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The Shawl
Depicting both the horrors of the Holocaust and the lifetime of emptiness that pursues a survivor, 'The Shawl' and 'Rosa' recall the psychological and emotional scars of those who suffered at the hands of the Nazis.
74 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1989
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4417 people want to read
About the author
Cynthia Ozick
108 books427 followersRecipient of the first Rea Award for the Short Story (in 1976; other winners Rea honorees include Lorrie Moore, John Updike, Alice Munro), an American Academy of Arts and Letters Mildred and Harold Strauss Living Award, and the PEN/Malamud award in 2008.
Upon publication of her 1983 The Shawl, Edmund White wrote in the New York Times, "Miss Ozick strikes me as the best American writer to have emerged in recent years...Judaism has given to her what Catholicism gave to Flannery O'Connor."
Upon publication of her 1983 The Shawl, Edmund White wrote in the New York Times, "Miss Ozick strikes me as the best American writer to have emerged in recent years...Judaism has given to her what Catholicism gave to Flannery O'Connor."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 581 reviews
January 27, 2022
I read this short story and novella in honor of International Holocaust Remembrance Day which is 1/27. This small but powerful book brutally reminds us why we cannot forget. “The Shawl “ is probably the most affecting Holocaust story I have read . I could say it’s gut wrenching and heartbreaking, but that wouldn’t be enough. The novella “Rosa” contained in the same volume is a must read as a sequel to the short story and it is gripping to say the very least. There’s not much more I can say . The stories speak for themselves . They should be read .
“…and I wanted to tell everybody—not only our story, but other stories as well. Nobody knew anything. This amazed me, that nobody remembered what happened only a little while ago. They didn’t remember because they didn’t know.” (From Rosa).
“…and I wanted to tell everybody—not only our story, but other stories as well. Nobody knew anything. This amazed me, that nobody remembered what happened only a little while ago. They didn’t remember because they didn’t know.” (From Rosa).
February 12, 2017
Cynthia Ozick is a premier short story writer and novelist in this country. The Shawl and Rosa, published together in one volume, each won awards for best American fiction or short story the year they were published. My entry for "classic short story" in classic Bingo in the group catching up on classics, The Shawl is a moving tale of Holocaust survivor Rosa Lublin who clings to a shawl in order to not forget all the ghosts of her past.
In The Shawl, we meet a young Rosa Lublin who along with her adolescent niece Stella and infant daughter Magda had been taken from the Warsaw ghetto to the concentration camps. Rosa's milk had dried up and the only means for Magda's survival was sucking on a woven shawl, that according to Rosa smelled and tasted of cinnamon and vanilla. The women's body functions had all but stopped and Magda should not be alive, but for the powerful shawl. Stella, jealous of Magda's security blanket, coveted it for herself. Rosa realized that if Stella ever took the shawl, that Magda would die and she would be plunged into a life of guilt.
Thirty years later, the shawl resurfaces in Ozick's novella Rosa. Rosa is now living in Miami and can not shake the ghosts of her past. She struggles with human attachment, believes Stella to be a cold hearted devil, and rarely answers her phone or leaves her room. Her only excursions away from her solitary life are to the laundromat. On one of these such excursions she meets Mr Persky who desires human companionship and attempts to draw Rosa out of her shell. Yet, Rosa struggles with survivor guilt, talks to herself, and believes Magda to be alive. Over the course of the novella, Rosa fights off her inner voices who haunt her current reality.
In both selections, Ozick employs the magical realism that I always enjoy to show the shawl to be an object greater than itself. A means of Magda's survival and then in later years, Rosa's only link to Magda, the shawl takes Rosa out of her chilling everyday struggle to live in the present. Ozick uses powerful prose so even though these stories were short, they were tough to read in large doses. As in most of the Holocaust memoirs and literature that I read, the content is more so readers do not forget what happened than the actual prose in the story. In this case, Ozick masterfully manages both, creating a powerful gem.
After thirty five years, the Shawl has earned its place as a memorable short story of the twentieth century. Integrating a powerful voice with ghosts of the past alongside magical realism, Cynthia Ozick has woven a chilling tale, cementing her place as a master short story teller. A candid piece of Holocaust literature, The Shawl and Rosa rates 5 bone chilling stars.
In The Shawl, we meet a young Rosa Lublin who along with her adolescent niece Stella and infant daughter Magda had been taken from the Warsaw ghetto to the concentration camps. Rosa's milk had dried up and the only means for Magda's survival was sucking on a woven shawl, that according to Rosa smelled and tasted of cinnamon and vanilla. The women's body functions had all but stopped and Magda should not be alive, but for the powerful shawl. Stella, jealous of Magda's security blanket, coveted it for herself. Rosa realized that if Stella ever took the shawl, that Magda would die and she would be plunged into a life of guilt.
Thirty years later, the shawl resurfaces in Ozick's novella Rosa. Rosa is now living in Miami and can not shake the ghosts of her past. She struggles with human attachment, believes Stella to be a cold hearted devil, and rarely answers her phone or leaves her room. Her only excursions away from her solitary life are to the laundromat. On one of these such excursions she meets Mr Persky who desires human companionship and attempts to draw Rosa out of her shell. Yet, Rosa struggles with survivor guilt, talks to herself, and believes Magda to be alive. Over the course of the novella, Rosa fights off her inner voices who haunt her current reality.
In both selections, Ozick employs the magical realism that I always enjoy to show the shawl to be an object greater than itself. A means of Magda's survival and then in later years, Rosa's only link to Magda, the shawl takes Rosa out of her chilling everyday struggle to live in the present. Ozick uses powerful prose so even though these stories were short, they were tough to read in large doses. As in most of the Holocaust memoirs and literature that I read, the content is more so readers do not forget what happened than the actual prose in the story. In this case, Ozick masterfully manages both, creating a powerful gem.
After thirty five years, the Shawl has earned its place as a memorable short story of the twentieth century. Integrating a powerful voice with ghosts of the past alongside magical realism, Cynthia Ozick has woven a chilling tale, cementing her place as a master short story teller. A candid piece of Holocaust literature, The Shawl and Rosa rates 5 bone chilling stars.
January 14, 2018
"The Shawl" is considered a modern classic.
But I didn't like it. At all.
Why on earth not? Everyone else is raving about it.
- The suffering and cruel murder of Rosa's child are told in a very poetic way.
One reviewer wrote : "There can be something disturbingly beautiful in the portrayal of a child dying...and the manner the baby gets done in "The Shawl". I know that it's wrong to find babies dying beautiful, but it's actually an interesting technique to use in a piece of art."
How sick is that?
- Rosa lost her underpants. A considerable part of the story is about this loss and about her subsequent search for this piece of garment.
Is it meant to be a metaphor ? I hope not and I really do not think so. It's just her underpants, of which she says : "Whatever stains in the crotch are nobody's business." So no, it's not a metaphor for the lost child.
How interesting is that ?
- Rosa feels people are anti-Semitic. And she feels, as a holocaust survivor, she's being treated as an object and not as a human being.
During her search for her dear underpants, she has a not very sympathetic encounter with two gay men on a private beach.
Afterwards she says to the manager of the hotel and beach : " You got Sodom and Gomorrah in your back yard! You got gays and you got barbed wire!".
How convincing makes this her plea for non-discrimination?
- I didn't like the style of the writing. It was all very poetic, poemlike. Hollow sentences, that I skipped when I read the last pages, because they made me extremely nervous. And I missed nothing.
Also, in my opinion, this lyrical style didn't fit the harsh story and the hateful character that became Rosa.
- Rosa's bed was "fish-smelling".
Gross.
But do read it yourself. Maybe you'll like it, as most readers did. It's not long, and the Ebook version is only 1dollar/euro.
But I didn't like it. At all.
Why on earth not? Everyone else is raving about it.
- The suffering and cruel murder of Rosa's child are told in a very poetic way.
One reviewer wrote : "There can be something disturbingly beautiful in the portrayal of a child dying...and the manner the baby gets done in "The Shawl". I know that it's wrong to find babies dying beautiful, but it's actually an interesting technique to use in a piece of art."
How sick is that?
- Rosa lost her underpants. A considerable part of the story is about this loss and about her subsequent search for this piece of garment.
Is it meant to be a metaphor ? I hope not and I really do not think so. It's just her underpants, of which she says : "Whatever stains in the crotch are nobody's business." So no, it's not a metaphor for the lost child.
How interesting is that ?
- Rosa feels people are anti-Semitic. And she feels, as a holocaust survivor, she's being treated as an object and not as a human being.
During her search for her dear underpants, she has a not very sympathetic encounter with two gay men on a private beach.
Afterwards she says to the manager of the hotel and beach : " You got Sodom and Gomorrah in your back yard! You got gays and you got barbed wire!".
How convincing makes this her plea for non-discrimination?
- I didn't like the style of the writing. It was all very poetic, poemlike. Hollow sentences, that I skipped when I read the last pages, because they made me extremely nervous. And I missed nothing.
Also, in my opinion, this lyrical style didn't fit the harsh story and the hateful character that became Rosa.
- Rosa's bed was "fish-smelling".
Gross.
But do read it yourself. Maybe you'll like it, as most readers did. It's not long, and the Ebook version is only 1dollar/euro.
December 5, 2018
One of the most powerful shorts I have read. The horrendous reach of the Nazis. A shawl that provides shelter, concealment, love and comfort until the day it couldn't be found, setting in motion a horrifying deed and decision.. A mothers love and the horrible choice she has to make. The setting, the scene, the emotion are all visceral, one can see, feel and picture what is happening. So sad, but so well done.
March 29, 2017
This is a short story about the Holocaust, about a mother, her baby girl, and a young cousin. All the Holocaust stories I've read are heartbreaking, draining, just hard to read. This one is no different, except this one may be more so. There is a sequel, a novella, to this story but I don't know if I have the strength to read it.
October 31, 2020
Heartbreakingly beautiful short story about a mother's love throughout an impossible situation.
June 18, 2020
this is the tiniest book of all time, but it still manages to be genuinely moving and have emotional resonance that sticks to yer ribs.
i have read some holocaust literature, not a lot, but what i have read has been pretty powerful and devastating stuff. but i also know there is other stuff out there that i will never read, that clumsy emotionally manipulative stuff, like (and i haven't read it, but you can just tell) The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. blech. stuff, stuff, stuff. clearly ozick has not inspired me to any great heights in my own language. but the point is, this is not manipulative. it is matter-of-fact in its plot, but beautiful and delicate in its language. her writing is lovely—the cadence of rosa's speech, the shattering finality of her sentences—it's all very well done.
shrug.
that's all i got; it's a short book.
stuff.
come to my blog!
i have read some holocaust literature, not a lot, but what i have read has been pretty powerful and devastating stuff. but i also know there is other stuff out there that i will never read, that clumsy emotionally manipulative stuff, like (and i haven't read it, but you can just tell) The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. blech. stuff, stuff, stuff. clearly ozick has not inspired me to any great heights in my own language. but the point is, this is not manipulative. it is matter-of-fact in its plot, but beautiful and delicate in its language. her writing is lovely—the cadence of rosa's speech, the shattering finality of her sentences—it's all very well done.
shrug.
that's all i got; it's a short book.
stuff.
come to my blog!
July 13, 2025
The first chapter is both full of modesty and emotion: while she is deported to a concentration camp, Rosa hides her baby Magda in her shawl; the shawl and the little girl are one, so the child will speak and show herself when the mantle is taken from her and massacred by the guards. Stella (whom Rosa would call "angel of death"), 14, took the shawl because she was cold and envied this child. We find Rosa much later in America. She waits for Stella to send her the famous cape as a relic. Her life has ended, but the man she meets at the laundromat doesn't hear it that way. I found the 1st chapter magnificent, but the sequel was disconnected and long.
June 18, 2020
Rating: 4.5* of five
The Publisher Says: Two award-winning works of fiction by one of America's finest writers, together in one collection.
In "The Shawl," a woman named Rosa Lublin watches a concentration camp guard murder her daughter. In "Rosa," that same woman appears 30 years later, "a mad woman and a scavenger" in a Miami hotel. She has no life in the present because her past will never end. In both stories, there is a shawl—a shawl that can sustain a starving child, inadvertently destroy her, or magically conjure her back to life.
Both stories were originally published in The New Yorker in the 1980s; each was included in the annual Best American Short Stories and awarded First Prize in the annual O. Henry Prize Stories collection. Each succeeds in imagining the unimaginable: the horror of the Holocaust and the unfillable emptiness of its aftermath. Fiercely immediate, complex, and unforgettable, each is a masterwork by a writer the New York Times hailed as "the most accomplished and graceful literary stylist of our time."
My Review: The story "The Shawl" is very short indeed, about six pages, but they are six of the most painful pages in my memory. They chart the descent of a mother from horror, a concentration camp where she exists with her daughter and her niece, to that most hideous and unending of hells: Loss of a child.
To call it harrowing is to deceive you as to the power and poetry of the story.
"Rosa" is the novella that follows the childless mother into her cronehood, a forcibly and fortunately retired fifty-nine-year-old Floridian transplant via New York. Remembering that, in 1980, fifty-nine was older than it is now, and remembering that camp survivors very very often aged (physically, psychically) more rapidly than their peers, and remembering that a parent who has lost a child has very often come unmoored from even the strongest bonds to life, Rosa is unusually situated. She is supported by her niece, whom she saved in the camp, she is free from jail, despite a psychotic break, and she lives in Florida, Death's Waiting Room, an open-air casket:
In the shabby hotel where Stella, her niece, grudgingly supports the woman who saved her, Rosa goes about the quotidian tasks of living with as little care and cheer as an unwanted soul managing to stay alive but not sure why does. Her talisman, the shawl she carried her dead daughter in to the camp inside, is with Stella in Queens. Stella feels this will force Rosa to come to terms with the empty core of her life. When Rosa meets an older not-quite-widower and he determinedly strikes up an acquaintance, Rosa puts into words the reality she lives:
Someone stole her life, and left her body alive. It's what a childless parent lives every day, every minute of every day, and surviving a camp was a doddle for Rosa because what difference does anything make? Her child, her future, her gold and treasure, was stolen from her by a brutal, indifferent guard.
And to make it worse, now she's in Florida! And Doctor Tree, an academic with no smallest grain of comprehension or compassion for Rosa the childless mother, writes to her to request (in terms most peremptory and condescending) that she subject herself to inclusion in A Serious Study while he's in Florida for a convention! The NERVE!
Rosa, rattled by Persky and shat on by Tree, takes solace in writing her fantasy of her grown-up daughter yet another letter. It is heart-wrenching, naturally enough, and reveals the horrors Rosa can't fully repress. It isn't any surprise that this damaged old woman is unbinding her few tenuous ties to life there in Hell's Boiler Room.
But there is, after all, Persky the man whose life is emptied by madness and laziness and America; Persky, who sets his sights on damaged Rosa and simply walks into her world to make it over:
Persky the Pragmatic Pollyanna.
In the end, Rosa isn't a set of symptoms or a desperate survivor of the twentieth century's most horrifying genocide of its many. Rosa is a grieving childless mother who, unable to forgive herself or her only family for surviving, never sees or never cares who inhabits the planet with her. One foot in front of the other, no reason, just do it again; and then she receives the shawl from Stella, the Angel of Death, the cruel and grasping; and she looks at the ikon of her lost motherhood; and she feels...nothing? Can nothing be felt? What does it mean to lose your loss?
For a moment, Rosa loses her loss...for a moment....
The Publisher Says: Two award-winning works of fiction by one of America's finest writers, together in one collection.
In "The Shawl," a woman named Rosa Lublin watches a concentration camp guard murder her daughter. In "Rosa," that same woman appears 30 years later, "a mad woman and a scavenger" in a Miami hotel. She has no life in the present because her past will never end. In both stories, there is a shawl—a shawl that can sustain a starving child, inadvertently destroy her, or magically conjure her back to life.
Both stories were originally published in The New Yorker in the 1980s; each was included in the annual Best American Short Stories and awarded First Prize in the annual O. Henry Prize Stories collection. Each succeeds in imagining the unimaginable: the horror of the Holocaust and the unfillable emptiness of its aftermath. Fiercely immediate, complex, and unforgettable, each is a masterwork by a writer the New York Times hailed as "the most accomplished and graceful literary stylist of our time."
My Review: The story "The Shawl" is very short indeed, about six pages, but they are six of the most painful pages in my memory. They chart the descent of a mother from horror, a concentration camp where she exists with her daughter and her niece, to that most hideous and unending of hells: Loss of a child.
To call it harrowing is to deceive you as to the power and poetry of the story.
"Rosa" is the novella that follows the childless mother into her cronehood, a forcibly and fortunately retired fifty-nine-year-old Floridian transplant via New York. Remembering that, in 1980, fifty-nine was older than it is now, and remembering that camp survivors very very often aged (physically, psychically) more rapidly than their peers, and remembering that a parent who has lost a child has very often come unmoored from even the strongest bonds to life, Rosa is unusually situated. She is supported by her niece, whom she saved in the camp, she is free from jail, despite a psychotic break, and she lives in Florida, Death's Waiting Room, an open-air casket:
It seemed to Rosa Lublin that the whole peninsula of Florida was weighted down with regret. Everyone had left behind a real life. Here they had nothing. They were all scarecrows, blown about under the murdering sunball with empty ribcages.
In the shabby hotel where Stella, her niece, grudgingly supports the woman who saved her, Rosa goes about the quotidian tasks of living with as little care and cheer as an unwanted soul managing to stay alive but not sure why does. Her talisman, the shawl she carried her dead daughter in to the camp inside, is with Stella in Queens. Stella feels this will force Rosa to come to terms with the empty core of her life. When Rosa meets an older not-quite-widower and he determinedly strikes up an acquaintance, Rosa puts into words the reality she lives:
"If you're alone too much," Persky said, "you think too much."
"Without a life," Rosa answered, "a person lives where they can. If all they got is thoughts, that's where they live."
"You ain't got a life?"
"Thieves took it."
Someone stole her life, and left her body alive. It's what a childless parent lives every day, every minute of every day, and surviving a camp was a doddle for Rosa because what difference does anything make? Her child, her future, her gold and treasure, was stolen from her by a brutal, indifferent guard.
And to make it worse, now she's in Florida! And Doctor Tree, an academic with no smallest grain of comprehension or compassion for Rosa the childless mother, writes to her to request (in terms most peremptory and condescending) that she subject herself to inclusion in A Serious Study while he's in Florida for a convention! The NERVE!
Consider also the special word they used: survivor. Something new. As long as they didn't have to say human being. It used to be refugee, but by now there was no such creature, no more refugees, only survivors. A name like a number -- counted apart from the ordinary swarm. Blue digits on the arm, what difference? They don't call you a woman anyhow. Survivor. Even when your bones get melted into the grains of the earth, still they'll forget human being. Survivor and survivor and survivor; always and always. Who made up these words, parasites on the throat of suffering!
Rosa, rattled by Persky and shat on by Tree, takes solace in writing her fantasy of her grown-up daughter yet another letter. It is heart-wrenching, naturally enough, and reveals the horrors Rosa can't fully repress. It isn't any surprise that this damaged old woman is unbinding her few tenuous ties to life there in Hell's Boiler Room.
But there is, after all, Persky the man whose life is emptied by madness and laziness and America; Persky, who sets his sights on damaged Rosa and simply walks into her world to make it over:
"...this is very nice, cozy. You got a nice cozy place, Lublin."
"Cramped," Rosa said.
"I work from a different theory. For everything, there's a bad way of describing, also a good way. You pick the good way, you go along better."
"I don't like to give myself lies," Rosa said.
"Life is short, we all got to lie."
Persky the Pragmatic Pollyanna.
In the end, Rosa isn't a set of symptoms or a desperate survivor of the twentieth century's most horrifying genocide of its many. Rosa is a grieving childless mother who, unable to forgive herself or her only family for surviving, never sees or never cares who inhabits the planet with her. One foot in front of the other, no reason, just do it again; and then she receives the shawl from Stella, the Angel of Death, the cruel and grasping; and she looks at the ikon of her lost motherhood; and she feels...nothing? Can nothing be felt? What does it mean to lose your loss?
For a moment, Rosa loses her loss...for a moment....
April 24, 2022
El primer relato 'El chal' podría ser clasificado como terror, pero son hechos reales. Impresionante y conmovedor. En pocas páginas nos resume una página terrible de la historia reciente.
El segundo relato 'Rosa' es más largo y muestra la vida de una superviviente de la tragedia, cómo la cotidianidad queda impregnada por el horror vivido. Es como un anticlímax, pero no menos terrible.
El segundo relato 'Rosa' es más largo y muestra la vida de una superviviente de la tragedia, cómo la cotidianidad queda impregnada por el horror vivido. Es como un anticlímax, pero no menos terrible.
June 15, 2025
4,5*
Rosa sabia que Magda ia morrer muito em breve; já devia estar morta, mas tinha sido levada a enterrar bem fundo dentro do xaile mágico, ali confundida com o trémulo montículo dos peitos de Rosa.
Ao conto inicial que dá título a este livro, segue-se a novela “Rosa”, em que a protagonista que sobrevive ao campo de concentração emigra para os Estados Unidos. Em oito páginas, Cynthia Ozick, também ela de origem judia, escreve uma história perfeita sobre o holocausto, porque não há a exploração desnecessária do horror, mas antes a condensação da dor e do choque de uma mãe que envolve a sua filha bebé num xaile que lhe serve de abrigo e sustento.
Em poucas palavras, Ozick instila desconfiança em relação às origens da bebé…
“Ariana”, disse Stella, numa voz tornada esguia como um cordel; e Rosa disse para si que Stella com aqueles olhos grudados em Magda mais parecia um canibalzinho.
…e cria tensão até um final que sabemos inevitável mas que emociona pela vividez de imagens.
Às vezes a electricidade dentro da vedação dava a ideia que sussurrava, a própria Stella dizia que era só imaginação, mas Rosa ouvia mesmo sons no arame: vozes tristes, granulosas. Quanto mais longe ia da vedação, mais distintamente as vozes se aglomeravam em seu redor. (…) As vozes diziam-lhe que levantasse o xaile, bem alto; as vozes diziam-lhe que o abanasse, que vergastasse com ele, que o desfraldasse como uma bandeira.
É com esse trauma bem vivo dentro dela, que se traduz em desorientação, explosões de violência e até delírio, que vamos encontrar Rosa mais de 30 anos depois, a viver em Miami, num hotel para a terceira idade, sustentada de má vontade pela sobrinha Stella que aquela impediu que fosse levada para a Palestina, na onda de órfãos refugiados no pós-guerra.
Num punhado de cartas e com a antecipação da chegada de uma encomenda com o bem mais valioso de Rosa, vislumbramos o grau de alienação mental e física de alguém incapaz de aceitar a realidade.
“Às vezes, uma pessoa apetece-lhe estar sozinha.”
“Se se está sozinho tempo demais”, disse Persky, “pensa-se demais.”
“Sem uma vida”, respondeu Rosa, “uma pessoa vive onde a gente pode. Se a gente tem pensamentos, é aí que a gente vive.”
“Mas não tem uma vida?”
“Ladrões tiraram-ma.”
Rosa sabia que Magda ia morrer muito em breve; já devia estar morta, mas tinha sido levada a enterrar bem fundo dentro do xaile mágico, ali confundida com o trémulo montículo dos peitos de Rosa.
Ao conto inicial que dá título a este livro, segue-se a novela “Rosa”, em que a protagonista que sobrevive ao campo de concentração emigra para os Estados Unidos. Em oito páginas, Cynthia Ozick, também ela de origem judia, escreve uma história perfeita sobre o holocausto, porque não há a exploração desnecessária do horror, mas antes a condensação da dor e do choque de uma mãe que envolve a sua filha bebé num xaile que lhe serve de abrigo e sustento.
Em poucas palavras, Ozick instila desconfiança em relação às origens da bebé…
“Ariana”, disse Stella, numa voz tornada esguia como um cordel; e Rosa disse para si que Stella com aqueles olhos grudados em Magda mais parecia um canibalzinho.
…e cria tensão até um final que sabemos inevitável mas que emociona pela vividez de imagens.
Às vezes a electricidade dentro da vedação dava a ideia que sussurrava, a própria Stella dizia que era só imaginação, mas Rosa ouvia mesmo sons no arame: vozes tristes, granulosas. Quanto mais longe ia da vedação, mais distintamente as vozes se aglomeravam em seu redor. (…) As vozes diziam-lhe que levantasse o xaile, bem alto; as vozes diziam-lhe que o abanasse, que vergastasse com ele, que o desfraldasse como uma bandeira.
É com esse trauma bem vivo dentro dela, que se traduz em desorientação, explosões de violência e até delírio, que vamos encontrar Rosa mais de 30 anos depois, a viver em Miami, num hotel para a terceira idade, sustentada de má vontade pela sobrinha Stella que aquela impediu que fosse levada para a Palestina, na onda de órfãos refugiados no pós-guerra.
Num punhado de cartas e com a antecipação da chegada de uma encomenda com o bem mais valioso de Rosa, vislumbramos o grau de alienação mental e física de alguém incapaz de aceitar a realidade.
“Às vezes, uma pessoa apetece-lhe estar sozinha.”
“Se se está sozinho tempo demais”, disse Persky, “pensa-se demais.”
“Sem uma vida”, respondeu Rosa, “uma pessoa vive onde a gente pode. Se a gente tem pensamentos, é aí que a gente vive.”
“Mas não tem uma vida?”
“Ladrões tiraram-ma.”
October 29, 2020
The short story is available free online here: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/19...
My kind GR friend, Bookish, gave me the link.
Why is this worth five stars? What makes it amazing to me?
The lines are beautiful, poignant, heartrending and informative. All you need to know to fully understand the events are told in just a minimum of words. It will take you just a few minutes to read. To convey so much information and so much emotion in so few words is amazing.
You will feel hunger in your belly. You will feel the all-engulfing love of a mother for her child. You will understand how one child sees another with envy. You will watch as an infant fights to live.
Surrounding the horrors of the camps are blue skies and flowers.
My kind GR friend, Bookish, gave me the link.
Why is this worth five stars? What makes it amazing to me?
The lines are beautiful, poignant, heartrending and informative. All you need to know to fully understand the events are told in just a minimum of words. It will take you just a few minutes to read. To convey so much information and so much emotion in so few words is amazing.
You will feel hunger in your belly. You will feel the all-engulfing love of a mother for her child. You will understand how one child sees another with envy. You will watch as an infant fights to live.
Surrounding the horrors of the camps are blue skies and flowers.
December 31, 2018
THE SHAWL is a horror of a story about the holocaust and the gut-wrenching decision a mother makes when a magical shawl is stolen....a shawl that hides, protects and nourishes baby Magna....a shawl that means everything.
THE SHAWL really packs a punch for such a short read. So very dark and sad.
February 20, 2022
“Lo de antes es un sueño. El después es una broma. Solo permanece el durante. Y llamarlo vida es una mentira”.
Dos relatos.
En el primero una madre cubre a su beba con un chal. ¿De qué la protege? Yo no sabía nada, al empezar a leer creí que era una distopía, pero es más cruel porque es real.
El segundo no es tan duro. Los mismos personajes. El tiempo ha pasado pero quedan secuelas y la tristeza persiste. El chal une los distintos momentos.
No conocía a esta escritora y me ha dejado impresionada.
July 10, 2010
There can be something disturbingly beautiful in the portrayal of a child dying. For example in this scene from Lars Von Trier's Anti-Christ (don't click if you don't want to see a little bit of tasteful but graphic sex. Don't worry there is no genital mutilation going on here), and the manner the baby gets done in "The Shawl". I know that it's wrong to find babies dying beautiful, but it's actually an interesting technique to use in a piece of art. Babies dying are like puppies getting kicked in a movie, they can easily be used for cheap emotional means. The mixture of beauty into a horrific event creates more interesting dynamics to think about then the quick and easy responses of "that is good" and "that is bad". Because, in this context, unless you are a Holocaust denier or some Nazi-fuck you probably aren't going to say that the Holocaust isn't bad. Saying it's bad is, well, obvious. It's pretty much a tautology.
The two stories in this very slender volume deal with the Holocaust and Memory. This line in Proust 7 (AKA Time Regained) reminded me of the second story in this collection; "Dreyfusism (insert the Jewish Question or the Holocaust) had now been given its place in a whole category of respectable and accustomed things. As for inquiring into its real merits, nobody dreamed of doing that now before approving it, any more than they formally had before condemning it. It was no longer 'shocking' and that was enough. People scarcely remembered that it had once been so, just as, after a certain time, people are not sure whether a young girl's father stole or not." Maybe this quote isn't the best one, but the subject of shocking relevant to these stories, and to our own reaction to an event such as the Holocaust, or any incidence of unimaginable numbers of people getting murdered because of some difference that makes them an undesirable Other (AKA Ethnic Cleansing in a Morally and Linguistically Cleansing term).
I'm going to cut myself short on my Holocaust ramblings. I think if you go read any of my Bachmann, Celan, or Adorno reviews you'll get more of my Holocaust and memory rants. This would just sort of be the same, but with a Proust quote. The two stories here are very very good. At another time I may have given them five stars.
The two stories in this very slender volume deal with the Holocaust and Memory. This line in Proust 7 (AKA Time Regained) reminded me of the second story in this collection; "Dreyfusism (insert the Jewish Question or the Holocaust) had now been given its place in a whole category of respectable and accustomed things. As for inquiring into its real merits, nobody dreamed of doing that now before approving it, any more than they formally had before condemning it. It was no longer 'shocking' and that was enough. People scarcely remembered that it had once been so, just as, after a certain time, people are not sure whether a young girl's father stole or not." Maybe this quote isn't the best one, but the subject of shocking relevant to these stories, and to our own reaction to an event such as the Holocaust, or any incidence of unimaginable numbers of people getting murdered because of some difference that makes them an undesirable Other (AKA Ethnic Cleansing in a Morally and Linguistically Cleansing term).
I'm going to cut myself short on my Holocaust ramblings. I think if you go read any of my Bachmann, Celan, or Adorno reviews you'll get more of my Holocaust and memory rants. This would just sort of be the same, but with a Proust quote. The two stories here are very very good. At another time I may have given them five stars.
March 31, 2020
I'm not sure why, but this story failed to connect with me. I guess it felt like there wasn't anything there that hadn't been seen before. The level of involvement with the characters was too shallow for me to feel anything but a general angst (which I always feel when this subject is broached). It was sad, but in the way that knowing this happened to people is sad, not in the specific way that I wanted to find. There was no one character I could relate to in a closer way. Perhaps for me a short story is just too short to convey this level of horror.
July 13, 2010
This book punches you in the stomach even though you know its coming.
I first read Cynthia Ozick when I was prepareing to teach Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl. Ozick had written an essay, "Who Owns Anne Frank?" for The New Yorker. Then I picked this book up a couple weeks ago.
There is a debate that exist over any literature, be it fiction or non-fiction, that deals with genoicide, war, rape, or anything that is bad, evil, to a group of people at once. The question is whether or not the suffering of one can be used to symbolize or drive home the suffering of many.
Ozick actually sidesteps the debate with this book. What happens to Rosa is horribly. When you read that short story out loud, listen to the pacing as the events change. It's magnificent writing. Ozick, however, makes sure that the reader feels more than pity for Rosa. I'm not even sure pity is the right word. Feel sorry for, feel for, but not extactly pity. This is especially true in the novella for the reader is shown more than just Rosa's prespective on what has happened, on who people (in particular Stella) really are. It is an exanamation of suriving and how some groups, with perhaps good intentions, want to pick the scab open (and make money and fame while doing so).
I first read Cynthia Ozick when I was prepareing to teach Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl. Ozick had written an essay, "Who Owns Anne Frank?" for The New Yorker. Then I picked this book up a couple weeks ago.
There is a debate that exist over any literature, be it fiction or non-fiction, that deals with genoicide, war, rape, or anything that is bad, evil, to a group of people at once. The question is whether or not the suffering of one can be used to symbolize or drive home the suffering of many.
Ozick actually sidesteps the debate with this book. What happens to Rosa is horribly. When you read that short story out loud, listen to the pacing as the events change. It's magnificent writing. Ozick, however, makes sure that the reader feels more than pity for Rosa. I'm not even sure pity is the right word. Feel sorry for, feel for, but not extactly pity. This is especially true in the novella for the reader is shown more than just Rosa's prespective on what has happened, on who people (in particular Stella) really are. It is an exanamation of suriving and how some groups, with perhaps good intentions, want to pick the scab open (and make money and fame while doing so).
Read
September 25, 2023Não havia leite que chegasse; às vezes Magda chupava ar; nessa altura berrava. Stella era voraz. Os joelhos eram tumores em canas, os cotovelos, ossos de frango.
Ambos os contos (conto/novela, se formos rigorosos) reunidos neste volume funcionam como uma alegoria: um está para o holocausto (O xaile) como o outro está para as suas consequências (Rosa). E nem é preciso abarcar uma distância temporal longa, grandes planos, ou personagens infindáveis para a conseguir. Graças à extraordinária economia de meios de Ozick, basta focar um momento crítico, e três personagens: Stella, Rosa, Magda: sobrinha, mãe, filha.
No primeiro conto, uma caminhada esfomeada de estrela ao peito. O destino: um vasto terreno apinhado, cuspindo fumo negro, rodeado de arame farpado... a narrativa conta o resto:
Uma menina tão mansinha, desistiu de berrar, e agora já só chuchava pelo sabor do próprio mamilo meio-seco. A prensa esmerada das minúsculas gengivas. Uma migalha de ponta de dente aparecendo espetada na gengiva do fundo, tão brilhante, túmulo de duende em mármore branco ali reluzente. Sem queixume, Magda abandonou os mamilos de Rosa, primeiro o esquerdo, depois o direito; um e outro estavam gretados, nem uma inalação de leite. A fissura do canal extinta, vulcão morto, olho cego, buraco enregelado, por isso Magda agarrou em seu lugar na ponta do xaile e pôs-se a mamar nele. Chupava, chupava, inundando o fio de humidade. O bom sabor do xaile, leite de pano.
O tema é horrendo, mas o tratamento é magnífico. A linguagem usada pela autora é poética, metafórica, paradoxal, simbólica, apropriando-se de imagens poderosas que encerram significados múltiplos: maternidade, nutrição, resiliência, idolatria, reverência, traição, magia, suspeita e temor:
A cara, muito redonda, espelho de bolso de uma cara: mas não tinha a tez desfalecida de Rosa, escura como cólera, era outro tipo de rosto completamente diferente, olhos azuis como o ar, penugem macia de cabelo quase tão amarela como a Estrela pregada à jaqueta de Rosa. Dava para pensar que era um dos bebés deles.
Num segundo momento, trinta e nove anos depois da caminhada que leva as personagens a um campo de concentração, a narrativa metamorfoseia-se:
«O quê», disse ele, «ainda tem medo? Nazis não temos cá, nem sequer gente do Ku Klux cá temos. Que espécie de pessoa é a senhora, ainda anda com medo?»
«A espécie de pessoa», disse Rosa, «é o que o senhor vê. Há trinta e nove anos eu era uma pessoa diferente.»
Rosa vive numa Miami desapiedada da sua realidade, e a forma alucinada, fantasiosa como escolhe viver o presente serve para nos mostrar o peso que o passado acarreta num meio onde a desumanização é, sobretudo, consequência de um olhar histórico, clínico e exterior sobre as vivências passadas (e ultrapassadas(?)) do outro.
(...)agora não havia tal criatura, já não havia refugiados, só sobreviventes. Um nome igual a um número - contado à parte da agregação corrente. Dígitos azuis no braço, qual era a diferença? De qualquer maneira, já não te chamam mulher. Sobrevivente. Até quando os teus ossos se forem dissolvendo entre os grãos de terra, mesmo assim hão-de esquecer ser humano. Sobrevivente e sobrevivente e sobrevivente; sempre, para todo o sempre. Quem inventou estas palavras, parasitas na garganta do sofrimento!
Com um narrador adaptado ao tipo de narrativa e uma narrativa adaptada à situação das personagens, Ozick debruça-se agora sobre a herança negra, o medo, o trauma, a perda da identidade que sobrevive décadas e décadas sob a pele.
Num punhado de páginas oferece-nos duas narrativas pungentes, seguramente insuportáveis se fossem maiores do que são, que condensam perfeitamente o pathos (emoção) que leva à catarse (empatia) funcionando de modo a não permitir, por um lado, a indiferença, nem, por outro lado, a exploração do sentimentalismo bacoco que apaga a verdadeira humanidade.
«(...)às vezes uma pessoa apetece-lhe estar sozinha.»
«Se se está sozinho tempo demais», disse Persky,«pensa-se demais.»
«Sem uma vida», respondeu Rosa, «uma pessoa vive onde a gente pode. Se a gente só tem pensamentos, é aí que a gente vive.»
O xaile
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rosa
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Ambos os contos (conto/novela, se formos rigorosos) reunidos neste volume funcionam como uma alegoria: um está para o holocausto (O xaile) como o outro está para as suas consequências (Rosa). E nem é preciso abarcar uma distância temporal longa, grandes planos, ou personagens infindáveis para a conseguir. Graças à extraordinária economia de meios de Ozick, basta focar um momento crítico, e três personagens: Stella, Rosa, Magda: sobrinha, mãe, filha.
No primeiro conto, uma caminhada esfomeada de estrela ao peito. O destino: um vasto terreno apinhado, cuspindo fumo negro, rodeado de arame farpado... a narrativa conta o resto:
Uma menina tão mansinha, desistiu de berrar, e agora já só chuchava pelo sabor do próprio mamilo meio-seco. A prensa esmerada das minúsculas gengivas. Uma migalha de ponta de dente aparecendo espetada na gengiva do fundo, tão brilhante, túmulo de duende em mármore branco ali reluzente. Sem queixume, Magda abandonou os mamilos de Rosa, primeiro o esquerdo, depois o direito; um e outro estavam gretados, nem uma inalação de leite. A fissura do canal extinta, vulcão morto, olho cego, buraco enregelado, por isso Magda agarrou em seu lugar na ponta do xaile e pôs-se a mamar nele. Chupava, chupava, inundando o fio de humidade. O bom sabor do xaile, leite de pano.
O tema é horrendo, mas o tratamento é magnífico. A linguagem usada pela autora é poética, metafórica, paradoxal, simbólica, apropriando-se de imagens poderosas que encerram significados múltiplos: maternidade, nutrição, resiliência, idolatria, reverência, traição, magia, suspeita e temor:
A cara, muito redonda, espelho de bolso de uma cara: mas não tinha a tez desfalecida de Rosa, escura como cólera, era outro tipo de rosto completamente diferente, olhos azuis como o ar, penugem macia de cabelo quase tão amarela como a Estrela pregada à jaqueta de Rosa. Dava para pensar que era um dos bebés deles.
Num segundo momento, trinta e nove anos depois da caminhada que leva as personagens a um campo de concentração, a narrativa metamorfoseia-se:
«O quê», disse ele, «ainda tem medo? Nazis não temos cá, nem sequer gente do Ku Klux cá temos. Que espécie de pessoa é a senhora, ainda anda com medo?»
«A espécie de pessoa», disse Rosa, «é o que o senhor vê. Há trinta e nove anos eu era uma pessoa diferente.»
Rosa vive numa Miami desapiedada da sua realidade, e a forma alucinada, fantasiosa como escolhe viver o presente serve para nos mostrar o peso que o passado acarreta num meio onde a desumanização é, sobretudo, consequência de um olhar histórico, clínico e exterior sobre as vivências passadas (e ultrapassadas(?)) do outro.
(...)agora não havia tal criatura, já não havia refugiados, só sobreviventes. Um nome igual a um número - contado à parte da agregação corrente. Dígitos azuis no braço, qual era a diferença? De qualquer maneira, já não te chamam mulher. Sobrevivente. Até quando os teus ossos se forem dissolvendo entre os grãos de terra, mesmo assim hão-de esquecer ser humano. Sobrevivente e sobrevivente e sobrevivente; sempre, para todo o sempre. Quem inventou estas palavras, parasitas na garganta do sofrimento!
Com um narrador adaptado ao tipo de narrativa e uma narrativa adaptada à situação das personagens, Ozick debruça-se agora sobre a herança negra, o medo, o trauma, a perda da identidade que sobrevive décadas e décadas sob a pele.
Num punhado de páginas oferece-nos duas narrativas pungentes, seguramente insuportáveis se fossem maiores do que são, que condensam perfeitamente o pathos (emoção) que leva à catarse (empatia) funcionando de modo a não permitir, por um lado, a indiferença, nem, por outro lado, a exploração do sentimentalismo bacoco que apaga a verdadeira humanidade.
«(...)às vezes uma pessoa apetece-lhe estar sozinha.»
«Se se está sozinho tempo demais», disse Persky,«pensa-se demais.»
«Sem uma vida», respondeu Rosa, «uma pessoa vive onde a gente pode. Se a gente só tem pensamentos, é aí que a gente vive.»
O xaile
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rosa
⭐⭐⭐⭐
November 26, 2025
Read over an hour or two last night, this was my first introduction to Ozick. The short story 'The Shawl' has brief, sparse prose that drags you into the unforgiving world of Rosa, Stella and the young toddler Magda. From there, it goes nearly 40 years in the future into the novella 'Rosa'.
Strike that. The word, unforgiving. Let's not sugar-coat it. Their world is misery. Rosa's life was taken away from her. No life, just breathing. No survival, just human.
Ozick's portrayal of Rosa is one of mania, but understood. She never had a chance.
Strike that. The word, unforgiving. Let's not sugar-coat it. Their world is misery. Rosa's life was taken away from her. No life, just breathing. No survival, just human.
Ozick's portrayal of Rosa is one of mania, but understood. She never had a chance.
January 25, 2020
Lo scialle è la tragedia di una madre
Rapidi tratti ,nitidi,essenziali quelli di C.Ozick
Un passato che continua ad essere presente,l'orrore che ossessiona ,che imprigiona
in un impenetrabile recinto di filo spinato
La scena più potente e terribile del libro
Rapidi tratti ,nitidi,essenziali quelli di C.Ozick
Un passato che continua ad essere presente,l'orrore che ossessiona ,che imprigiona
in un impenetrabile recinto di filo spinato
La scena più potente e terribile del libro
...Maaa...
Era il primo suono che Magda avesse mai emesso dalla gola da quando i capezzoli di Rosa si erano seccati.
- Maaa… aaa!
Di nuovo Magda barcollava nella luce pericolosa dell’arena, scarabocchiando su quelle zampette torte così pietose. Rosa capì che Magda piangeva per la perdita del suo scialle, capì che Magda stava per morire. Una marea montante di comandi martellò nei capezzoli di Rosa: Vai, corri, prendi! Ma non sapeva qual era la cosa da prendere per prima. Magda o lo scialle. Se fosse saltata nell’arena per acchiappare Magda, l’urlo non sarebbe cessato, perché Magda lo stesso non avrebbe avuto lo scialle; ma se fosse corsa nella baracca a cercarlo, e l’avesse trovato, e se avesse inseguito Magda tenendolo e agitandolo, allora avrebbe riportato indietro Magda, Magda si sarebbe messa lo scialle in bocca e sarebbe tornata muta.
Rosa s’infilò nel buio. Fu facile scoprire lo scialle: Stella (la nipote che aveva rubato lo scialle a Magda) ci si era rannicchiata sotto, addormentata nelle ossa esili. Con uno strappo Rosa liberò lo scialle e volò – poteva volare, non era che aria – nell’arena. Il calore del sole mormorava di un’altra vita, di farfalle d’estate. La luce era placida, morbida. Dall’altra parte del reticolato, in lontananza, c’erano prati chiazzati di denti di leone e di violette dal colore intenso; al di là, ancora più lontano, innocenti gigli tigrati, alti, che drizzavano i loro berretti arancione.
Rimase per un attimo al margine dell’arena. Talvolta la corrente elettrica dentro il reticolato sembrava ronzare; persino Stella diceva che era soltanto immaginazione, ma Rosa sentiva voci reali nel filo: tristi voci granulose. Più era lontana dal reticolato, più chiaramente le voci si affollavano a parlarle. Le voci lamentose facevano vibrare le corde con tanta convinzione, con tanta passione, che era impossibile sospettare che fossero fantasmi. Le voci le dicevano di levare in alto lo scialle; le voci le dicevano di agitarlo, di farne una frusta, di spiegarlo come una bandiera. Rosa sollevò, agitò, frustò, spiegò. Lontano, molto lontano, Magda si chinò sulla sua pancia nutrita d’aria, tendendo i bastoncini delle braccia. Era in alto, su in alto, portata sulle spalle da qualcuno. Ma la spalla che portava Magda non veniva verso Rosa e lo scialle, si allontanava, il puntino di Magda si perdeva sempre di più nella distanza fumosa. Sopra la spalla brillava un elmetto. La luce batteva sull’elmetto e lo faceva scintillare come una coppa. Sotto l’elmetto un corpo nero come un domino e un paio di stivali neri si affrettavano in direzione del reticolato elettrico. Le voci elettriche cominciarono a schiamazzare forsennate. – Mammaaa, mammaaaaa – ronzavano, tutte insieme.
Come era lontana da Rosa ora Magda, di là da tutto lo spiazzo, oltre una dozzina di baracche, completamente dall’altra parte! Non era più grande di una falena. Tutt’a un tratto Magda nuotava nell’aria. Tutta Magda veleggiava sospesa. Sembrava una farfalla che andasse a toccare un viticcio d’argento. E l’istante che la testa piumata di Magda e le sue gambe a matita e la pancia a pallone e lo zig-zag delle braccia schizzarono contro il reticolato, il ringhio delle voci d’acciaio impazzì, incitando Rosa a correre e correre fin dove Magda era caduta dal suo volo contro il reticolato elettrico; ma naturalmente Rosa non obbedì. Rimase lì immobile, perché se avesse corso loro avrebbero sparato, e se avesse provato a raccogliere gli stecchi del corpo di Magda avrebbero sparato, e se avesse lasciato erompere l’urlo di lupo che ora le saliva lungo la scala dello scheletro, avrebbero sparato; così prese lo scialle di Magda e se ne riempì la bocca, lo pigiò e lo pigiò finché non si ringozzò l’urlo di lupo e sentì l’intenso sapore di mandorle e cannella della saliva di Magda; e Rosa bevve lo scialle di Magda fino a che non fu secco
December 8, 2025
“No, no, sometimes a person feels to be alone."
"If you're alone too much," Persky said, "you think too much."
"Without a life," Rosa answered, "a person lives where they can. If all they got is thoughts, that's where they live."
― Cynthia Ozick, The Shawl
DNF. Review to follow.
Have you ever felt guilty for not liking a book?
Have you ever felt particularly guilty for not liking a World War II book?
That is exactly what happened here. I did not complete this book, which in reality is a novella.
No, I should preface this by saying I don’t read WWII books all that much.
Of course, I’ve read some of them such as diary of Anne Frank, which I read when I was just a kid. But by and large World War II novels for me are the exception not the rule.
So I came upon this story, because I was looking for short stories to read. I didn’t feel capable of handling a full length book tonight, particularly since this has been a terrible week with one thing after another going wrong.
No, I should mention that the writing is delicate as a summer breeze and very poetic is the prose as others have mentioned.
It is about survivors of the holocaust, and also about a few who did not survive.
I’m really trying not to give anything away here it’s not easy.
I stopped at about 40% in or maybe it was 50%. My mind is filled with cotton balls tonight so I’m really not sure how far am I was but I would guess about a half.
I had a really difficult time following this, knowing what was going on at any given moment, and also as other reviews have said, most eloquently, it did read almost like an extended poem albeit A very dark one.
I know that there are a heck of a lot of people on Goodreads would probably love this. I have friends on here who love World War II novels and count them among their favorites. It really wasn’t the subject matter that put me off but the formatting and the way it was written. It wasn’t for me at least not tonight.
Don’t let my feelings stop you though. I have nothing bad to say about it. It is well written and it is sad but it’s just not the book for me. It happens sometimes.
"If you're alone too much," Persky said, "you think too much."
"Without a life," Rosa answered, "a person lives where they can. If all they got is thoughts, that's where they live."
― Cynthia Ozick, The Shawl
DNF. Review to follow.
Have you ever felt guilty for not liking a book?
Have you ever felt particularly guilty for not liking a World War II book?
That is exactly what happened here. I did not complete this book, which in reality is a novella.
No, I should preface this by saying I don’t read WWII books all that much.
Of course, I’ve read some of them such as diary of Anne Frank, which I read when I was just a kid. But by and large World War II novels for me are the exception not the rule.
So I came upon this story, because I was looking for short stories to read. I didn’t feel capable of handling a full length book tonight, particularly since this has been a terrible week with one thing after another going wrong.
No, I should mention that the writing is delicate as a summer breeze and very poetic is the prose as others have mentioned.
It is about survivors of the holocaust, and also about a few who did not survive.
I’m really trying not to give anything away here it’s not easy.
I stopped at about 40% in or maybe it was 50%. My mind is filled with cotton balls tonight so I’m really not sure how far am I was but I would guess about a half.
I had a really difficult time following this, knowing what was going on at any given moment, and also as other reviews have said, most eloquently, it did read almost like an extended poem albeit A very dark one.
I know that there are a heck of a lot of people on Goodreads would probably love this. I have friends on here who love World War II novels and count them among their favorites. It really wasn’t the subject matter that put me off but the formatting and the way it was written. It wasn’t for me at least not tonight.
Don’t let my feelings stop you though. I have nothing bad to say about it. It is well written and it is sad but it’s just not the book for me. It happens sometimes.
April 5, 2023
Magnifico, una joya, belleza pura.
March 28, 2016
Magda took Rosa’s nipple, and Rosa never stopped walking, a walking cradle. There was not enough milk; sometimes Magda sucked air; then she screamed. Stella was ravenous. Her knees were tumors on sticks, her elbows chicken bones.
The first 10 pages of this book broke my heart. Not once; continuously. I read each line in tense, avid awe, my chest hurting with each sentence. It is an absolutely brutal short story, but, in its way, it is crystalline: superb.
[my wife saw what I was reading: "oh, yeah, I started that and got to {about the 7th page} and I had to stop. It hurt too much." "Yeah, it got worse."]
This book is composed of a short story "The Shawl" and a novella "Rosa" - "Rosa" is a continuation of "The Shawl", set 35 years later.
"Rosa" is, also, heartbreaking.
Where "The Shawl" is about death, "Rosa" is about continuing after that death, or at least about trying to continue after tragedy. "Rosa" is tender and mournful, wanting to find life for its titular character; wanting to find a way to move past the past.
A harrowing little book, one that will likely haunt me for a while yet.
The first 10 pages of this book broke my heart. Not once; continuously. I read each line in tense, avid awe, my chest hurting with each sentence. It is an absolutely brutal short story, but, in its way, it is crystalline: superb.
[my wife saw what I was reading: "oh, yeah, I started that and got to {about the 7th page} and I had to stop. It hurt too much." "Yeah, it got worse."]
This book is composed of a short story "The Shawl" and a novella "Rosa" - "Rosa" is a continuation of "The Shawl", set 35 years later.
"Rosa" is, also, heartbreaking.
Where "The Shawl" is about death, "Rosa" is about continuing after that death, or at least about trying to continue after tragedy. "Rosa" is tender and mournful, wanting to find life for its titular character; wanting to find a way to move past the past.
A harrowing little book, one that will likely haunt me for a while yet.
May 16, 2013
Stunning in all meanings and senses of the word. A must and want to read for everyone.
I only started reading "The Shawl" last night. I was so engrossed that I didn't realize any time had gone by until I'd finished it. I'm going to read this novella again this weekend. I was utterly transported to another time and place with "The Shawl" and her characters. I can't imagine not reading it again.
Cynthia Ozick may be one of the most incredible weavers of a story and glorious wordsmiths whose works I've ever read. And I do mean EVER!
I checked "The Shawl" out of the library yesterday. I already purchased a copy online so I can have it forever.
The edition I read has the short story The Shawl and the novella Rosa. I think they must be read together with The Shawl coming first. "Rosa" would not be complete for us without The Shawl.
I only started reading "The Shawl" last night. I was so engrossed that I didn't realize any time had gone by until I'd finished it. I'm going to read this novella again this weekend. I was utterly transported to another time and place with "The Shawl" and her characters. I can't imagine not reading it again.
Cynthia Ozick may be one of the most incredible weavers of a story and glorious wordsmiths whose works I've ever read. And I do mean EVER!
I checked "The Shawl" out of the library yesterday. I already purchased a copy online so I can have it forever.
The edition I read has the short story The Shawl and the novella Rosa. I think they must be read together with The Shawl coming first. "Rosa" would not be complete for us without The Shawl.
October 6, 2016
'El chal' es seguramente uno de los más certeros retratos de las consecuencias del Holocausto en la personalidad de quienes lo vivieron, esas personas llamadas en adelante "supervivientes" como para subrayar una esencia fantasmal. Y extraña es la existencia de la protagonista, que sitúa en una prenda, el chal, la reliquia de los acontecimientos infernales pasados, que a la vez están íntimamente conectados con sus orígenes, su lengua materna y su cultura, más polaca que judía. El texto está lleno de resonancias y juegos especulares (el chal y las bragas, las alambradas del campo de exterminio y las de la playa privada de Miami) en el que la tragedia del pasado se ha convertido en un presente grotesco.
May 26, 2021
Que potencia para narrar tiene Ozick.
En pocas páginas te traslada a la memoria de Rosa, la protagonista de estos recovecos que la envuelven y la arrojan sobre su pasado, que no deja de ser su presente y su estigma para siempre.
El relato del chal, provoca, ese aullido de lobo que le sube a uno por la escalera del esqueleto.
En pocas páginas te traslada a la memoria de Rosa, la protagonista de estos recovecos que la envuelven y la arrojan sobre su pasado, que no deja de ser su presente y su estigma para siempre.
El relato del chal, provoca, ese aullido de lobo que le sube a uno por la escalera del esqueleto.
December 17, 2021
Dos relatos cortos encadenados sobre el horror de los campos y sus consecuencias en los supervivientes.
La manera en que está contado, casi de manera cortante, con imágenes empastadas unas con otras a base de pensamientos, puede resultar extraña para algunos lectores. Pero creo que es la manera indicada de estar dentro del personaje.
Recomendable.
La manera en que está contado, casi de manera cortante, con imágenes empastadas unas con otras a base de pensamientos, puede resultar extraña para algunos lectores. Pero creo que es la manera indicada de estar dentro del personaje.
Recomendable.
April 27, 2021
6 Million people were murdered in the Holocaust.
That is more than three times the number of all the people who currently live in my Mid-Western city of Cincinnati, OH. It is hard for me to imagine what this number of murdered people actually encompasses. It's also difficult to think of the survivors, to hear and acknowledge their stories and to know that there is not enough empathy in the world for people who have experienced the trauma of the Holocaust.
Cynthia Ozick's two short stories, The Shawl and Rosa are presented in this collection. The book is 70 pages long. In The Shawl, we hear the Holocaust story of Rosa. Rosa is a young mother who is being marched from the Ghetto to a prison camp. Marching with her are her 14 year old niece, Stella, and her infant daughter, Magda. Magda is hidden in a shawl, wrapped around Rosa's chest like a sling. The shawl is instilled with some magical realism powers, meaning that as long as Magda has the shawl, she can survive. They are all starving and experiencing unbelievably horrific conditions. The story ends tragically.
The second story, Rosa, was written a few years later. Rosa is now in her 50's, filled with grief, fury, rage. She is an American Immigrant, and has been living in NYC. The story picks up with her move to Florida to a retirement apartment, where she writes daily letters to Magda and Stella and is barely able to leave her apartment. She has tried to share her story with other Jews in NYC, with Stella, and in this story with a man named Persky who is compassionate and friendly with Rosa. No one can understand her, though. Stella, wants her to forget and get over it, already! Her customers in NYC have only the vaguest idea of things that happened in the Holocaust and don't really want to hear about them. And Persky, though compassionate, was safe in the US at the time.
What happens when a human has a traumatic experience that very few others can relate with? Although it is safe to say that each human experience is unique, many would react as Rosa is. With a deep mistrust of humans, with grief, with rage, with suspicion, with self-loathing. Humans need to share their stories in order to connect to the rest of humanity. Ironically, there is a scientist who is trying to connect with Rosa and hear her story, but she does not really understand and feels that she is just a "number" to him due to his clinical and methodical ways of contacting her, so she does not engage. Much more is needed.
A lot of reviews speak about Rosa's actions, how she loses her underpants at the laundry and goes searching for them. Reviews about what her walk through nighttime Miami symbolizes. What sticks with me is her need to connect with other humans. After getting locked into a beach that is surrounded with a fence with barbed-wire on top to keep non-guests out, Rosa says to the manager:
"Mister, you got barbed wire by your beach.
"Are you a guest here?
"I'm someplace else.
"Then it's none of your business, is it?
"You got barbed wire.
"It keeps out the riffraff.
"In America, it's no place for barbed wire on top of fences......Only Nazis catch innocent people behind barbed wire........
"My name is Finkelstein.
"Then you should know better!...A shame, A Finkelstein, like you.
Humans need to share their stories in order to connect to the rest of humanity, and Rosa cannot connect.
Overall, the writing in The Shawl and in Rosa came across as a bit dream-like and floaty with a definite feel of madness to it. Deserved madness. The writing is very strong in this way, and I felt it to be true to the situation of a survivor. Recommended for those who are interested in holocaust literature, or the shared human experience. Definitely, a tough and sad read.
That is more than three times the number of all the people who currently live in my Mid-Western city of Cincinnati, OH. It is hard for me to imagine what this number of murdered people actually encompasses. It's also difficult to think of the survivors, to hear and acknowledge their stories and to know that there is not enough empathy in the world for people who have experienced the trauma of the Holocaust.
Cynthia Ozick's two short stories, The Shawl and Rosa are presented in this collection. The book is 70 pages long. In The Shawl, we hear the Holocaust story of Rosa. Rosa is a young mother who is being marched from the Ghetto to a prison camp. Marching with her are her 14 year old niece, Stella, and her infant daughter, Magda. Magda is hidden in a shawl, wrapped around Rosa's chest like a sling. The shawl is instilled with some magical realism powers, meaning that as long as Magda has the shawl, she can survive. They are all starving and experiencing unbelievably horrific conditions. The story ends tragically.
The second story, Rosa, was written a few years later. Rosa is now in her 50's, filled with grief, fury, rage. She is an American Immigrant, and has been living in NYC. The story picks up with her move to Florida to a retirement apartment, where she writes daily letters to Magda and Stella and is barely able to leave her apartment. She has tried to share her story with other Jews in NYC, with Stella, and in this story with a man named Persky who is compassionate and friendly with Rosa. No one can understand her, though. Stella, wants her to forget and get over it, already! Her customers in NYC have only the vaguest idea of things that happened in the Holocaust and don't really want to hear about them. And Persky, though compassionate, was safe in the US at the time.
What happens when a human has a traumatic experience that very few others can relate with? Although it is safe to say that each human experience is unique, many would react as Rosa is. With a deep mistrust of humans, with grief, with rage, with suspicion, with self-loathing. Humans need to share their stories in order to connect to the rest of humanity. Ironically, there is a scientist who is trying to connect with Rosa and hear her story, but she does not really understand and feels that she is just a "number" to him due to his clinical and methodical ways of contacting her, so she does not engage. Much more is needed.
A lot of reviews speak about Rosa's actions, how she loses her underpants at the laundry and goes searching for them. Reviews about what her walk through nighttime Miami symbolizes. What sticks with me is her need to connect with other humans. After getting locked into a beach that is surrounded with a fence with barbed-wire on top to keep non-guests out, Rosa says to the manager:
"Mister, you got barbed wire by your beach.
"Are you a guest here?
"I'm someplace else.
"Then it's none of your business, is it?
"You got barbed wire.
"It keeps out the riffraff.
"In America, it's no place for barbed wire on top of fences......Only Nazis catch innocent people behind barbed wire........
"My name is Finkelstein.
"Then you should know better!...A shame, A Finkelstein, like you.
Humans need to share their stories in order to connect to the rest of humanity, and Rosa cannot connect.
Overall, the writing in The Shawl and in Rosa came across as a bit dream-like and floaty with a definite feel of madness to it. Deserved madness. The writing is very strong in this way, and I felt it to be true to the situation of a survivor. Recommended for those who are interested in holocaust literature, or the shared human experience. Definitely, a tough and sad read.
January 14, 2022
(This is a review of 'Rosa,' which appears alongside 'The Shawl' in this volume.)
Ozick seems to divide the spiritual life cycle of the human being into three phases. To use a formulation from the novella: There is the “before” phase, where your life is true and meaningful. There is the “during” phase which is a crisis or trauma that robs you of your truth and meaning. And there is the “after” phase which is the life you lead after you have lost your truth and meaning. Here Ozick gives us a character who, though she has arrived at the “after” phase, cannot forget what happened to her during her trauma phase, and stubbornly refuses to forget the truth and meaning she lost during it. So, in a way, Rosa is living in all three phases at once. We see her tenacity as she does this, but also her bitterness. And we see how she has to consciously struggle to keep her dignity, and deflect away the arguments of people coaching her to forget her loss and just move on. What she holds onto of her truth and meaning is very insubstantial, mostly a fantasy. Even though Rosa’s ‘life is over’ we watch her grudgingly identifying and fighting against the meaninglessness of what is left.
This is a rather bleak portrait of what it means to be a modern human adult, and I would say despairingly accurate for many. Ozick’s portrait is somewhat hyperbolic in the sense that it is impossible for her character to recover her loss, while I think people can and often do bounce back from their crisis and reclaim their truth and meaning, even after completely losing it. At the societal scale Ozick seems to say that a world filled with people living without truth and meaning leads to an infantile culture of self-indulgence, frivolousness and unsympathetic exploitation and objectification. And she goes out of her way to paint this society as a kind of hell. This novella may be at once a sort of lamentation for lost souls and an exhortation not to become one.
Ozick seems to divide the spiritual life cycle of the human being into three phases. To use a formulation from the novella: There is the “before” phase, where your life is true and meaningful. There is the “during” phase which is a crisis or trauma that robs you of your truth and meaning. And there is the “after” phase which is the life you lead after you have lost your truth and meaning. Here Ozick gives us a character who, though she has arrived at the “after” phase, cannot forget what happened to her during her trauma phase, and stubbornly refuses to forget the truth and meaning she lost during it. So, in a way, Rosa is living in all three phases at once. We see her tenacity as she does this, but also her bitterness. And we see how she has to consciously struggle to keep her dignity, and deflect away the arguments of people coaching her to forget her loss and just move on. What she holds onto of her truth and meaning is very insubstantial, mostly a fantasy. Even though Rosa’s ‘life is over’ we watch her grudgingly identifying and fighting against the meaninglessness of what is left.
This is a rather bleak portrait of what it means to be a modern human adult, and I would say despairingly accurate for many. Ozick’s portrait is somewhat hyperbolic in the sense that it is impossible for her character to recover her loss, while I think people can and often do bounce back from their crisis and reclaim their truth and meaning, even after completely losing it. At the societal scale Ozick seems to say that a world filled with people living without truth and meaning leads to an infantile culture of self-indulgence, frivolousness and unsympathetic exploitation and objectification. And she goes out of her way to paint this society as a kind of hell. This novella may be at once a sort of lamentation for lost souls and an exhortation not to become one.
November 22, 2010
This book, within the first ten pages, manages to accomplish what other authors often fail to achieve in three to four hundred. Cynthia Ozick captures the reader immediately with her intimate tone as she lovingly speaks of the infant -- swaddled in a shawl -- that she carries while walking with a companion down a seemingly endless road. A road leading to a concentration camp. The book refrains from going into detail of the Holocaust, its Soldiers and descriptions of horrid treatment endured by millions and instead, focuses on this small band of three as they make their way. It is a story of a mother's love and decisions made. It is a haunting story which will remain with you long after you've closed its pages.
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