What do you think?
Rate this book
Heart, You Bully, You Punk
A high school girl, her father, and her math through this unlikely trio, Leah Hager Cohen charts the complexities of the human heart as only she can.
Esker (she prefers to go solely by her last name) is a thirty-one-year-old high school teacher at the Prospect School in Brooklyn who, after various heartbreaks and disappointments, has found a quiet resolve in her lonely spinster routine. But when a mysterious fall leaves her star math student injured and housebound until exams, Esker begins tutoring the precocious teenager at home. And soon, much against her will, she begins falling edgily, haltingly in love with the girl's father.
Charged with Esker's own irreverence and wit, Heart, You Bully, You Punk sweeps us irresistibly into her profound and wistful struggle to unite the rest of her self with her unruly heart.
Esker (she prefers to go solely by her last name) is a thirty-one-year-old high school teacher at the Prospect School in Brooklyn who, after various heartbreaks and disappointments, has found a quiet resolve in her lonely spinster routine. But when a mysterious fall leaves her star math student injured and housebound until exams, Esker begins tutoring the precocious teenager at home. And soon, much against her will, she begins falling edgily, haltingly in love with the girl's father.
Charged with Esker's own irreverence and wit, Heart, You Bully, You Punk sweeps us irresistibly into her profound and wistful struggle to unite the rest of her self with her unruly heart.
224 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2003
95 people are currently reading
4918 people want to read
About the author
Leah Hager Cohen
24 books181 followersLeah Hager Cohen has written four non-fiction books, including Train Go Sorry and Glass, Paper, Beans, and four novels, including House Lights and The Grief of Others.
She serves as the Jenks Chair in Contemporary American Letters at the College of the Holy Cross, and teaches in the Low-Residency MFA Program in Creative Writing at Lesley University. She is a frequent contributor to the New York Times Book Review.
She serves as the Jenks Chair in Contemporary American Letters at the College of the Holy Cross, and teaches in the Low-Residency MFA Program in Creative Writing at Lesley University. She is a frequent contributor to the New York Times Book Review.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 87 reviews
April 6, 2020
I read this because it was mentioned as an all time favorite by a character in another book (American Dirt). The characters are well developed but uninteresting and the plot is bewildering. This is especially true of the ending, which had it been satisfying could have possibly salvaged the book.
June 28, 2008
Heart, You Bully, You Punk is the kind of book you want to read when you are feeling melancholy--it's the print equivalent of Coldplay and a cup of lukewarm tea. It's the kind of book that makes you feel like starving yourself for days and then climbing into the largest, rattiest sweater you can find, and rocking gently in a corner. This isn't to say that I didn't like the book, I did. I mean, I gave it three stars. But it will slowly drive you mad, as you start to look at every gesture you make as significant, the way the clouds look in the sky, the way birds disperse at your footsteps--get my drift?
What I object to, very strongly, are two things: 1. Cohen seems to think that you can construct a book completely out of lists. The most minute, rambling lists possible. 2. The ending is entirely disappointing. What you think is a character study about Esker, Ann, and Wally, ends up just being the revoltingly long tale of Esker's self-loathing. Wow! What a pick me up! And not that I need for books to wrap themselves up in the happiest way possible, but this story didn't even show any growth on the part of her character. Ann, Wally--they seemed to change, even slightly--but every part of the story is circular, returning back to what happened in the beginning, returning back to everyone's preconceived notions of themselves.
Maybe that is what it is all about, in the end, and most people would be tricked into thinking it is high art by the way it continually runs loops with language. But after all, language is just language, and should be used in service to a story, not as the story itself.
What I object to, very strongly, are two things: 1. Cohen seems to think that you can construct a book completely out of lists. The most minute, rambling lists possible. 2. The ending is entirely disappointing. What you think is a character study about Esker, Ann, and Wally, ends up just being the revoltingly long tale of Esker's self-loathing. Wow! What a pick me up! And not that I need for books to wrap themselves up in the happiest way possible, but this story didn't even show any growth on the part of her character. Ann, Wally--they seemed to change, even slightly--but every part of the story is circular, returning back to what happened in the beginning, returning back to everyone's preconceived notions of themselves.
Maybe that is what it is all about, in the end, and most people would be tricked into thinking it is high art by the way it continually runs loops with language. But after all, language is just language, and should be used in service to a story, not as the story itself.
December 16, 2015
I have got to stop reading and forcing myself to finish crappy books :(
August 29, 2010
I picked up this book simply because I liked the title and walked away with a read that was overwhelmingly lovely and sad and rich with emotional nuance and all those literary nooks and crannies that can make a book so satisfying.
So why only three stars then? The ending. While I'm a big fan and supporter of unresolved and even unhappy endings this book's close made me feel as though I'd been cheated. Unresolved and unhappy endings work because they feel realistic--true to a character's form. Here, I felt as though our protagonist Esker simply made a loop--from point A at the beginning of the novel, around a circle of thought and action and right back to point A.
Maybe that is realistic but it left me feeling as though I'd gone on a journey with a character who, over the course of 200-plus pages, teased me with the idea of change but then never did.
The Esker we see at the beginning of the novel is the same Esker we see at the end--there was no internal change, there was no external display of movement.
Esker was simply Esker. Perhaps that is life, perhaps this is a moment where I should be more cynical and more accepting of such a reality. But when I got to the last paragraph of this book I felt unsatisfied--even as a person who is usually wary of contrived, sappy endings. As I read the last words of "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" I made a face and said, "Oh--boo, too bad."
So why only three stars then? The ending. While I'm a big fan and supporter of unresolved and even unhappy endings this book's close made me feel as though I'd been cheated. Unresolved and unhappy endings work because they feel realistic--true to a character's form. Here, I felt as though our protagonist Esker simply made a loop--from point A at the beginning of the novel, around a circle of thought and action and right back to point A.
Maybe that is realistic but it left me feeling as though I'd gone on a journey with a character who, over the course of 200-plus pages, teased me with the idea of change but then never did.
The Esker we see at the beginning of the novel is the same Esker we see at the end--there was no internal change, there was no external display of movement.
Esker was simply Esker. Perhaps that is life, perhaps this is a moment where I should be more cynical and more accepting of such a reality. But when I got to the last paragraph of this book I felt unsatisfied--even as a person who is usually wary of contrived, sappy endings. As I read the last words of "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" I made a face and said, "Oh--boo, too bad."
September 8, 2009
IN addition to the freakish title, which made this an embarrassing work to tote around (I red real books! I promise!), this book was a much weaker attempt than the other Hager Cohen I read - House Lights I think it was called. The writing was very heavy and the overall plot fell short of interesting.
Essentially, a girl named Anna falls from the bleachers (it seems she has a tendency to try to fly - but this is for the most part unexplored though presumably playing a big role in the story)and now needs to be tutored at home. Enter your cliched 'If I'd never loved I never would have cried' asexual math teacher, Esker, who ends up falling for Anna's dad and vice versa. We delve into background on Esker that is super uninteresting, and we watch grown ups engage in the dance of intimacy, also super uninteresting. Anna's own high school romances fit in here somewhere, I am sure, but could I tell you how? No.
The chracters were sketched well enough, but almost too well, and while the writing was decent, I wasn't engaged enough to give credit for that. Ultimately, I could not tell you the point of this book, or perhaps I should say the point was so overstated that I'd like to think there was more to it than that?
Essentially, a girl named Anna falls from the bleachers (it seems she has a tendency to try to fly - but this is for the most part unexplored though presumably playing a big role in the story)and now needs to be tutored at home. Enter your cliched 'If I'd never loved I never would have cried' asexual math teacher, Esker, who ends up falling for Anna's dad and vice versa. We delve into background on Esker that is super uninteresting, and we watch grown ups engage in the dance of intimacy, also super uninteresting. Anna's own high school romances fit in here somewhere, I am sure, but could I tell you how? No.
The chracters were sketched well enough, but almost too well, and while the writing was decent, I wasn't engaged enough to give credit for that. Ultimately, I could not tell you the point of this book, or perhaps I should say the point was so overstated that I'd like to think there was more to it than that?
March 6, 2014
Funny and entertaining and painful. I loved the characters, so like real humans with all their vulnerabilities and odd thoughts and surprising desires. I would have liked to have written this novel, although I would have given it a different ending.
November 21, 2018
Really good, but the ending was shit.
May 26, 2018
This book was recommended by Nancy Pearl at the end of her novel, George and Lizzie. Since I have long admired Pearl, and trust her reviews, I ordered Heart, You Bully, You Punk immediately.
The writing was beautiful, crystal clear, succinct. The story line progressed nicely. I cared for the characters. There was hope in this book: for the teenage angst suffered by Anna, for the middle-aged angst suffered by her father, and for the life-long angst suffered by Esker.
And then, do what? You’ve got to be kidding me. How can such a tender book end this way? There is no resolution in this book. It just ends. All the characters are in the same place that they were in the beginning. And that gave me angst.
The writing was beautiful, crystal clear, succinct. The story line progressed nicely. I cared for the characters. There was hope in this book: for the teenage angst suffered by Anna, for the middle-aged angst suffered by her father, and for the life-long angst suffered by Esker.
And then, do what? You’ve got to be kidding me. How can such a tender book end this way? There is no resolution in this book. It just ends. All the characters are in the same place that they were in the beginning. And that gave me angst.
June 27, 2017
Big, fat MEH.
March 18, 2023
I love the juxtaposition of Ann, falling and hurting herself so badly that she is forced to stop walking for several weeks, her feet in casts...THIS bringing her teacher to her apartment, where she falls in love with Ann's father, setting in motion (by Ann!) a different kind of pain. I'm looking through the book again, with a different view of falling, and how the characters frame their falls, and hoping for Esker to heal as Ann did.
From Unbearable Lightness of Being:
"Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? Then why do we feel it when the observation tower comes equipped with a sturdy handrail? No. Vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us, which tempts and lures us.
It is the desire to fall. Against which, terrified, we defend ourselves."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One Is One
Heart, you bully, you punk, I'm wrecked, I'm shocked
stiff. You? you still try to rule the world-though
I've got you: identified, starving, locked in a cage you will not leave alive, no
matter how you hate it, pound its walls,
& thrill its corridors with messages.
Brute. Spy. I trusted you. Now you reel & brawl
in your cell but I'm deaf to your rages,
your greed to go solo, your eloquent
threats of worse things you (knowing me) could do.
You scare me, bragging you're a double agent
since jailers are prisoners' prisoners too.
Think! Reform! Make us one. Join the rest of us,
and joy may come, and make its test of us.
-Marie Ponsot
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Radiant heat came at her from the asphalt, and headlights careened behind her back, and in her exquisite insignificance she'd found a measure of freedom that was almost like peace." p.5
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"It was like all those times you're looking out over the edge of a balcony thinking, 'What if I can't fight the urge to jump?' and of course you never do jump, some little primitive, vestigial switch inside your body prevents you from ever doing so-only last Friday hers malfunctioned. But oh, it was exhilarating. For a moment (this is her gorgeous, frightening secret), she was airborne, she is certain: the air held her up." p.6
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Esker always studied in the library, or the Cozy Soup & Burger, or sometimes even in the lobby of the gym, any busily populated place; something about the proximal hum of lots of bodies and voices calmed her. It was as if she, who had opted for so much anonymity, so much colorless complacency in her outward manner, required a giant matrix in which to locate herself, something definite and solid enough that she couldn't disappear entirely." p.19
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"That day in the library, she had looked up from the pages of the serendipitously abandoned magazie and see, briefly, in a dizzying haze, an application of the theories within the article in the way the students had randomly selected to seat themselves around the stacks, clumped here, spread apart there, as if plotted points on a complex plane, repeated with variation throughout the building, which was designed in a horseshoe shape with open flooring so that she could actually see people, progressively smaller and farther away, playing out the pattern on descending levels all the way down to the lobby, which bottomed out in geometrically interesting black and white tiles (whose pattern, she'd heard, was supposed to discourage suicidal jumps). To think that there was something mappable, something graphable and ultimately therefor graspable, about the way people chose to distribute themselves in relationship to each other! Me too, were the words she had thought then: Me too!" p.20
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ann decides Esker is poignant. Poignant: profoundly moving, touching; also agreeably intense, stimulating; also keenly distressing, sharp; from poindre, to prick. Esker pricks. She is prickly (prickly pear, thinks Ann)." p.23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Alarm crashes through Ann's chest. She is again on the bleachers, filled with a volatile, dangerous faith in her own heart, in her ability to sprout wings, defy gravity, exist in midair." p.42
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"And then, in college, in the library that day, the aggressively geometrical library with its oddly beguiling anti suicide tiles in the lobby, its peekaboo floor plan like a cross-section of some vast multileveled organism, she'd chanced upon a magazine and been thrown for a loop, thrown back into the world of Miss DeWitt's absolute, pre-existing hierarchy of numbers, orders, operations. If it was all an invention of man, how did man's humble equations come to be echoed in the clouds, in redged sand dunes, in whorls of cream dispersing in coffee? Oh , Miss De Witt, in your dumb certainty were yo umore right than you knew? Is it that way because it is so?
~~
"That she met Albert Rose over a photocopy machine was just the sort of ridiculous coincidence [co-incident; re: The Incredible Lightness of Being] she was increasingly willing to notice. A sort of poetry of the invisible. A poetry of repetition, in which nothing is ever new, in which nothing has not been said before, done before, in which every divergence is down a path already paved an mapped. And on some level there was always that feeling with Albert and Esker, from their first prickly encounter." p.49
[Comparing this image to her fractals, and zooming in to the infinite. In this infinite fractal, maybe Ann will nurse Esker back to healing.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She began to long, like a lovesick creature in a fairy tale, for some force greater than herself, something as vast and patient as the great pine forests all around, but less dispassionate. She wished at once for some great palm she could lean her forehead full upon, and some strong muscle she could wrestle fully against with no fear of hurting. She ached for the relief of a worthy adversary.
Much later, as a high school teacher, she would catch glimpses of similarly restive students, young women and men who would strike her as familiarly, dangerously unbound, like knightless squires seeking to pit themselves, solo and clueless, against what dragons they could find. Some of these sho would see fling themselves into the gaping rapids of drugs and alcohol, and others drift toward the large, vaporous promises of love and sex, and a rare few disappear like shadows into the stern black caves of extreme religious practice. One, attempting a different tack, would try to fly from the Big Room bleachers." p.53
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A luxury, to have your name played with. Like having someone play with your hair. Like being touched. It feels anachronistic. She shakes her head, almost a shudder. Here she is in her present-day kitchen. There is Wallace James sitting across from her, not eating his toast, looking at her, and it becomes urgent to break the quiet." p.83
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Alice had perhaps been not a good risk from the outset. If he were to look at it objectively. She'd been chafing at the bit when he met her; his only mistake was not realizing that this was her constant state, her necessary state: without a bit to chafe on she'd atrophy, she'd wither. Horrible tt think that's what he'd been, her bit. But he wasn't anymore, and that was liberating, possibly more liberating for him that for her. Why, then, if it liberates him, does it hurt? It does hurt. Contrary to party line." p.94
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She was playing with the feel of the currents under her arms, slowing her, making the walk more arduous, and she was a doughboy, tenacious, anonymous, crossing the wind-swept plain, chin thrust forward, eyes narrowed, and she was near someone she loved, she did love, someone who had the very good sense or dumb luck not to to look at her, not to notice her too well, as she played, as she was safe to play, alone, beside him.
They go to Avenue A, where they were to part, and Albert said, in his voice which was so unmusical, so unresonant, as though there were something always wan and unrooted about him, 'Well, good night,' and she stopped still and looked at him, and he gave her a sweet, pained sort of smile, and turned away, splitting off north, his tall, coated figure moving with a lilt and a grace that always unnerved her, and she found her throat tight and full. Wildly, aghast, she ran after him, her heart pounding, amazed already at how her heart was about to betray her." -p.129
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Esker read an article about a mathematician who, while studying six-dimensional figures by mapping their shadows onto two dimensions, recognized the pattern as being similar to the dance honeybees do to tell each other where the pollen is. This, said the mathematician, meant bees could sense the quantum level. The mathematician was a woman.
Esker read the article in the library, and her pulse quickened, and she was thinking, Oh! Oh! Oh!, and she was looking around; she wanted to tell everybody, rush up to random people and spread the word that there was something really big going on. She felt as if the universe had signaled it was just about to make good on a promise. She got up, paced past carrels, through stacks, feeling simultaneously held and as though nothing could hold her, and all around her was magnitude, even-no, especially-in the infinitesimal, at the quantum level. She ran her fingers along spines of books, alon rippling waves of paper and cloth, and wound up gazing over the railing down to the lobby, with its trompe-l'oil 3-D spikes seeming to rise up from the floor. (Really, how was that supposed to deter suicides? The way they rose vertiginously to meet you halfway, weren't they actually inviting you to jump? Esker found her palms sweaty on the rail and pulled back.) And, thus duly sobered, with the initial Oh!s having worn off, she found her seat and picked up the article again, to try this time actually to understand it, and she couldn't, she couldn't begin to make the leap to understanding what was printed, put forth there on the page; it might've been voodoo, it might've been runes. Pleasure turned to ash in her mouth." p.130
[But I see here a connection to her first description of the library floor, and at that time she didn't think of fally and she WAS making connections, therefore hoping for healing, hoping for them to come together after all.]
From Unbearable Lightness of Being:
"Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? Then why do we feel it when the observation tower comes equipped with a sturdy handrail? No. Vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us, which tempts and lures us.
It is the desire to fall. Against which, terrified, we defend ourselves."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One Is One
Heart, you bully, you punk, I'm wrecked, I'm shocked
stiff. You? you still try to rule the world-though
I've got you: identified, starving, locked in a cage you will not leave alive, no
matter how you hate it, pound its walls,
& thrill its corridors with messages.
Brute. Spy. I trusted you. Now you reel & brawl
in your cell but I'm deaf to your rages,
your greed to go solo, your eloquent
threats of worse things you (knowing me) could do.
You scare me, bragging you're a double agent
since jailers are prisoners' prisoners too.
Think! Reform! Make us one. Join the rest of us,
and joy may come, and make its test of us.
-Marie Ponsot
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Radiant heat came at her from the asphalt, and headlights careened behind her back, and in her exquisite insignificance she'd found a measure of freedom that was almost like peace." p.5
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"It was like all those times you're looking out over the edge of a balcony thinking, 'What if I can't fight the urge to jump?' and of course you never do jump, some little primitive, vestigial switch inside your body prevents you from ever doing so-only last Friday hers malfunctioned. But oh, it was exhilarating. For a moment (this is her gorgeous, frightening secret), she was airborne, she is certain: the air held her up." p.6
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Esker always studied in the library, or the Cozy Soup & Burger, or sometimes even in the lobby of the gym, any busily populated place; something about the proximal hum of lots of bodies and voices calmed her. It was as if she, who had opted for so much anonymity, so much colorless complacency in her outward manner, required a giant matrix in which to locate herself, something definite and solid enough that she couldn't disappear entirely." p.19
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"That day in the library, she had looked up from the pages of the serendipitously abandoned magazie and see, briefly, in a dizzying haze, an application of the theories within the article in the way the students had randomly selected to seat themselves around the stacks, clumped here, spread apart there, as if plotted points on a complex plane, repeated with variation throughout the building, which was designed in a horseshoe shape with open flooring so that she could actually see people, progressively smaller and farther away, playing out the pattern on descending levels all the way down to the lobby, which bottomed out in geometrically interesting black and white tiles (whose pattern, she'd heard, was supposed to discourage suicidal jumps). To think that there was something mappable, something graphable and ultimately therefor graspable, about the way people chose to distribute themselves in relationship to each other! Me too, were the words she had thought then: Me too!" p.20
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ann decides Esker is poignant. Poignant: profoundly moving, touching; also agreeably intense, stimulating; also keenly distressing, sharp; from poindre, to prick. Esker pricks. She is prickly (prickly pear, thinks Ann)." p.23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Alarm crashes through Ann's chest. She is again on the bleachers, filled with a volatile, dangerous faith in her own heart, in her ability to sprout wings, defy gravity, exist in midair." p.42
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"And then, in college, in the library that day, the aggressively geometrical library with its oddly beguiling anti suicide tiles in the lobby, its peekaboo floor plan like a cross-section of some vast multileveled organism, she'd chanced upon a magazine and been thrown for a loop, thrown back into the world of Miss DeWitt's absolute, pre-existing hierarchy of numbers, orders, operations. If it was all an invention of man, how did man's humble equations come to be echoed in the clouds, in redged sand dunes, in whorls of cream dispersing in coffee? Oh , Miss De Witt, in your dumb certainty were yo umore right than you knew? Is it that way because it is so?
~~
"That she met Albert Rose over a photocopy machine was just the sort of ridiculous coincidence [co-incident; re: The Incredible Lightness of Being] she was increasingly willing to notice. A sort of poetry of the invisible. A poetry of repetition, in which nothing is ever new, in which nothing has not been said before, done before, in which every divergence is down a path already paved an mapped. And on some level there was always that feeling with Albert and Esker, from their first prickly encounter." p.49
[Comparing this image to her fractals, and zooming in to the infinite. In this infinite fractal, maybe Ann will nurse Esker back to healing.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She began to long, like a lovesick creature in a fairy tale, for some force greater than herself, something as vast and patient as the great pine forests all around, but less dispassionate. She wished at once for some great palm she could lean her forehead full upon, and some strong muscle she could wrestle fully against with no fear of hurting. She ached for the relief of a worthy adversary.
Much later, as a high school teacher, she would catch glimpses of similarly restive students, young women and men who would strike her as familiarly, dangerously unbound, like knightless squires seeking to pit themselves, solo and clueless, against what dragons they could find. Some of these sho would see fling themselves into the gaping rapids of drugs and alcohol, and others drift toward the large, vaporous promises of love and sex, and a rare few disappear like shadows into the stern black caves of extreme religious practice. One, attempting a different tack, would try to fly from the Big Room bleachers." p.53
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A luxury, to have your name played with. Like having someone play with your hair. Like being touched. It feels anachronistic. She shakes her head, almost a shudder. Here she is in her present-day kitchen. There is Wallace James sitting across from her, not eating his toast, looking at her, and it becomes urgent to break the quiet." p.83
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Alice had perhaps been not a good risk from the outset. If he were to look at it objectively. She'd been chafing at the bit when he met her; his only mistake was not realizing that this was her constant state, her necessary state: without a bit to chafe on she'd atrophy, she'd wither. Horrible tt think that's what he'd been, her bit. But he wasn't anymore, and that was liberating, possibly more liberating for him that for her. Why, then, if it liberates him, does it hurt? It does hurt. Contrary to party line." p.94
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She was playing with the feel of the currents under her arms, slowing her, making the walk more arduous, and she was a doughboy, tenacious, anonymous, crossing the wind-swept plain, chin thrust forward, eyes narrowed, and she was near someone she loved, she did love, someone who had the very good sense or dumb luck not to to look at her, not to notice her too well, as she played, as she was safe to play, alone, beside him.
They go to Avenue A, where they were to part, and Albert said, in his voice which was so unmusical, so unresonant, as though there were something always wan and unrooted about him, 'Well, good night,' and she stopped still and looked at him, and he gave her a sweet, pained sort of smile, and turned away, splitting off north, his tall, coated figure moving with a lilt and a grace that always unnerved her, and she found her throat tight and full. Wildly, aghast, she ran after him, her heart pounding, amazed already at how her heart was about to betray her." -p.129
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Esker read an article about a mathematician who, while studying six-dimensional figures by mapping their shadows onto two dimensions, recognized the pattern as being similar to the dance honeybees do to tell each other where the pollen is. This, said the mathematician, meant bees could sense the quantum level. The mathematician was a woman.
Esker read the article in the library, and her pulse quickened, and she was thinking, Oh! Oh! Oh!, and she was looking around; she wanted to tell everybody, rush up to random people and spread the word that there was something really big going on. She felt as if the universe had signaled it was just about to make good on a promise. She got up, paced past carrels, through stacks, feeling simultaneously held and as though nothing could hold her, and all around her was magnitude, even-no, especially-in the infinitesimal, at the quantum level. She ran her fingers along spines of books, alon rippling waves of paper and cloth, and wound up gazing over the railing down to the lobby, with its trompe-l'oil 3-D spikes seeming to rise up from the floor. (Really, how was that supposed to deter suicides? The way they rose vertiginously to meet you halfway, weren't they actually inviting you to jump? Esker found her palms sweaty on the rail and pulled back.) And, thus duly sobered, with the initial Oh!s having worn off, she found her seat and picked up the article again, to try this time actually to understand it, and she couldn't, she couldn't begin to make the leap to understanding what was printed, put forth there on the page; it might've been voodoo, it might've been runes. Pleasure turned to ash in her mouth." p.130
[But I see here a connection to her first description of the library floor, and at that time she didn't think of fally and she WAS making connections, therefore hoping for healing, hoping for them to come together after all.]
September 22, 2020
This is a beautifully written novel by a writer I admire, so I’m not sure what to make of my initial disappointment over the ending. After sleeping on it, I’ve realized that the conclusion was perfectly congruent with the nature of the protagonist and the likeliest outcome. But to back up a bit: I borrowed the only copy of the novel left in the entire Toronto Public Library system, as it was published nearly 20 years ago. And there is a list of people waiting for it after me. Why the sudden interest after two decades? This is one of the books named as a cherished favourite, recommended to valued customers, by the bookseller in the bestseller American Dirt. Clearly, others devoted readers are as curious as me.
Esker teaches math in a Brooklyn private high school and agrees to home-tutor her most promising student after she is injured in a fall. Esker could not be more private and guarded of her emotions, but she finds her resolve melting when she meets her student’s charming restaurateur father. Like all of hager Cohen’s books, full of gorgeous prose and astute observations about people and their behaviour.
Esker teaches math in a Brooklyn private high school and agrees to home-tutor her most promising student after she is injured in a fall. Esker could not be more private and guarded of her emotions, but she finds her resolve melting when she meets her student’s charming restaurateur father. Like all of hager Cohen’s books, full of gorgeous prose and astute observations about people and their behaviour.
April 3, 2020
This book started off with me wanting to give it three stars for alright. Then as it progressed, I realized I wasn't enjoying it and didn't like it. I should have DNF'd it to be quite honest. The ending made me realize I hated it. One star it is! I RARELY give books 2 stars. One star? Can't remember the last time I did that. This book had a horrible plot, almost impossible to connect with the characters, rambled on and on, over and over about the same things. I was completely bored and just wanted it to be over. Probably the most unenjoyable book I have read in an extremely long time! Do yourself a favor, and skip this one. For such a short book, it felt like I was reading it forever.
July 14, 2007
I was familiar with Cohen's nonfiction (especially her great book on deaf culture, Train Go Sorry), so I've long been meaning to try out this novel of hers. It's not bad -- chockablock with vivid details, so the imagining is easy and the characterization superb -- but I wasn't wild about it.
March 2, 2024
An exploration of relationships through the thoughts in the heads of the characters, and their meetings where little is said with words. A sad but insightful read though the ending was abrupt, it kind of fitted the people
February 25, 2021
**May contain what might be considered a spoiler**
I'm unclear why Jeanine Cummins, author of "American Dirt," chose to have her character Lydia say that "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" was one of her favorite books. Having just finished "American Dirt," I immediately wanted to read "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" to maybe learn a little bit more about Lydia.
Cohen's book is wonderfully written. "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" is a tale of three souls, lost in the anonymity of New York City and their separate mundane existences and personal challenges, who become entwined.
Cohen's prose and imagery is excellent. You get strong images from the flooded kitchen at Game, high school angst, cold and slushy (and smelly) New York streets and the pull and tug of love, trust and relationships.
I rated the book as I did because I found the ending highly unsatisfying. I wasn't looking for a happily ever after necessarily, and who knows - as someone who lives in the landlocked Midwest - maybe this is a happy ending for those who live in NYC. I just found it very sad. I would have liked for Wally to have had the opportunity to articulate his dream of a future to Esker.
I'm unclear why Jeanine Cummins, author of "American Dirt," chose to have her character Lydia say that "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" was one of her favorite books. Having just finished "American Dirt," I immediately wanted to read "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" to maybe learn a little bit more about Lydia.
Cohen's book is wonderfully written. "Heart, You Bully, You Punk" is a tale of three souls, lost in the anonymity of New York City and their separate mundane existences and personal challenges, who become entwined.
Cohen's prose and imagery is excellent. You get strong images from the flooded kitchen at Game, high school angst, cold and slushy (and smelly) New York streets and the pull and tug of love, trust and relationships.
I rated the book as I did because I found the ending highly unsatisfying. I wasn't looking for a happily ever after necessarily, and who knows - as someone who lives in the landlocked Midwest - maybe this is a happy ending for those who live in NYC. I just found it very sad. I would have liked for Wally to have had the opportunity to articulate his dream of a future to Esker.
August 26, 2020
Heart, you bully, you punk, I’m wrecked, I’m shocked stiff. You? you still try to rule the world–though I’ve got you: identified, starving, locked in a cage you will not leave alive, no
matter how you hate it, pound its walls, & thrill its corridors with messages.
Brute. Spy. I trusted you. Now you reel & brawl in your cell but I’m deaf to your rages,
your greed to go solo, your eloquent threats of worse things you (knowing me) could do.
You scare me, bragging you’re a double agent since jailers are prisoners’ prisoners too.
Think! Reform! Make us one. Join the rest of us, and joy may come, and make its test of us.
Marie Ponsot
Footnote: I read this book because it was mentioned in "American Dirt". I cant for the life of me figure out why unless your a person who likes to torture yourself with unrequited love just for the pain of it. I would have 5 *****But After reading, threw the book against the wall and cursed the Author for making me believe I had reason to finish the last 2 pages of this book with hope in my heart........ liar...I'm wrecked.
matter how you hate it, pound its walls, & thrill its corridors with messages.
Brute. Spy. I trusted you. Now you reel & brawl in your cell but I’m deaf to your rages,
your greed to go solo, your eloquent threats of worse things you (knowing me) could do.
You scare me, bragging you’re a double agent since jailers are prisoners’ prisoners too.
Think! Reform! Make us one. Join the rest of us, and joy may come, and make its test of us.
Marie Ponsot
Footnote: I read this book because it was mentioned in "American Dirt". I cant for the life of me figure out why unless your a person who likes to torture yourself with unrequited love just for the pain of it. I would have 5 *****But After reading, threw the book against the wall and cursed the Author for making me believe I had reason to finish the last 2 pages of this book with hope in my heart........ liar...I'm wrecked.
March 17, 2021
I really liked this book, more than expected, after reading some of the reviews. Esker's character was really interesting - the author did a great job describing her and her mannerisms, and I want to know more about her. I loved the descriptions of Wally's restaurant "Game", and would love to go eat there, at a table next to the fire.
SPOILER BELOW - STOP READING!
The one thing I didn't like about this book was the ending. I think it suited the story, but as someone who likes things tied up neatly and for things to work out (for lack of a better term) "happily-ever-after", I was disappointed.
SPOILER BELOW - STOP READING!
The one thing I didn't like about this book was the ending. I think it suited the story, but as someone who likes things tied up neatly and for things to work out (for lack of a better term) "happily-ever-after", I was disappointed.
September 4, 2018
I wasn't sure what to expect from this short novel, which tells the story of a high school student who, after an injury, has private math lessons from one of her teachers in her home. Her teacher tutors her in order to make sure she doesn't fall behind in preparing for an upcoming standardized test. The book is essentially about a person who isolates herself and keeps the world at bay, confronting that tendency. Overall, it was just so-so for me, but I did enjoy some of the writing. Not a very memorable book. The title was the best thing about this, and it seemed randomly chosen as it wasn't related to in the novel at all. Not highly recommended.
May 18, 2021
The book is beautifully written-more like a poem, really. The words are heartbreakingly beautiful but the story is really lacking. The characters are too angst-ridden and their dialogue too artsy and scripted. And there is a sad, dark ending that feels like the author didn’t really know where else to go so she just called it quits. This would have been great if it had been more meaningful. It just kind of left me empty.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 19, 2021
When Ann "falls" off of the bleachers and breaks her heels, Esker, her math teacher, comes to her house to tutor her during her recovery. She meets Wally, Ann's father, and they begin falling in love. The private school which Ann attends and Esker teaches at disapproves of this relationship and threatens her job if she doesn't stop seeing Wally.
Lots of loose ends when the book is finished.
Lots of loose ends when the book is finished.
May 24, 2021
I have mixed feelings about this book. While I enjoyed the expertly written, artfully crafted character portraits, the plot was whether plodding. I was invested in the characters, but it took ages to finish the book because nothing really seemed to happen to them. A lotttttt of internal strife and longing, very little action.
November 25, 2023
I loved this book. I also learned about it from reading “American Dirt”. I see I am in the vast minority here in my review and favorable opinion. I loved the writing and the characters and I don’t need my ending tied up in a neat little bow. I started pacing myself toward the end because I did not want it to end.
February 18, 2024
I read this book after it was referred to by characters in the book American Dirt as one of their favourite books. It was well written and I liked the portrayal of each of the three characters but somehow it didn't get me emotionally. I also started back to school which meant that I read it only is short bursts and I think that contributed to my lack of connection.
July 14, 2024
This language is so beautifully complex. I'm not sure I've ever seen the normal complications of navigating ordinary life and relationships in such poetic form and syntax. It is a read to be sipped, not devoured too quickly. I related much to Esker's internal conflicts as a single woman, like a Woodland creature, wearing my camouflage.
Read
December 15, 2024This is a love story, about an unmarried older teacher and the father of a young woman student who is a math genius. The teacher tutors her at home. The characters are engaging and the story is, as well. I liked the quirkiness of the people and the situation. I like reading about geniuses. The writing was up to my demanding standards.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 16, 2026
This book was recommended by someone so I thought I would give it a shot… I did not love it. I think the story line could have been great, but instead it was confusing. Ghosts, but not really? Possible suicide attempts, but not really? A Love story, but not really? Additionally, the writer’s style was confusing, so this added to it. Overall, I would not recommend.
November 9, 2020
I think the other reviews of this book are really harsh. It’s not my new favorite book or anything, but I did enjoy it. I like the banter between the characters, especially the dry humor in Wally and Esker’s conversations.
May 14, 2022
Like many reviewers, I picked this up after seeing it mentioned by a character in American Dirt. I don't need a perfect, happy ending, but the ending of Heart, You Bully, You Punk seemed especially unfulfilling.
June 15, 2022
Reads a bit like a YA book - not sure if that's the intent. Something about it drew me in immediately from chapter 1 and definitely enjoyed the writing style. Wished for something different in the ending but I'm not mad about it.
October 29, 2017
Like it. Would recommend
Displaying 1 - 30 of 87 reviews