeed better than the novel in my opinion. Like the meme itself: Rachel Weisz if you read this I'm free on Thursday and would like to hang out. Please respond to this and then hang out with me on Thursday when I'm free.
June 11, 2018
For the most part I enjoyed reading Disobedience, but it's one of those books that's somehow greater than the sum of its parts. I was having a hard time putting my finger on what exactly was working for me about this, because when I started to pick it apart, I realized there wasn't a whole lot to praise. It wasn't the writing, certainly, which I found rather sophomoric (more on that in a minute); it wasn't the plot, which was quite paint-by-numbers; and it wasn't the characters, who were pretty flat archetypes and essentially just mouthpieces for Alderman's ideas, completely with stilted dialogue that doesn't even begin to resemble how real human beings converse. But it was something, I guess, because it had a very readable quality to it and I certainly wouldn't dissuade others from checking it out.
I think if I had to choose the one thing that really stood out to me about this novel, it was the setting. It takes place in an Orthodox Jewish community in London, and focuses on the romance between Ronit (the rebellious, wayward daughter of a renowned Rabbi who's recently died) and Esti (the submissive, conservative housewife who's miserable from deeply internalizing religious doctrine). While neither of these characters felt as fleshed out as they could be, what did feel very rich and textured for me was each of their relationships with Judaism; this community did feel very real to me and the sermons which began each chapter were an effective tool for immersing the reader in these characters' ideologies.
I haven't yet read Alderman's Women's Prize-winning novel The Power, which received a lot of critical praise but which is not particularly adored among my circle of reader friends. I still intend to read The Power, but if the writing style is anything like it was in Disobedience, I think I'm beginning to understand the criticism. There were some individual sentences in here which I highlighted because I thought they were striking, but there were even more which caused me to roll my eyes, if only because Alderman has a habit of repeating the same words and phrases and ideas ad nauseum. On a sentence-by-sentence example, let's take this:
I thought okay, that's an interesting way to describe making a phone call. But then Alderman does the exact same thing again:
This whole book had a circuitous nature to it, where it felt like Alderman was taking the longest possible way to make a simple point. On the more thematic level, we're frankly bashed over the head with Alderman's pontifications on man's capacity for disobedience, and the societal expectation of silencing women. It's not that I disagree with anything that she's saying - in fact, several of these points I did find rather stimulating to mull over - but when you use the word 'silence' a grand total of sixty-six times in your novel, maybe you should consider that you're laying it on a bit heavy.
And then there's the ending - admittedly this critique is tied up inextricably in my personal preferences, but if there's one kind of ending I cannot stand, especially in literary fiction, it's when everything is wrapped up neatly in a nice bow; all conflicts resolved and all character arcs completed. I think there's something so dissatisfying about following characters on a journey through a novel and essentially being told 'their story ends here, no need to think about this any further, everything's fine' at the end. I can't tell you how much I hate that. Coupled with the downright corny resolution, I did not finish Disobedience on a high.
So, I don't know. It started around 4 stars for me, dropped to 3 stars somewhere in the middle when the repetition got to be a bit much, and ended up around 2 because of how much I hated the ending. But I didn't hate this book, I just didn't think it lived up to its potential. Solidly 2.5 for me - I may reevaluate and change to 3 later.
I think if I had to choose the one thing that really stood out to me about this novel, it was the setting. It takes place in an Orthodox Jewish community in London, and focuses on the romance between Ronit (the rebellious, wayward daughter of a renowned Rabbi who's recently died) and Esti (the submissive, conservative housewife who's miserable from deeply internalizing religious doctrine). While neither of these characters felt as fleshed out as they could be, what did feel very rich and textured for me was each of their relationships with Judaism; this community did feel very real to me and the sermons which began each chapter were an effective tool for immersing the reader in these characters' ideologies.
I haven't yet read Alderman's Women's Prize-winning novel The Power, which received a lot of critical praise but which is not particularly adored among my circle of reader friends. I still intend to read The Power, but if the writing style is anything like it was in Disobedience, I think I'm beginning to understand the criticism. There were some individual sentences in here which I highlighted because I thought they were striking, but there were even more which caused me to roll my eyes, if only because Alderman has a habit of repeating the same words and phrases and ideas ad nauseum. On a sentence-by-sentence example, let's take this:
Far away, very very far away, I made a sleek black telephone on a pale wood desk ring.
I thought okay, that's an interesting way to describe making a phone call. But then Alderman does the exact same thing again:
I dialed the number and, a quarter of the way across the world, I made a British number appear on a black telephone on a blond-wood desk.
This whole book had a circuitous nature to it, where it felt like Alderman was taking the longest possible way to make a simple point. On the more thematic level, we're frankly bashed over the head with Alderman's pontifications on man's capacity for disobedience, and the societal expectation of silencing women. It's not that I disagree with anything that she's saying - in fact, several of these points I did find rather stimulating to mull over - but when you use the word 'silence' a grand total of sixty-six times in your novel, maybe you should consider that you're laying it on a bit heavy.
And then there's the ending - admittedly this critique is tied up inextricably in my personal preferences, but if there's one kind of ending I cannot stand, especially in literary fiction, it's when everything is wrapped up neatly in a nice bow; all conflicts resolved and all character arcs completed. I think there's something so dissatisfying about following characters on a journey through a novel and essentially being told 'their story ends here, no need to think about this any further, everything's fine' at the end. I can't tell you how much I hate that. Coupled with the downright corny resolution, I did not finish Disobedience on a high.
So, I don't know. It started around 4 stars for me, dropped to 3 stars somewhere in the middle when the repetition got to be a bit much, and ended up around 2 because of how much I hated the ending. But I didn't hate this book, I just didn't think it lived up to its potential. Solidly 2.5 for me - I may reevaluate and change to 3 later.
March 3, 2019
Ronit, estranged daughter of a famous London Rabbi, returns to her childhood home after the death of her father. This Jewish Orthodox community looks at her with suspicion and curiosity. Ronit is everything that the women in the community aren’t supposed to be. She’s independent, she hasn’t married and probably doesn't want to, she doesn’t observe the Shabbat, she eats non-kosher food. Oh, and she’s loud. She doesn’t keep silent. Every day, every moment, she tries to be the opposite of what she was raised to be.
Her return to London, however, puts her face to face with circumstances she would rather forget. A complicated relationship with her dead father and everything he stood for, a former relationship with a girlfriend, who is now married to Ronit’s cousin and, of course, the narrow-mindedness of some of the community’s members. However, throughout her stay in London, Ronit learns to see new aspects of her identity, and she changes, also changing the life of Esti and Dovid (her ex-girlfriend and her respective husband). Ronit learns the importance of silence as Esti learns the importance of speaking out.
Some reviewers say this book wouldn’t pass the Bechdel test which is quite frankly absurd. The female characters are very well written, existing and having thoughts of their own, and Dovid is a great, great male character. The fact that Alderman chose not to turn him into a model of toxic masculinity and misogyny is a brave decision because it would be so much easier – and lazier – to turn him into that. But no, Dovid is a loving, kind man, and the reader feels that there’s no one to blame for the situation they were placed in.
The problem is that this isn’t a book about queer people. The fact that Esti is a lesbian and Ronit is bisexual is peripheral to the plot. This is a book about faith and religion and what it is to be Jewish. Even the chapters are structured as a commentary on passages from the Torah and the Talmud. So if you’re coming into this book to read a LGBTQ story you’re going to be disappointed as clearly some reviewers were. I understand that the ending might rattle some people. The fact that Esti chooses to ignore her sexuality to stay with Dovid is not very in tune with the kind of liberation one wants from LGBTQ literature. But again, this book is much more about religion and its links to a community, the individual inside a group, the sublimation of the individual to the demands of the spiritual and the choice between identities. Ronit and Esti make the choices they can live with. Ronit could not live as an orthodox Jewish woman so she leaves, and Esti couldn’t live openly as a lesbian inside her community, but she doesn’t want to leave because her spirituality and her relationship with God are extremely important to her, and directly linked to that same community. Alderman writes this story with enormous compassion and understanding. It would be easy to portray all this as a black-and-white guide to intolerance, but thankfully she avoids those clichés, and instead introduces subtlety to what could’ve been a much boring story otherwise.
Read
October 17, 2022I was not convinced by the ending, but I would say that they this was a five star book from the point of view of entertainment; particularly the 'words with God' that refugee from a North London Jewish Orthodox community Ronit would have; ' but I thought I had killed you with chocolate cake and prawns'.
As is probably my habit, I found distinct overlaps between this and two books that I have been recently been reading the island of missing trees with regard to issues of personal ecosystems, what one keeps and what one leaves when you transplant yourself to a new place & if you can return. And one of us with its protest against multiculturalism, while the terrorism there was possibly or in part inspired by the complaints about multiculturalism what we see here is that it has never even been tried, at best there is toleration for communities that keep their heads down and keep quiet.
This is another Romeo and Juliet story -this time without a fig tree though there is a hydrangea and in the end a child. There is a queer relationship, but to my mind that wasn't the heart of the matter, and the relationship judging from some reviews certainly was not queer enough for queer readers , it simply allowed a twist to a love triangle. It was more I felt a story about those who leave and those who stay, what they cling to and what they choose to forget. As a reader perhaps one can say that none of the characters makes the right decisions, but then that is our privilege as readers, and theirs as characters in a book.
Ostensibly, or perhaps better said the title, and the opening narration by Ronit creates the impression that this is a book about obedience and disobedience towards God, however by the end of the novel my impression was that this was all actually about money and the power of money. Well Bravo you might say, well spotted, a book written in a Capitalist society and set in a Capitalist society and its all about Capital - once you boil down the soup and examine the chicken bones .
The religious point of view that Alderman makes on the page is that disobedience is a perfectly legitimate form of obedience to God, disobedience to money however is not so easy . Not that those with money are sinister, or want to do anything nasty, but they make it clear that they have paid the piper and what time they expect to hear.
Most of the chapters open with a quote from scripture, followed by a commentary upon it, then the narrative continues - but this will itself be a fleshing out of the scripture and the commentary upon it, sometimes ironically, sometimes not. This was great once I spotted it, but also a challenge as I mostly don't read from chapter to chapter any more but just a few pages here and there, going back and forth to graze at a book in an unsystematic manner.
Anyway although I didn't think the ending was congruent with how the characters were presented, and I regretted the too clever heist that Ronit was given to allow her to be present as the narrator at the end and I thought that given the quality of same sex desire that one character has towards another that not just the ending was implausible but much of her life - but then you might say - yes, but that shows just how far she has internalised the values, or the policing, of that community , at which I can only throw up my hands and say "pffah" or maybe "wrrah". I laughed quite a few times while reading which is the only recommendation I have to offer.
Postscript
This book obliged me to look up on the internet if David and Jonathan from the Bible were gay. Quickly I came across an American Christian website which asserted more or less in these words:
1: No they were not homosexual.
2: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
3: David should've paid more attention to his wife.
Well I thought, when an American Christian is permitting themself to be critical of a character from the Old Testament something suspicious must be going on...
Of course if you really want to know the truth about David and Jonathan you had best get in touch with the Witch of Endor.
As is probably my habit, I found distinct overlaps between this and two books that I have been recently been reading the island of missing trees with regard to issues of personal ecosystems, what one keeps and what one leaves when you transplant yourself to a new place & if you can return. And one of us with its protest against multiculturalism, while the terrorism there was possibly or in part inspired by the complaints about multiculturalism what we see here is that it has never even been tried, at best there is toleration for communities that keep their heads down and keep quiet.
This is another Romeo and Juliet story -this time without a fig tree though there is a hydrangea and in the end a child. There is a queer relationship, but to my mind that wasn't the heart of the matter, and the relationship judging from some reviews certainly was not queer enough for queer readers , it simply allowed a twist to a love triangle. It was more I felt a story about those who leave and those who stay, what they cling to and what they choose to forget. As a reader perhaps one can say that none of the characters makes the right decisions, but then that is our privilege as readers, and theirs as characters in a book.
Ostensibly, or perhaps better said the title, and the opening narration by Ronit creates the impression that this is a book about obedience and disobedience towards God, however by the end of the novel my impression was that this was all actually about money and the power of money. Well Bravo you might say, well spotted, a book written in a Capitalist society and set in a Capitalist society and its all about Capital - once you boil down the soup and examine the chicken bones .
The religious point of view that Alderman makes on the page is that disobedience is a perfectly legitimate form of obedience to God, disobedience to money however is not so easy . Not that those with money are sinister, or want to do anything nasty, but they make it clear that they have paid the piper and what time they expect to hear.
Most of the chapters open with a quote from scripture, followed by a commentary upon it, then the narrative continues - but this will itself be a fleshing out of the scripture and the commentary upon it, sometimes ironically, sometimes not. This was great once I spotted it, but also a challenge as I mostly don't read from chapter to chapter any more but just a few pages here and there, going back and forth to graze at a book in an unsystematic manner.
Anyway although I didn't think the ending was congruent with how the characters were presented, and I regretted the too clever heist that Ronit was given to allow her to be present as the narrator at the end and I thought that given the quality of same sex desire that one character has towards another that not just the ending was implausible but much of her life - but then you might say - yes, but that shows just how far she has internalised the values, or the policing, of that community , at which I can only throw up my hands and say "pffah" or maybe "wrrah". I laughed quite a few times while reading which is the only recommendation I have to offer.
Postscript
This book obliged me to look up on the internet if David and Jonathan from the Bible were gay. Quickly I came across an American Christian website which asserted more or less in these words:
1: No they were not homosexual.
2: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
3: David should've paid more attention to his wife.
Well I thought, when an American Christian is permitting themself to be critical of a character from the Old Testament something suspicious must be going on...
Of course if you really want to know the truth about David and Jonathan you had best get in touch with the Witch of Endor.
February 24, 2019
Diritto di scegliere.
Questa è la storia di due donne: Esti e Ronit.
Esti e Ronit sono facenti parte di una piccola comunità ebrea ortodossa, Ronit è la figlia del Rav, cioè del capo spirituale della comunità, Esti è la sua amica del cuore.
Esti e Ronit scoprono di essere omosessuali, comportamento non ammesso dall’ebraismo ortodosso.
Alla donna, in questa piccola comunità, poco è concesso, la vita di una donna acquisisce significato solo tramite il matrimonio e solo tramite matrimonio fecondo. Il matrimonio deve produrre figli, preferibilmente tanti. E anche l’uomo non è che abbia poi infiniti gradi di libertà.
Senza matrimonio è come se l’uomo e la donna rimanessero sempre immaturi, non potendo portare a termine l’unico percorso che completa e dà un senso alla vita.
Ecco che le due donne, di fronte alle leggi della religione ortodossa osservata dalla comunità, adottano due comportamenti antitetici.
Esti si sposa con Dovid, cugino di Ronit, e si chiude in un silenzio, apparentemente sottomesso, mentre Ronit a 18 anni se ne va di casa, va a vivere a New York, studia e si afferma nel lavoro.
“Tutto quello che chiediamo è che le donne stiano nelle zone a loro riservate. La donna è privata, mentre l’uomo è pubblico. Quel che si addice all’uomo è la parola, quel che si addice alla donna è il silenzio.”
Dato che le donne tendenzialmente sono molto più loquaci e collettive degli uomini questo pare proprio andare contro la natura delle cose.
Entrambe le donne, non sono felici, Esti perché si sente rinchiusa in una prigione, Ronit perché ha fatto della polemica e della contestazione fine a se stessa il suo scudo.
Ma c’è una piccola intersezione tra buon senso e pratica letterale dei dettami della religione, e in questa piccola intercapedine, forse si può vivere, senza provare grandi sensi di colpa, senza soffrire troppo.
L’importante è che venga rispettata, per chiunque, la possibilità di scegliere di disobbedire, di parlare, di esprimere la propria opinione, uomo o donna che sia. E di poter esprimere se stesso.
E si sa, i fondamentalismi, da che mondo e mondo, sono sempre stati portatori di disastri.
Davvero una bella lettura. Ora devo vedere il film.
24.02.2019 Oggi ho visto il film. Che delusione!
Questa è la storia di due donne: Esti e Ronit.
Esti e Ronit sono facenti parte di una piccola comunità ebrea ortodossa, Ronit è la figlia del Rav, cioè del capo spirituale della comunità, Esti è la sua amica del cuore.
Esti e Ronit scoprono di essere omosessuali, comportamento non ammesso dall’ebraismo ortodosso.
Alla donna, in questa piccola comunità, poco è concesso, la vita di una donna acquisisce significato solo tramite il matrimonio e solo tramite matrimonio fecondo. Il matrimonio deve produrre figli, preferibilmente tanti. E anche l’uomo non è che abbia poi infiniti gradi di libertà.
Senza matrimonio è come se l’uomo e la donna rimanessero sempre immaturi, non potendo portare a termine l’unico percorso che completa e dà un senso alla vita.
Ecco che le due donne, di fronte alle leggi della religione ortodossa osservata dalla comunità, adottano due comportamenti antitetici.
Esti si sposa con Dovid, cugino di Ronit, e si chiude in un silenzio, apparentemente sottomesso, mentre Ronit a 18 anni se ne va di casa, va a vivere a New York, studia e si afferma nel lavoro.
“Tutto quello che chiediamo è che le donne stiano nelle zone a loro riservate. La donna è privata, mentre l’uomo è pubblico. Quel che si addice all’uomo è la parola, quel che si addice alla donna è il silenzio.”
Dato che le donne tendenzialmente sono molto più loquaci e collettive degli uomini questo pare proprio andare contro la natura delle cose.
Entrambe le donne, non sono felici, Esti perché si sente rinchiusa in una prigione, Ronit perché ha fatto della polemica e della contestazione fine a se stessa il suo scudo.
Ma c’è una piccola intersezione tra buon senso e pratica letterale dei dettami della religione, e in questa piccola intercapedine, forse si può vivere, senza provare grandi sensi di colpa, senza soffrire troppo.
L’importante è che venga rispettata, per chiunque, la possibilità di scegliere di disobbedire, di parlare, di esprimere la propria opinione, uomo o donna che sia. E di poter esprimere se stesso.
E si sa, i fondamentalismi, da che mondo e mondo, sono sempre stati portatori di disastri.
Davvero una bella lettura. Ora devo vedere il film.
24.02.2019 Oggi ho visto il film. Che delusione!
January 5, 2019
Life in the orthodox jewish community in Hendon is directed by rules in every minute detail. What to eat, how to prepare it, when to eat it, how to speak, when and to whom, whom to take by the hand, how to dress and many, many more. Whatever you need, The Book has an answer to every conceivable question. It explains why every believer needs it like water, why gossiping is forbidden, why certain things, like meat and milk, need to always be kept separate, why women are different from men, why marriage should not be expected to be simple and much, much more.
And yet, says rav Krushka’s daughter Ronit, who now leaves in New York “It is difficult to work out a meaning of life in Hendon. I mean, it’s difficult to work out for yourself, rather then allowing other people to tell you. Because in Hendon there are plenty of people just dying to explain the meaning of life to you. I guess that's true in New York too, but in New York, everyone seems to disagree with everyone else about what the meaning of life is. In Hendon, at least the Hendon I grew up in, everything faced in one direction, there was nowhere to get a grip. You need that disagreement, we all do so that we can realize that the world isn’t smooth and even, not everyone agrees with everyone else. You need a widow into another world to work out what you think of your own.”
Ronit didn't leave Hendon because she couldn't stand it, or because she didn't fit in. Perhaps she did not fit in particularly well, but it was her father who sent her to NY to school. So quite undramatically, once her own personal window was opened, she met new friends, then she adopted new ways and without any major conflict she just never came back.
When she did come back, for her fathers funeral, she found Hendon just as she left it slow, TRADITIONAL, UNCHANGING….For Ronit, who during her absence joined the 21st century with all its modernity for good and for bad, it is suffocating, and she is itching to provoke and show people how wrong and backwards their way of life is. So she sets of to once again show her disobedience. Events show though, that leaving the community and blank disobedience is not for everyone, Her childhood friends chose another way that takes compromise and sacrifices.
The homogeneous Hendon perhaps is not that homogeneous. Ronit learns a lesson, and so do I - life requires choices and the most dramatic ones are not always the best ones. I have my share of experience with traditional society, not jewish orthodox but traditional enough to rebel. Having passed half a century, I have reasons enough to question the mutiny of my young age, and give the abandoned rules a benefit of a doubt. Perhaps that’s why this this book speaks to me so strongly.
Very thought-worthy and it only proves that lessons in life can be found in most unexpected places.
And yet, says rav Krushka’s daughter Ronit, who now leaves in New York “It is difficult to work out a meaning of life in Hendon. I mean, it’s difficult to work out for yourself, rather then allowing other people to tell you. Because in Hendon there are plenty of people just dying to explain the meaning of life to you. I guess that's true in New York too, but in New York, everyone seems to disagree with everyone else about what the meaning of life is. In Hendon, at least the Hendon I grew up in, everything faced in one direction, there was nowhere to get a grip. You need that disagreement, we all do so that we can realize that the world isn’t smooth and even, not everyone agrees with everyone else. You need a widow into another world to work out what you think of your own.”
Ronit didn't leave Hendon because she couldn't stand it, or because she didn't fit in. Perhaps she did not fit in particularly well, but it was her father who sent her to NY to school. So quite undramatically, once her own personal window was opened, she met new friends, then she adopted new ways and without any major conflict she just never came back.
When she did come back, for her fathers funeral, she found Hendon just as she left it slow, TRADITIONAL, UNCHANGING….For Ronit, who during her absence joined the 21st century with all its modernity for good and for bad, it is suffocating, and she is itching to provoke and show people how wrong and backwards their way of life is. So she sets of to once again show her disobedience. Events show though, that leaving the community and blank disobedience is not for everyone, Her childhood friends chose another way that takes compromise and sacrifices.
The homogeneous Hendon perhaps is not that homogeneous. Ronit learns a lesson, and so do I - life requires choices and the most dramatic ones are not always the best ones. I have my share of experience with traditional society, not jewish orthodox but traditional enough to rebel. Having passed half a century, I have reasons enough to question the mutiny of my young age, and give the abandoned rules a benefit of a doubt. Perhaps that’s why this this book speaks to me so strongly.
Very thought-worthy and it only proves that lessons in life can be found in most unexpected places.
April 30, 2018
i wish straight people would expend more energy uplifting lgbt stories from actual lgbt writers, instead of writing from a perspective they could never understand.
the ending of this book is terrible. we don’t need more endings like this. we have them all, all the lesbian pulp novels where the lesbian ends up with a husband in the end.
ronit’s affair with her (married) boss’s boss hints to her bisexuality as well as her fears of commitment; a fear that becomes clear as she desires esti after esti shows dovid more affection. her desire seems more borne of jealousy than love.
esti is very clearly written as a lesbian. she lives married life held back; a shadow of a human, barely able to eat, in a near disassociative state. she is a lesbian and she is married to a man...who she stays married to. she comes out, and stays married to a man. ???
only a heterosexual could imagine this as a necessary ending. lesbians have been ending up unhappily married to men for far too long; societal expectations, internalized homophobia, compulsory heterosexuality.
maybe if esti had also been bisexual, or their orientations reversed, this could have been an acceptable ending. but they weren’t reversed. esti is a lesbian. and alderman left her stranded in a fake marriage, alone.
the ending of this book is terrible. we don’t need more endings like this. we have them all, all the lesbian pulp novels where the lesbian ends up with a husband in the end.
ronit’s affair with her (married) boss’s boss hints to her bisexuality as well as her fears of commitment; a fear that becomes clear as she desires esti after esti shows dovid more affection. her desire seems more borne of jealousy than love.
esti is very clearly written as a lesbian. she lives married life held back; a shadow of a human, barely able to eat, in a near disassociative state. she is a lesbian and she is married to a man...who she stays married to. she comes out, and stays married to a man. ???
only a heterosexual could imagine this as a necessary ending. lesbians have been ending up unhappily married to men for far too long; societal expectations, internalized homophobia, compulsory heterosexuality.
maybe if esti had also been bisexual, or their orientations reversed, this could have been an acceptable ending. but they weren’t reversed. esti is a lesbian. and alderman left her stranded in a fake marriage, alone.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 8, 2019
” E io risposi: Non devo starti piú a sentire. Ho imparato a disobbedire.
Ok. La verità è questa: avevo messo quattro stelle.
Poi sono uscita con Bilbo con l’intenzione di chiarirmi le idee durante la mia passeggiata.
Sono tornata e declasso a tre stelle.
Per spiegarmi, però, devo entrare un po' più nei dettagli, dunque nascondo...
Ok. La verità è questa: avevo messo quattro stelle.
Poi sono uscita con Bilbo con l’intenzione di chiarirmi le idee durante la mia passeggiata.
Sono tornata e declasso a tre stelle.
Per spiegarmi, però, devo entrare un po' più nei dettagli, dunque nascondo...
February 9, 2019
Interesting and some of the parts are certainly thought-provoking, but overall Alderman's writing just doesn't agree with me.
I loved the exploration of some of the customs in that particular conservative Jewish community that the story is set in. I loved the juxtaposition of Ronit's thoughts on her own life, which is messy but in which she is herself, and Ronit's former life, which seemed to be dominated by conformity and submission.
It’s difficult to work out the meaning of life in Hendon. I mean, it’s difficult to work it out for yourself, rather than allowing other people to tell you. Because in Hendon there are plenty of people just dying to explain the meaning of life to you. I guess that’s true in New York too, but in New York everyone seems to disagree with everyone else about what the meaning of life is. In Hendon, at least the Hendon I grew up in, everything faced in one direction, there was nowhere to get a grip. You need that disagreement, we all do, so that we can realize that the world isn’t smooth and even, not everyone agrees with everyone else. You need a window into another world to work out what you think of your own.
However, I also felt as if this juxtaposition was a form of manipulation as the portrayal of Ronit's defiance against her former community didn't consider any other approaches to religion that Ronit may have experienced when moving to New York, and in turn this seemed to create a kind of "me v. them" mentality that just doesn't seem plausible.
I mean, I would have understood if her experience growing up had turned Ronit against all religion for example, but it didn't. Instead, her wrath is personal to the very community she grew up in and which she is visiting when her estranged father passes away. The way it comes across in the book, however, is not personal. It comes across as if the particular community was a generalised representation of all practitioners, and Ronit's vengeance was directed against all. The fact that some of the main characters at the receiving end of Ronit's scorn are portrayed as stereotypes does not help.
I have no doubt that such people exist, as they do in all sections of society, but in the context of the book this works against the quality of the book. There are some truly lovely scenes and characters - Ronit, Dovid, Esti, the Goldfarbs, ... - but to focus the frustration, loathing, and defiance of Ronit, Dovid, and Esti on the characters that seem like stereotypes just creates more stereotypes, and this is never a good move in my reading. It just cheapens the book.
"I thought I had come to all sorts of decisions about what I believe. That it is better for things to be said than remain unsaid. That I have nothing to be ashamed about. That those who live narrow lives have only themselves to blame when they find themselves shocked. As it turns out, I don’t seem to have got what Scott would call ‘total buy-in’ from all levels of my brain on those principles. I thought I should phone Dr Feingold, just to let her know that nothing had been resolved even after all this time. Because I did feel it. Shame. They’re not bad people. None of them are. Well, maybe the Hartogs. But the Goldfarbs aren’t bad people. They’re not cruel or unpleasant or malicious. They didn’t deserve to have their peaceful Friday night dinner overturned. They didn’t deserve me smashing my life straight into theirs. It can’t have been right that I did. And if I hadn’t? Yeah, that wouldn’t have been right either."
This is the second of Alderman's books that I've read, and although my issues with this one are different from the ones I had with The Power, there is something in Alderman's writing that yells at me "I'm pushing an agenda here!" that I just cannot help but cringe at.
Btw, this (the original) cover is a much better fit than the current movie tie-in cover.
Also, btw, even though the book was disappointing, I cannot see that the good parts would have been communicated well in the film. I'm curious enough to find out, but I have a feeling that the film's focus will be on affair between Ronit and Esti, not about the issue of breaking with tradition and being outcast from a community, and the changes that can be brought about by a simple application of empathy.
I loved the exploration of some of the customs in that particular conservative Jewish community that the story is set in. I loved the juxtaposition of Ronit's thoughts on her own life, which is messy but in which she is herself, and Ronit's former life, which seemed to be dominated by conformity and submission.
It’s difficult to work out the meaning of life in Hendon. I mean, it’s difficult to work it out for yourself, rather than allowing other people to tell you. Because in Hendon there are plenty of people just dying to explain the meaning of life to you. I guess that’s true in New York too, but in New York everyone seems to disagree with everyone else about what the meaning of life is. In Hendon, at least the Hendon I grew up in, everything faced in one direction, there was nowhere to get a grip. You need that disagreement, we all do, so that we can realize that the world isn’t smooth and even, not everyone agrees with everyone else. You need a window into another world to work out what you think of your own.
However, I also felt as if this juxtaposition was a form of manipulation as the portrayal of Ronit's defiance against her former community didn't consider any other approaches to religion that Ronit may have experienced when moving to New York, and in turn this seemed to create a kind of "me v. them" mentality that just doesn't seem plausible.
I mean, I would have understood if her experience growing up had turned Ronit against all religion for example, but it didn't. Instead, her wrath is personal to the very community she grew up in and which she is visiting when her estranged father passes away. The way it comes across in the book, however, is not personal. It comes across as if the particular community was a generalised representation of all practitioners, and Ronit's vengeance was directed against all. The fact that some of the main characters at the receiving end of Ronit's scorn are portrayed as stereotypes does not help.
I have no doubt that such people exist, as they do in all sections of society, but in the context of the book this works against the quality of the book. There are some truly lovely scenes and characters - Ronit, Dovid, Esti, the Goldfarbs, ... - but to focus the frustration, loathing, and defiance of Ronit, Dovid, and Esti on the characters that seem like stereotypes just creates more stereotypes, and this is never a good move in my reading. It just cheapens the book.
"I thought I had come to all sorts of decisions about what I believe. That it is better for things to be said than remain unsaid. That I have nothing to be ashamed about. That those who live narrow lives have only themselves to blame when they find themselves shocked. As it turns out, I don’t seem to have got what Scott would call ‘total buy-in’ from all levels of my brain on those principles. I thought I should phone Dr Feingold, just to let her know that nothing had been resolved even after all this time. Because I did feel it. Shame. They’re not bad people. None of them are. Well, maybe the Hartogs. But the Goldfarbs aren’t bad people. They’re not cruel or unpleasant or malicious. They didn’t deserve to have their peaceful Friday night dinner overturned. They didn’t deserve me smashing my life straight into theirs. It can’t have been right that I did. And if I hadn’t? Yeah, that wouldn’t have been right either."
This is the second of Alderman's books that I've read, and although my issues with this one are different from the ones I had with The Power, there is something in Alderman's writing that yells at me "I'm pushing an agenda here!" that I just cannot help but cringe at.
Btw, this (the original) cover is a much better fit than the current movie tie-in cover.
Also, btw, even though the book was disappointing, I cannot see that the good parts would have been communicated well in the film. I'm curious enough to find out, but I have a feeling that the film's focus will be on affair between Ronit and Esti, not about the issue of breaking with tradition and being outcast from a community, and the changes that can be brought about by a simple application of empathy.
April 19, 2018
Well written. Wouldn’t exactly say it’s “queer-friendly”
January 15, 2019
La figlia del rabbino, torna in morte del padre nella comunità dopo essere fuggita via per liberarsi dai condizionamenti di una delle tradizioni religiose più invasive e totalizzanti mai concepite da mente umana e dopo aver disobbedito e trasgredito. Ha lasciato lì, sommersa, una storia d’amore saffico dei tempi dell’adolescenza che aveva dato scandalo. E quella riaffiora. La situazione ha aspetti da “elefante in una cristalleria” che vengono raccontati anche con effetti comici riusciti: la scena della cena a casa del notabile della sinagoga che ancora non sa che lei è la figlia del reverendo defunto è una chicca.
In generale mi è piaciuta la struttura, con la bipartizione tra il racconto in terza persona alternato alla narrazione in prima e soprattutto con la scelta di iniziare i capitoli con spunti di riflessione messi come una sorta di cappello sopra a quel che va a succedere.
E’ scritto con una impronta femminista giacobina, però il tema centrale è quello della rivendicazione della libertà di scegliere cosa fare della propria vita, del non obbedire ai precetti delle tradizioni (religiose e non) e alle ingiunzioni genitoriali. Disobbedienza come regola di vita, appunto. Dice delle cose più che condivisibili, ma soprattutto mi è piaciuto il tono in cui le dice; un tono forte, in cui dominano le note rabbiose, sprezzanti, rivendicative; ma in cui si percepisce anche un sottofondo dolente-ironico, con uno struggimento che sembra quasi voler pudicamente soffocare. Quando parla dei riti ebraici in particolare c’è sempre questa compresenza di due elementi opposti. Da una parte la carica fortissima di ribellione, di trasgressione, di iconoclastia e di profanazione provocatoria. Dall’altra la descrizione a tratti struggente, forse addirittura con una venatura mistica, della ritualità ebraica e del rapporto che attraverso di essa di stabilisce con la dimensione del sacro, del divino. C’è l’esigenza, più subìta che accettata, di non buttare insieme con il sistema di credenze in un dio insopportabile a cui non si riconosce nessun fondamento anche il bisogno di trovare una percezione unificante, religiosa, della vita e delle cose. E anche del proprio passato.
In questa chiave ho letto per esempio la ricerca ostinata dei due candelabri della festa usati dalla madre; ma c’è anche, per ricordare una paginetta che molto mi è piaciuta, il modo in cui rende il senso di un aspetto del rito ebraico del matrimonio; quando gli sposi appena dichiarati marito e moglie vengono chiusi per qualche minuto in una stanza “detta yichud” a simboleggiare il chiudersi finalmente del cerchio magico che dovrebbe unire due esseri legati da un sentimento esclusivo ed escludente. Anche sul senso profondo dello shabbat si può rintracciare questa doppia tonalità di lettura del senso, tra il razionale-ribelle e l’emozionale-accorato, alla ricerca del senso profondo che sta nascosto dentro i fideismi teisti.
Ultima annotazione: la pagina sul valore del segreto, della dimensione protetta in cui custodire le cose di noi e della vita a cui teniamo è da incorniciare.
In generale mi è piaciuta la struttura, con la bipartizione tra il racconto in terza persona alternato alla narrazione in prima e soprattutto con la scelta di iniziare i capitoli con spunti di riflessione messi come una sorta di cappello sopra a quel che va a succedere.
E’ scritto con una impronta femminista giacobina, però il tema centrale è quello della rivendicazione della libertà di scegliere cosa fare della propria vita, del non obbedire ai precetti delle tradizioni (religiose e non) e alle ingiunzioni genitoriali. Disobbedienza come regola di vita, appunto. Dice delle cose più che condivisibili, ma soprattutto mi è piaciuto il tono in cui le dice; un tono forte, in cui dominano le note rabbiose, sprezzanti, rivendicative; ma in cui si percepisce anche un sottofondo dolente-ironico, con uno struggimento che sembra quasi voler pudicamente soffocare. Quando parla dei riti ebraici in particolare c’è sempre questa compresenza di due elementi opposti. Da una parte la carica fortissima di ribellione, di trasgressione, di iconoclastia e di profanazione provocatoria. Dall’altra la descrizione a tratti struggente, forse addirittura con una venatura mistica, della ritualità ebraica e del rapporto che attraverso di essa di stabilisce con la dimensione del sacro, del divino. C’è l’esigenza, più subìta che accettata, di non buttare insieme con il sistema di credenze in un dio insopportabile a cui non si riconosce nessun fondamento anche il bisogno di trovare una percezione unificante, religiosa, della vita e delle cose. E anche del proprio passato.
In questa chiave ho letto per esempio la ricerca ostinata dei due candelabri della festa usati dalla madre; ma c’è anche, per ricordare una paginetta che molto mi è piaciuta, il modo in cui rende il senso di un aspetto del rito ebraico del matrimonio; quando gli sposi appena dichiarati marito e moglie vengono chiusi per qualche minuto in una stanza “detta yichud” a simboleggiare il chiudersi finalmente del cerchio magico che dovrebbe unire due esseri legati da un sentimento esclusivo ed escludente. Anche sul senso profondo dello shabbat si può rintracciare questa doppia tonalità di lettura del senso, tra il razionale-ribelle e l’emozionale-accorato, alla ricerca del senso profondo che sta nascosto dentro i fideismi teisti.
Ultima annotazione: la pagina sul valore del segreto, della dimensione protetta in cui custodire le cose di noi e della vita a cui teniamo è da incorniciare.
December 11, 2021
3.5 stars
If you're wanting to learn more about the Orthodox Jewish culture, this is a very enlightening read. If you're looking for a lesbian romance, this isn't your book. And if you've seen the film version of this, it focused more on the relationship between Ronit and Esti than the book did.
Each chapter begins with a prayer or blessing and then continues with a several paragraph explanation of what should be taken from it. Then the story returns to how the relationship between Ronit, Esti and her husband Dovid developed and evolved. How Esti carried feelings for Ronit throughout her life, even after Ronit moved away to start anew and Esti married their mutual childhood friend. There's also some background on the MCs as children and the influences that shaped them.
While I found the insight into the Orthodox culture both interesting and horrifying in regard to the role of women in their society, it's a pretty slow read. It was like stepping back in time when women's roles were dictated to them and the choices were limited.
The present-day choices they make, the way each of the women views their history and how they ultimately decide to act on it (or not) are at times baffling. While it is a love story of sorts, it's more about how their culture affected their life choices. A feel good read it's not, but the insight gained from it may make it worth your while.
If you're wanting to learn more about the Orthodox Jewish culture, this is a very enlightening read. If you're looking for a lesbian romance, this isn't your book. And if you've seen the film version of this, it focused more on the relationship between Ronit and Esti than the book did.
Each chapter begins with a prayer or blessing and then continues with a several paragraph explanation of what should be taken from it. Then the story returns to how the relationship between Ronit, Esti and her husband Dovid developed and evolved. How Esti carried feelings for Ronit throughout her life, even after Ronit moved away to start anew and Esti married their mutual childhood friend. There's also some background on the MCs as children and the influences that shaped them.
While I found the insight into the Orthodox culture both interesting and horrifying in regard to the role of women in their society, it's a pretty slow read. It was like stepping back in time when women's roles were dictated to them and the choices were limited.
The present-day choices they make, the way each of the women views their history and how they ultimately decide to act on it (or not) are at times baffling. While it is a love story of sorts, it's more about how their culture affected their life choices. A feel good read it's not, but the insight gained from it may make it worth your while.
December 31, 2018
Ronit torna a Hendon, sobborgo londinese dove vive la comunità di ebrei ortodossi da cui lei proviene e da cui a suo tempo è fuggita, decidendo di vivere a New York unicamente secondo il proprio arbitrio e quindi disobbedendo alle rigide regole alle quali era stata educata.
Sono trascorsi alcuni anni senza contatti con il suo luogo di origine, quando il cugino Dovid le chiede di tornare: il Rav, padre di Ronit e rabbino guida della comunità, è morto. Dovid è designato a essere il suo successore. Ma lui appare recalcitrante : è timido, dubbioso sul proprio ruolo, afflitto fin da ragazzino da attacchi di mal di testa invalidanti (la cui descrizione è uno dei pezzi di bravura di questo libro).
Ronit non sa ancora che suo cugino ha sposato Esti, il suo grande amore di fanciulla. Esti, la silenziosa Esti, il corpo esile che sembra sottrarsi a ogni sguardo e nascondersi nelle pieghe della casa o del tempio, custodisce gelosamente il suo segreto, curandolo come un fiore, perché la sua passione adolescente per Ronit non è mai sfiorita.
Costruito su un doppio registro narrativo: terza persona (narratore onnisciente) e prima (la voce di Ronit), questo romanzo sorprende per la densità di contenuto e la perizia descrittiva, applicata in particolare a molti aspetti della comunità di Hendon: claustrofobica, sessista, pedissequa nell’osservanza delle rigide regole comuni e nell’applicazione delle prescrizioni e dei divieti. Ed ecco la meticolosa preparazione che prelude alla celebrazione dello Shabbat; la complicata cucina kosher; la lettura e il commento della Parola; ecco la soggezione della donna e la sua palese sottomissione, mantenuta attraverso ogni tipo di vincolo, sostanziale e rituale. Ma ecco anche dischiudersi il senso e il significato del riposo del Sabato:
“E se tutto quello che siamo è lavoro, allora cosa siamo? Lavoriamo per guadagnarci il pasto, un cuscino dove poggiare il capo. E mangiamo e dormiamo per poter lavorare. Siamo macchine che non fanno altro che riprodursi all’infinito. Ma Shabbat ci dimostra che non è così. Shabbat non è un giorno di ricreazione, di svago, è un giorno di astensione dalla creatività. È un giorno in cui camminare in punta di piedi nel mondo. […] Per quanto possibile il mondo non viene alterato dalla nostra presenza nel giorno di Shabbat. […] Shabbat ci riporta a noi. Shabbat ci consegna a tutto quello che abbiamo raggiunto, ma niente di più. Shabbat ci chiede, pacatamente ma con insistenza, chi siamo.“
Insieme al procedere della storia e all’intreccio originale delle tre personalità di Ronit, Esti e Dovid, troviamo anche l’incessante dialogo della protagonista con se stessa, ovvero con tutto ciò che di quella cultura è inscritto nella sua sostanza. Perché è chiaro che Ronit, come lei stessa afferma, non può essere un’ebrea ortodossa, ma non può nemmeno non esserlo. Vivere in questa contraddizione è anche essere immersa in un mondo di drammatica bellezza e raffinata complessità.
La disobbedienza, allora, assume il significato e il valore di ciò che distingue l’essere umano (uomo-donna: “maschio e femmina Dio li creò”) dal resto della creazione. Unica a poter scegliere, unica a poter decidere di trasgredire il comando divino è la creatura umana.
“Solo noi possiamo sentire gli ordini divini e comprenderli, e purtuttavia possiamo scegliere di disobbedire. Ed è questo e solo questo che dà valore alla nostra obbedienza. Questa è la gloria e la tragedia della razza umana. Creature infelici! Esseri fortunati! Il nostro trionfo è la nostra caduta, la nostra possibilità di condanna e anche la nostra opportunità di grandezza. E tutto quello che ci resta, alla fine, sono le scelte che facciamo.”
Perfino la felicità può essere frutto della disobbedienza, perché “noi esseri umani, come Dio onnipotente che ci ha creato, desideriamo ardentemente costruire. La nostra felicità, almeno in questo mondo, sta nella creazione.[…] La felicità ha a che fare con l’aver sfiorato il mondo e poi averlo lasciato diverso, secondo la nostra volontà.”
L’attenzione alla parola è il centro di molte riflessioni contenute in questo racconto. La Torah è la parola di Dio perché è con la Parola che Dio ha creato il mondo. Ed è questa Parola a essere contenuta nel Libro, che è commentato da altri libri, che contengono la glossa a questi commenti, che a loro volta sono dispiegati in ulteriori parole scritte. E così via all’infinito. La vertigine del Libro è la ricchezza della cultura ebraica, ma è anche la nostra ricchezza umana. Non è infatti quello che costantemente facciamo: cercare noi stessi -infinitamente- in un libro? E non è forse ogni libro immesso in quel dialogo fitto e silenzioso che noi intratteniamo col mondo, dentro e fuori?
E non produce forse la parola detta e scritta la costruzione e la distruzione di mondi? Non esprime una potenza creatrice profondamente umana, ovvero intrinsecamente divina?
Il dialogo che da sempre gli ebrei intrattengono con la Parola contenuta nel Libro, aldilà e ben oltre il puro aspetto dottrinale, è lo stesso dialogo, la stessa ricerca che ciascuno di noi intraprende con se stesso venendo al mondo.
Avere fede non è aderire ciecamente ai dogmi di una o dell’altra religione (credo politico, ideologia, manifesto) ma scegliere ciò che corrisponde al nostro desiderio profondo, che spesso è proprio ciò che la vita ci impegna a cercare. Avere fede è continuare questa ricerca “per non vedere il mondo in una faccia che non è la tua”.
Disobbedienza, infine, è agire la libertà che abbiamo ricevuto in dono. Perché “Dio ci ha consegnato il mondo per un po’ di tempo. Ci ha dato la sua Torah. E come un buon padre, come un padre amoroso, ci ha gioiosamente lasciati liberi.”
Sono trascorsi alcuni anni senza contatti con il suo luogo di origine, quando il cugino Dovid le chiede di tornare: il Rav, padre di Ronit e rabbino guida della comunità, è morto. Dovid è designato a essere il suo successore. Ma lui appare recalcitrante : è timido, dubbioso sul proprio ruolo, afflitto fin da ragazzino da attacchi di mal di testa invalidanti (la cui descrizione è uno dei pezzi di bravura di questo libro).
Ronit non sa ancora che suo cugino ha sposato Esti, il suo grande amore di fanciulla. Esti, la silenziosa Esti, il corpo esile che sembra sottrarsi a ogni sguardo e nascondersi nelle pieghe della casa o del tempio, custodisce gelosamente il suo segreto, curandolo come un fiore, perché la sua passione adolescente per Ronit non è mai sfiorita.
Costruito su un doppio registro narrativo: terza persona (narratore onnisciente) e prima (la voce di Ronit), questo romanzo sorprende per la densità di contenuto e la perizia descrittiva, applicata in particolare a molti aspetti della comunità di Hendon: claustrofobica, sessista, pedissequa nell’osservanza delle rigide regole comuni e nell’applicazione delle prescrizioni e dei divieti. Ed ecco la meticolosa preparazione che prelude alla celebrazione dello Shabbat; la complicata cucina kosher; la lettura e il commento della Parola; ecco la soggezione della donna e la sua palese sottomissione, mantenuta attraverso ogni tipo di vincolo, sostanziale e rituale. Ma ecco anche dischiudersi il senso e il significato del riposo del Sabato:
“E se tutto quello che siamo è lavoro, allora cosa siamo? Lavoriamo per guadagnarci il pasto, un cuscino dove poggiare il capo. E mangiamo e dormiamo per poter lavorare. Siamo macchine che non fanno altro che riprodursi all’infinito. Ma Shabbat ci dimostra che non è così. Shabbat non è un giorno di ricreazione, di svago, è un giorno di astensione dalla creatività. È un giorno in cui camminare in punta di piedi nel mondo. […] Per quanto possibile il mondo non viene alterato dalla nostra presenza nel giorno di Shabbat. […] Shabbat ci riporta a noi. Shabbat ci consegna a tutto quello che abbiamo raggiunto, ma niente di più. Shabbat ci chiede, pacatamente ma con insistenza, chi siamo.“
Insieme al procedere della storia e all’intreccio originale delle tre personalità di Ronit, Esti e Dovid, troviamo anche l’incessante dialogo della protagonista con se stessa, ovvero con tutto ciò che di quella cultura è inscritto nella sua sostanza. Perché è chiaro che Ronit, come lei stessa afferma, non può essere un’ebrea ortodossa, ma non può nemmeno non esserlo. Vivere in questa contraddizione è anche essere immersa in un mondo di drammatica bellezza e raffinata complessità.
La disobbedienza, allora, assume il significato e il valore di ciò che distingue l’essere umano (uomo-donna: “maschio e femmina Dio li creò”) dal resto della creazione. Unica a poter scegliere, unica a poter decidere di trasgredire il comando divino è la creatura umana.
“Solo noi possiamo sentire gli ordini divini e comprenderli, e purtuttavia possiamo scegliere di disobbedire. Ed è questo e solo questo che dà valore alla nostra obbedienza. Questa è la gloria e la tragedia della razza umana. Creature infelici! Esseri fortunati! Il nostro trionfo è la nostra caduta, la nostra possibilità di condanna e anche la nostra opportunità di grandezza. E tutto quello che ci resta, alla fine, sono le scelte che facciamo.”
Perfino la felicità può essere frutto della disobbedienza, perché “noi esseri umani, come Dio onnipotente che ci ha creato, desideriamo ardentemente costruire. La nostra felicità, almeno in questo mondo, sta nella creazione.[…] La felicità ha a che fare con l’aver sfiorato il mondo e poi averlo lasciato diverso, secondo la nostra volontà.”
L’attenzione alla parola è il centro di molte riflessioni contenute in questo racconto. La Torah è la parola di Dio perché è con la Parola che Dio ha creato il mondo. Ed è questa Parola a essere contenuta nel Libro, che è commentato da altri libri, che contengono la glossa a questi commenti, che a loro volta sono dispiegati in ulteriori parole scritte. E così via all’infinito. La vertigine del Libro è la ricchezza della cultura ebraica, ma è anche la nostra ricchezza umana. Non è infatti quello che costantemente facciamo: cercare noi stessi -infinitamente- in un libro? E non è forse ogni libro immesso in quel dialogo fitto e silenzioso che noi intratteniamo col mondo, dentro e fuori?
E non produce forse la parola detta e scritta la costruzione e la distruzione di mondi? Non esprime una potenza creatrice profondamente umana, ovvero intrinsecamente divina?
Il dialogo che da sempre gli ebrei intrattengono con la Parola contenuta nel Libro, aldilà e ben oltre il puro aspetto dottrinale, è lo stesso dialogo, la stessa ricerca che ciascuno di noi intraprende con se stesso venendo al mondo.
Avere fede non è aderire ciecamente ai dogmi di una o dell’altra religione (credo politico, ideologia, manifesto) ma scegliere ciò che corrisponde al nostro desiderio profondo, che spesso è proprio ciò che la vita ci impegna a cercare. Avere fede è continuare questa ricerca “per non vedere il mondo in una faccia che non è la tua”.
Disobbedienza, infine, è agire la libertà che abbiamo ricevuto in dono. Perché “Dio ci ha consegnato il mondo per un po’ di tempo. Ci ha dato la sua Torah. E come un buon padre, come un padre amoroso, ci ha gioiosamente lasciati liberi.”
June 6, 2018
You know, I put a great deal of thought into how I wanted to present this review. I hated this book. With a passion. And when I hate things I tend to tear them apart with humor or passive aggression or just flat out snark. And I thought of a lot of humorous rant filled speeches about this book. But. I’m not going to do that.
This book doesn’t really earn the right to have amusing reviews. Frankly, I think it’s a little bit dangerous, especially to young LGBT people. It presents homosexuality in a dangerous way. As something that should be shamed and kept “invisible.” It tells you that even though you might be gay, you don’t have to practice or be out or show yourself to others.
How toxic is that mentality? As someone who grew up in a very religious community, as someone who was shamed for her queerness, as someone who was told to just “hide it away,” I can attest to the mental anguish this toxic approach to homosexuality brings. How it causes depression and self loathing and life long feelings of not enoughness. How having to be invisible makes you feel like no one could love you or even that you deserve love.
So, this book doesn’t deserve the humor or the rant or even the attention that it is receiving due to its current box office presence. Attention should be turned away.
I know that this review probably isn’t read by many, but I just have to say to any struggling gays out there. You don’t have to pretend to love someone to fit in. You don’t have to try to enjoy something you don’t. And don’t you dare fucking be invisible.
This book doesn’t really earn the right to have amusing reviews. Frankly, I think it’s a little bit dangerous, especially to young LGBT people. It presents homosexuality in a dangerous way. As something that should be shamed and kept “invisible.” It tells you that even though you might be gay, you don’t have to practice or be out or show yourself to others.
How toxic is that mentality? As someone who grew up in a very religious community, as someone who was shamed for her queerness, as someone who was told to just “hide it away,” I can attest to the mental anguish this toxic approach to homosexuality brings. How it causes depression and self loathing and life long feelings of not enoughness. How having to be invisible makes you feel like no one could love you or even that you deserve love.
So, this book doesn’t deserve the humor or the rant or even the attention that it is receiving due to its current box office presence. Attention should be turned away.
I know that this review probably isn’t read by many, but I just have to say to any struggling gays out there. You don’t have to pretend to love someone to fit in. You don’t have to try to enjoy something you don’t. And don’t you dare fucking be invisible.
June 4, 2018
3.5/5
I hadn’t heard of this book, which was first published in 2006, until I saw a movie trailer in the theater for the motion picture version. I’m always curious to read books about people who were once part of strict or fundamentalist religious groups and who leave those groups to live outside the bounds of that strict group. And this book does offer one such character: Ronit, who is the daughter and only child of the great Rav (lead Rabbi) of their synagogue in her closely-knit north London ultra-orthodox community. Ronit’s thirty-two years old now, having left years ago and moved to New York City, where she supports herself and, when the book begins, she is having an affair with a married man with whom she shares an office at work. Word of her father’s death reaches her, and she travels back to London to attend services for her father and to find the silver candlesticks that had belonged to her dead mother.
But there are three protagonists in this novel. In addition to Ronit, there is Dovid, who is Ronit’s cousin, who has been studying with her father since he was thirteen so that some day he may become the Rav for their synagogue. Dovid was chosen because the Rav has no sons—daughters do not count when it comes to studying and becoming rabbis. He met with seven of his nephews when they were young, and he chose Dovid. And the third protagonist is Esti, who was a friend of Ronit’s when they were teenagers. The two girls had been involved in a hidden lesbian affair. During the last decade or so, Ronit has not kept in touch with her London friends or family. The orthodox community where this all takes place has scorned her for her rejection of their community. The community is very much a fourth character in the novel.
When Ronit returns to London from New York after her father’s death, she finds that Dovid and Esti are now married to each other. Dovid is going through his own crisis as he is being pushed to become the next Rav, and he is not 100% sure that he is the best candidate for the job. At the same time the two women have to decide what to make of their changed statuses in life.
After reading the book, I did go and see the movie, which is well made and interesting, but it’s tonally different from the book. I preferred the book because of the amount of attention it placed on Dovid. He’s almost a side feature in the movie because the movie focuses on dealing with the not quite dead embers of Ronit and Esti’s long ago affair. But Dovid's challenges are easily as interesting as the women’s, and the three of them together find a way to deal with their situation. And there are all the many interactions among the members of the community about the nature of their connection to the one living child of their beloved Rav and about the future of their synagogue. Author Alderman respects all the characters, and she includes a clear (as well as respectful) view of the orthodox community and its religious practices.
I hadn’t heard of this book, which was first published in 2006, until I saw a movie trailer in the theater for the motion picture version. I’m always curious to read books about people who were once part of strict or fundamentalist religious groups and who leave those groups to live outside the bounds of that strict group. And this book does offer one such character: Ronit, who is the daughter and only child of the great Rav (lead Rabbi) of their synagogue in her closely-knit north London ultra-orthodox community. Ronit’s thirty-two years old now, having left years ago and moved to New York City, where she supports herself and, when the book begins, she is having an affair with a married man with whom she shares an office at work. Word of her father’s death reaches her, and she travels back to London to attend services for her father and to find the silver candlesticks that had belonged to her dead mother.
But there are three protagonists in this novel. In addition to Ronit, there is Dovid, who is Ronit’s cousin, who has been studying with her father since he was thirteen so that some day he may become the Rav for their synagogue. Dovid was chosen because the Rav has no sons—daughters do not count when it comes to studying and becoming rabbis. He met with seven of his nephews when they were young, and he chose Dovid. And the third protagonist is Esti, who was a friend of Ronit’s when they were teenagers. The two girls had been involved in a hidden lesbian affair. During the last decade or so, Ronit has not kept in touch with her London friends or family. The orthodox community where this all takes place has scorned her for her rejection of their community. The community is very much a fourth character in the novel.
When Ronit returns to London from New York after her father’s death, she finds that Dovid and Esti are now married to each other. Dovid is going through his own crisis as he is being pushed to become the next Rav, and he is not 100% sure that he is the best candidate for the job. At the same time the two women have to decide what to make of their changed statuses in life.
After reading the book, I did go and see the movie, which is well made and interesting, but it’s tonally different from the book. I preferred the book because of the amount of attention it placed on Dovid. He’s almost a side feature in the movie because the movie focuses on dealing with the not quite dead embers of Ronit and Esti’s long ago affair. But Dovid's challenges are easily as interesting as the women’s, and the three of them together find a way to deal with their situation. And there are all the many interactions among the members of the community about the nature of their connection to the one living child of their beloved Rav and about the future of their synagogue. Author Alderman respects all the characters, and she includes a clear (as well as respectful) view of the orthodox community and its religious practices.
December 29, 2018
What a stunning book. I've been wanting to read it since I saw the film version earlier this year, which I liked quite a lot. Books about religion and the struggle with it are of particular interest to me, since it's a subject in my own writing. And this book is definitely one of the best of the few out there that really dive into the topic.
Perhaps it's not a surprise that it's a book about a community of orthodox Jews, as there's much more of a literary tradition around Jewish life than most other religions in the Western world. But what Alderman does here is really amazing, particularly with a first novel. Structurally and emotionally it's very powerful.
Alderman walks the fine tightrope that I always want in this kind of book but so rarely get: she manages to examine and respect both belief and non-belief. She is able to see clearly the ways in which a heavily patriarchal community can damage women while not throwing the entire thing out in the process. There is familiarity, respect, and curiosity for Jewish scripture and thought, with each chapter beginning with its own little sermon of sorts. Alderman gives us the point of view of her protagonist, Ronit, the rebellious daughter of the celebrated Rav who has returned home after his death, but she also lets us spend time in the heads of Esti, her childhood friend and teenage lover, Dovid, Ronit's cousin who is now Esti's husband, and other members of the community. She makes space for all of them, especially in the primary trio. Esti is the most interesting of the three. While Ronit is at least bisexual, Esti is a lesbian and yet she is married to a man in a faith that does not recognize her sexuality, and yet she seems in her own way content. Ronit's return excites Esti and sets her in motion, but it is not the kind of story you'd expect, it is not about getting Esti to break away, it is about letting Esti reconcile all the different parts of her instead of keeping some of them silent. It's nuanced and thoughtful and so little fiction on religioni is either of those things.
Perhaps it's not a surprise that it's a book about a community of orthodox Jews, as there's much more of a literary tradition around Jewish life than most other religions in the Western world. But what Alderman does here is really amazing, particularly with a first novel. Structurally and emotionally it's very powerful.
Alderman walks the fine tightrope that I always want in this kind of book but so rarely get: she manages to examine and respect both belief and non-belief. She is able to see clearly the ways in which a heavily patriarchal community can damage women while not throwing the entire thing out in the process. There is familiarity, respect, and curiosity for Jewish scripture and thought, with each chapter beginning with its own little sermon of sorts. Alderman gives us the point of view of her protagonist, Ronit, the rebellious daughter of the celebrated Rav who has returned home after his death, but she also lets us spend time in the heads of Esti, her childhood friend and teenage lover, Dovid, Ronit's cousin who is now Esti's husband, and other members of the community. She makes space for all of them, especially in the primary trio. Esti is the most interesting of the three. While Ronit is at least bisexual, Esti is a lesbian and yet she is married to a man in a faith that does not recognize her sexuality, and yet she seems in her own way content. Ronit's return excites Esti and sets her in motion, but it is not the kind of story you'd expect, it is not about getting Esti to break away, it is about letting Esti reconcile all the different parts of her instead of keeping some of them silent. It's nuanced and thoughtful and so little fiction on religioni is either of those things.
June 13, 2018
Disobedience started out well, but steadily declined as it went along. At first, I was immediately drawn in by the splendid writing, which had a lyrical quality to it, but even that grew stale as the book went on, becoming not delightful but pretentious and annoying. But I think the main issue I had was that I expected something from this book that I didn't get.
The plot is...bare-bones. When Ronit returns to her Orthodox Jewish community and finds her old lover Esti married to a man, I expected...something. I expected things to be turned upside down. I expected an affair, or something close to it. What I got instead was just...a lot of meandering without really accomplishing anything. I kept waiting for something significant to happen, but it never did, which made this novel feel like a whole bunch of unexplored potential. Even the climax of the book is easy to miss because it's so insignificant. The characters pretty much end up in the same place they began. This makes this book really boring; the whole middle chunk is kind of a slog to get through.
I also don't know how I felt about Alderman's conceptualization of queerness. She seemed to be trying to come to some sort of conclusion about being gay and being religious, but the conclusion she arrives at is, frankly, offensive and heteronormative. I had expected something so much more subversive, I had expected the author and the characters to push societal norms, but in the end those norms are sadly reinforced. So ultimately I'm not sure what Alderman is getting at here, exactly. Is she saying that it's futile to be religious and queer? I'm not sure. I felt like even Alderman wasn't entirely sure what it was she wanted to get across.
One thing I did enjoy, besides the writing, was the musings on Judaism. It's not a religion I know very much about, being Muslim myself, but from the little I do know I've always thought Judaism and Islam were two peas in a pod (ironically). I don't come from an Orthodox family myself, but my family is incredibly devout and it was interesting to see parts of my experience mirrored in an Orthodox Jewish community. I also enjoyed Alderman's philosophical musings; I don't know if these theological discussions are her own or are common in Jewish religious thought, but I found them all to be fascinating and I think they framed the story nicely. It makes me want to learn more about Judaism in general!
Overall I would liken this book to an unexploded bomb or an unopened jack in the box. The potential is there, you know it is, and you know full well that it could be explosive and subversive but it just never reaches that potential. Instead it remains quiet and ordinary and blends into the background.
The plot is...bare-bones. When Ronit returns to her Orthodox Jewish community and finds her old lover Esti married to a man, I expected...something. I expected things to be turned upside down. I expected an affair, or something close to it. What I got instead was just...a lot of meandering without really accomplishing anything. I kept waiting for something significant to happen, but it never did, which made this novel feel like a whole bunch of unexplored potential. Even the climax of the book is easy to miss because it's so insignificant. The characters pretty much end up in the same place they began. This makes this book really boring; the whole middle chunk is kind of a slog to get through.
I also don't know how I felt about Alderman's conceptualization of queerness. She seemed to be trying to come to some sort of conclusion about being gay and being religious, but the conclusion she arrives at is, frankly, offensive and heteronormative. I had expected something so much more subversive, I had expected the author and the characters to push societal norms, but in the end those norms are sadly reinforced. So ultimately I'm not sure what Alderman is getting at here, exactly. Is she saying that it's futile to be religious and queer? I'm not sure. I felt like even Alderman wasn't entirely sure what it was she wanted to get across.
One thing I did enjoy, besides the writing, was the musings on Judaism. It's not a religion I know very much about, being Muslim myself, but from the little I do know I've always thought Judaism and Islam were two peas in a pod (ironically). I don't come from an Orthodox family myself, but my family is incredibly devout and it was interesting to see parts of my experience mirrored in an Orthodox Jewish community. I also enjoyed Alderman's philosophical musings; I don't know if these theological discussions are her own or are common in Jewish religious thought, but I found them all to be fascinating and I think they framed the story nicely. It makes me want to learn more about Judaism in general!
Overall I would liken this book to an unexploded bomb or an unopened jack in the box. The potential is there, you know it is, and you know full well that it could be explosive and subversive but it just never reaches that potential. Instead it remains quiet and ordinary and blends into the background.
March 12, 2011
Until not so many decades ago they hardly existed, yet the literary world went merrily round without them. Now they abound. Universities have them, adult education organisations have them, country retreats have them, seaside resorts have them, private individuals organise their own – ‘creative writing’ courses.
In my view, the most they can achieve is to produce a few competent writers from among the multitudes who pass through. But invariably missing is the magic, the sparkle, the extra something that distinguishes the very best from the rest. I’m sure the geniuses would have nothing to do with them, and if they did, would have their shining light sadly dimmed.
Naomi Alderman is a Creative Writing graduate of the University of East Anglia. In her shoes, I wouldn’t brag about it, though it shows through all-too-clearly in her work.
For me, the book promised much when I discovered what it was about, making my disappointment all the greater. ‘Alderman has a bold comic touch’ is one of the quotes on the back cover. ‘Sharp, funny and poignant,’ states another. Comic touch? Funny? The book indeed cries out for a goodly dose of humour. But where is it? Not until page 98 did a faint smile come to my lips. For the rest, I found it a tiresome bore.
I objected to the regular sermons, even if the aim was to contrast them with the behaviour of claustrophobic Hendon hypocrites. The equally regular changes from third person to first person narrative brought some relief, but I agree with the reviewer who wrote that the author “takes a bit of social history, cobbles it together with some thoughts on Jewish lore and superimposes the novel structure over the whole.”
She calls it ‘writing by numbers’ – which I would say is just what creative writing courses can reduce novel writing to. Well-drawn characters would have helped, but again I agree with the reviewer who calls them ‘two dimensional, flattened by the deadweight of meaning each is meant to bear’.
Finally, another quote about Alderman which I can endorse: “She peppers the novel with Hebrew terms many Jews, let alone non-Jews, won’t recognise and mostly for no good narrative reason.” Very few are explained in any way, alas a problem one has become all-to-familiar with in other books.
In my view, the most they can achieve is to produce a few competent writers from among the multitudes who pass through. But invariably missing is the magic, the sparkle, the extra something that distinguishes the very best from the rest. I’m sure the geniuses would have nothing to do with them, and if they did, would have their shining light sadly dimmed.
Naomi Alderman is a Creative Writing graduate of the University of East Anglia. In her shoes, I wouldn’t brag about it, though it shows through all-too-clearly in her work.
For me, the book promised much when I discovered what it was about, making my disappointment all the greater. ‘Alderman has a bold comic touch’ is one of the quotes on the back cover. ‘Sharp, funny and poignant,’ states another. Comic touch? Funny? The book indeed cries out for a goodly dose of humour. But where is it? Not until page 98 did a faint smile come to my lips. For the rest, I found it a tiresome bore.
I objected to the regular sermons, even if the aim was to contrast them with the behaviour of claustrophobic Hendon hypocrites. The equally regular changes from third person to first person narrative brought some relief, but I agree with the reviewer who wrote that the author “takes a bit of social history, cobbles it together with some thoughts on Jewish lore and superimposes the novel structure over the whole.”
She calls it ‘writing by numbers’ – which I would say is just what creative writing courses can reduce novel writing to. Well-drawn characters would have helped, but again I agree with the reviewer who calls them ‘two dimensional, flattened by the deadweight of meaning each is meant to bear’.
Finally, another quote about Alderman which I can endorse: “She peppers the novel with Hebrew terms many Jews, let alone non-Jews, won’t recognise and mostly for no good narrative reason.” Very few are explained in any way, alas a problem one has become all-to-familiar with in other books.
July 16, 2017
Winner of the Orange Award for New Writers. I picked up the book for two reasons, and discovered this accolade on the front cover. For one, it had looked interesting to me and was on my TBR. Its also the July read for the Jewish Book Club, whom I occasionally write a review for. I actually hope I'm not the only one to read and review it this month. I thought it was great - really great!
The story is told in its blurb to be about a gay daughter of an Orthodox Jewish Community in London. Which is an interesting premise that held my interest. What I liked about the extremely well written and well developed story, is that it was also respectful of the Orthodox Community. It could have been written a number of ways, and this one was written beautifully. It had a number of torah commentaries and explanations in there, which were not meant to take a side, rather to explain where some of the precepts emerge from. There were also compelling biblical stories, that acted as a guide, most profoundly to the story, about the transcendent love between (King) David and his close friend Jonathan, who was the son of King Saul. It was written from two points of view. The book would begin in the third person, and we would learn about Esti and Dovid through the writers eye. However Ronit, the Rav's daughter spoke in her own voice, in a different typeset, which made sense, given her outsider and more American voice. It isn't until much later in the book that we hear Esti speak in her own voice, and when she does, its incredible. Its brilliant character and plot development intertwined. Granted, the climatic end of the book is a bit implausible, but its so perfect and so much fun, that one just has to entertain a suspension of disbelief.
Speckled through this, are Ronit's thoughts and experiences with her therapy - which I of course loved and ate up. Much of that made the book for me. Her character development was wonderful and spot on. It was very well done. Should it have won the award? Absolutely. This author is one to follow.
The story is told in its blurb to be about a gay daughter of an Orthodox Jewish Community in London. Which is an interesting premise that held my interest. What I liked about the extremely well written and well developed story, is that it was also respectful of the Orthodox Community. It could have been written a number of ways, and this one was written beautifully. It had a number of torah commentaries and explanations in there, which were not meant to take a side, rather to explain where some of the precepts emerge from. There were also compelling biblical stories, that acted as a guide, most profoundly to the story, about the transcendent love between (King) David and his close friend Jonathan, who was the son of King Saul. It was written from two points of view. The book would begin in the third person, and we would learn about Esti and Dovid through the writers eye. However Ronit, the Rav's daughter spoke in her own voice, in a different typeset, which made sense, given her outsider and more American voice. It isn't until much later in the book that we hear Esti speak in her own voice, and when she does, its incredible. Its brilliant character and plot development intertwined. Granted, the climatic end of the book is a bit implausible, but its so perfect and so much fun, that one just has to entertain a suspension of disbelief.
Speckled through this, are Ronit's thoughts and experiences with her therapy - which I of course loved and ate up. Much of that made the book for me. Her character development was wonderful and spot on. It was very well done. Should it have won the award? Absolutely. This author is one to follow.
February 6, 2023
“And all we have, in the end, are the choices we make.”
i still haven't seen the movie which honestly sounds way more interesting.
this isn't a lesbian romance you liars. it is a book about an orthodox Jewish community with very mild lesbian drama. the cover is really cute tho.
i didn't find it problematic, crucify me.
aaaaa that fucking ending my god girlie why
i still haven't seen the movie which honestly sounds way more interesting.
this isn't a lesbian romance you liars. it is a book about an orthodox Jewish community with very mild lesbian drama. the cover is really cute tho.
i didn't find it problematic, crucify me.
aaaaa that fucking ending my god girlie why
February 9, 2019
The last chapter was so wonderfully serene that I felt the need to read it twice!
“… you don’t have a choice about what you are, you have a choice about what you show. You always have a choice about whether you “out” yourself. Every time you meet someone new, it’s a decision. You always have a choice about whether you practice.”
Is it odd that I don’t feel like watching the film adaptation? I don’t want it to alter my own idea of what Ronit, Esti, and Dovid are like with each other. I might check it out someday.
“… you don’t have a choice about what you are, you have a choice about what you show. You always have a choice about whether you “out” yourself. Every time you meet someone new, it’s a decision. You always have a choice about whether you practice.”
Is it odd that I don’t feel like watching the film adaptation? I don’t want it to alter my own idea of what Ronit, Esti, and Dovid are like with each other. I might check it out someday.
April 28, 2019
Really enjoyable read touching very sensitive matters. First fiction book I ever read about orthodox jews. Expected a love story, but got way much more. It was very interesting to read about orthodox rituals and some beliefs, as I am very interested in all kinds of radical religions and cults.
It is a story about freedom about how difficult is to live when everything is decided for you. Where only expectation from a woman is to be fruitful and stay silent.
Beautiful style and a bit if sarcasm. Highly recommend. Can’t wait to watch a film!
It is a story about freedom about how difficult is to live when everything is decided for you. Where only expectation from a woman is to be fruitful and stay silent.
Beautiful style and a bit if sarcasm. Highly recommend. Can’t wait to watch a film!
August 13, 2016
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0076x3sDescription: By the age of 32, Ronit has left London and transformed her life. She has become a cigarette-smoking, wise-cracking, New York career woman, who is in love with a married man.But when Ronit's father dies she is called back into the very different world of her childhood, a world she thought she had left far behind. The orthodox Jewish suburb of Hendon, north London is outraged by Ronit and her provocative ways. But Ronit is shocked too by the confrontation with her past. And when she meets up with her childhood girlfriend Esti, she is forced to think again about what she has left behind.
An eminent rabbi passes away in London and his estranged daughter, Ronit is compelled to return home from America. So begins a journey with far reaching consequences. Both Dovid and Ronit struggle to cope with the responsibility of grief. Ronit and Dovid are reunited, but unwelcome old memories are stirred.Ronit finds herself once more reliving bad times as a guest of the Hartogs.Intense emotions are stirred when Ronit and Esti are left alone together at long last.
September 13, 2017
I pretty much just read this bc of the rachel/rachel movie that's coming out. realised I don't know anything abt judaism, so I learnt some stuff which was cool
February 15, 2021
Ronit, Esti e Donig.
L’ortodossia, il silenzio, la ribellione: non necessariamente in questo ordine.
L’ortodossia, il silenzio, la ribellione: non necessariamente in questo ordine.
February 9, 2018
I picked this one up after seeing the movie trailer and it was not what I expected. There was a predatory lesbian aspect to Ronit that I thought we had gone beyond in the 21st century. I understand the point the author was making about a woman's role in this society, but I wonder if this retrograde trope was necessary in order to do it.
June 18, 2018
Like many who are reading this circa 2018, I first became aware of it due to the recent film version, and wanted to read the book prior to seeing it. I must say it exceeded my expectations: terrific prose, an interesting and pro/e-vocative storyline, and characters that have specificity and real depth. I also learned much about Orthodox Judaism I didn't have a clue about, and much of the book gave me things to ponder and think about long after I've finished. What's not to like?
Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,382 reviews