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Tragic, comic, and utterly honest, this extraordinary memoir is at once a great family saga and a magical self-portrait of a writer who witnessed the birth of a nation and lived through its turbulent history. It is the story of a boy growing up in the war-torn Jerusalem of the forties and fifties in a small apartment crowded with books in twelve languages and relatives speaking nearly as many. His mother and father, both wonderful people, were ill-suited to each other. When Oz was twelve and a half years old, his mother committed suicide-a tragedy that was to change his life. He leaves the constraints of the family and the community of dreamers, scholars, and failed businessmen to join a kibbutz, changes his name, marries, has children, and finally becomes a writer as well as an active participant in the political life of Israel. A story of clashing cultures and lives, of suffering and perseverance, of love and darkness.… (more)
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Instead, we get a fond recollection of pre-partition Jerusalem, which comes off, as sleepy, crumbling town whose myriad ethnicities looked anxiously toward an uncertain future. We hear about some of his famous relatives, which include noted historian Joseph Klausner and various other luminaries on the Israeli right wing. We hear about the author's neighbors who shared space with him in a crowded, slightly shoddy lower-middle class neighborhood. And, perhaps most importantly, we hear about the author's parents. Indeed, "A Tale of Love and Darkness" sometimes seems as much about the author's life and successes and about their difficult and often frustrated lives -- the author's father was an emotionally awkward, rather pedantic academic, while his mother seemed his opposite in every way, a beautiful, charismatic, intellectually sharp and melancholic beauty. What's most remarkable about all this is how faithfully Oz seems to have recreated all of this: he takes his readers on walks around old Jerusalem and reconstructs the social, intellectual, and political circles that his parents ran in with a surprising degree of accuracy. It's not surprising, then, that there's a lot here about the formative years of the Israeli state, and about the conflicting intellectual and religious currents that drove it. For the record, the author's parents and grandparents seemed to favor a conservative model that had a lot in common with nineteenth-century European nationalism, while the author himself ended up in the Kibbutz movement. While his family emigrated before the Second World War, one also gets a real sense of what a touch-and-go, improvised affair state-building could be: Oz describes both an agrarian industry and a stat bureaucracy being built, more or less, from the ground up.
When it comes to the author himself, he seems most enthusiastic when talking about his literary and sexual development, and his passion for both books and women fairly blasts through the pages. His description of life at Kibbutz Hulda is also interesting, as it follows his transformation from a shy, pale, and nervous city boy to a much stronger and more confident farmer. While he mentions that he left the Kibbutz in 1985, the author seems to avoid expressing opinions about contemporary Israeli politics, though he takes care to emphasize that some of the most important moments of his lives were those when he realized -- or was taught -- that the Arab residents of the Levant on the other side of the fence were, in fact, human. To sum up, "A Tale of Love and Darkness" is well worth reading. I'm planning to read Anthony Shadid's "House of Stone" to see if it might contain a similar story from a very different perspective.
I love Oz’s writing. It’s very passionate, but often in a very understated way. This is a truly special book. Enjoy it.
This is already a fascinating story from the purely historical point of view - I knew very little about Israel, and most of what I've read about the Jewish experience in the 20th century has been by people who either experienced the Nazi terror at first hand or who emigrated to Britain or the US. So it was very interesting to read about the Zionist movement in the early 20th century, Tarbut schools, the politics surrounding the creation of the new state, and all the rest. And particularly about the role played by the reinvention of Hebrew as a modern language. It's not many writers who get to work in a language on which the ink is still wet - Oz records that his father's uncle, Joseph Klausner, was responsible for devising the Hebrew words for such basic concepts as "shirt", "pencil" and "rhinoceros". Oz himself was brought up speaking only Hebrew, but his parents and most of their neighbours still used Russian, Yiddish, and various other European languages between themselves, especially when something had to be said that wasn't for the boy's ears.
The way emigration to Palestine worked also meant that Oz grew up in a very odd social environment in which almost every adult in the very poor neighbourhood where they lived seemed to be a poet, scholar, physician or politician of some kind. His father was a literary scholar, working as an academic librarian since there weren't enough students to provide employment for more than a small fraction of the teachers. One of young Amos's early memories is of being told off very firmly for arranging his little collection of picture books on the shelf by size. We don't do that sort of thing in this house!
Then there's the whole theme of the cultures that are competing to define the new nation - all the different permutations of secular humanism versus orthodox Judaism, suits and ties vs. suntans and shorts, Tel Aviv vs. Jerusalem, shtetl vs. kibbutz, left vs. right, peaceful coexistence vs. permanent war, one state vs. two, and so on - none of them a straightforward choice.
But even if you start reading this book for its subject-matter, you will probably go on because of Oz's extraordinary skill as a storyteller. Every little anecdote is a joy in itself, but it also draws you in further along the carefully constructed path of the story, bringing you towards the narrative crux, the key event in his childhood, his mother's death. But not actually reaching it until the very end of the book - each time the story approaches this key moment, it swerves off in a different direction, and these moments of not telling turn out to be some of the most expressive in the book. Very moving.
I was also struck by the ease with which Oz switches between the narrative voice of the observant child and that of the analytical adult, which is often something that gives memoirs an awkwardly disjointed feel - most writers are much better at one than the other. Here we hardly notice the joins, as he tells us about what he remembers seeing and hearing, then moves on seamlessly to reflect with hindsight on the wider context. He even manages to do this convincingly in the secondhand account of his mother's childhood in Rovno, as told him many years afterwards by her sister.
That wordatlarge was far away, attractive, marvelous, but to us it was dangerous and threatening. It didn't like the Jews because they were clever, quick-witted, successful, but also because they were noisy and pushy. It didn't like what we were doing here in the Land of Israel either, because it begrudged us even this meager strip of marshland, boulders, and desert. Out there, in the world, all the walls were covered with graffiti: "Yids, go back to Palestine," so we came back to Palestine, and now the worldatlarge shouts at us: "Yids, get out of Palestine."
AND
My father had a sensual relationship with his books. He loved feeling them, stroking them, sniffing them... books then really were sexier than books today: they were good to sniff and stroke and fondle. There were books with gold writing on fragrant, slightly rough leather bindings, that gave you gooseflesh when you touched them, as though you were groping something private and inaccessible, something that seemed to tremble at your touch. And there were other books that were bound in cloth-covered cardboard, stuck with a glue that had a wonderful smell. Every book had its own private, provocative scent. Sometimes the cloth came away from the cardboard, like a saucy skirt, and it was hard to resist the temptation to peep into the dark space between body and clothing and sniff those dizzying smells.
So, why rate the book so low? The best I can describe my experience in reading this book is that it was like being sat tightly wedged on a sofa between two proud parents who are determined to show you the family albums--stacks of them--and natter on and on about each photograph. Maybe I'd have felt differently were this not my first work by Amos and I were already a fan of his. Or if I better knew and cared about Israeli intelligentsia and literati. The political and military figures of Israel's short history I generally know and find interesting. It's certainly an eventful, fascinating history--but for me Amos made this story of him and his family before, during, and after the birth of Israel dull as dirt. The memoir was repetitive and rambling and overlong and I gave it over 200 pages before deciding I didn't want to suffer through 400 more.
Like a broken thread in a sweater,
Overall, this was a hard book for me to rate. There were parts that I raced through and others that I struggled through. I think, mainly, because the subject matter isn't something I'm really drawn to reading about.
OPENING LINE: I was born and bred in a tiny, low ceilinged ground-floor flat.
QUOTES:
But all of them, Tolstoyans and Dostoevskians alike, in our neighborhood of Keren Avraham worked for Chekhov.
Facts have a tendency to obscure the truth.
Success flows from perspiration, and inspiration from diligence and effort.
I wandered dizzily through virtual forests, forests of words, huts of words, meadows of words.
...a magic piper who draws the desperate and lonely into the folds of his silken cloak. The ancient serial killer of disappointed souls.
....yellow electricity pouring out like glue that's so thick it's hard to spill, it can hardly move, it can barely make its heavy way, the way viscous liquids do; dull and yellow and slow, it advances like heavy motor oil across the evening, which is a little gray-blue now, and the breeze stirs and licks it for a moment.
...while it was true that books could change with the years just as much as people could, the difference was that whereas people would always drop you when they could no longer get any advantage or pleasure or interest or at least a good feeling from you, a book would never abandon you.
There were lots of great lines and word use in this book such as "arguing with an angry chorus of dogs", "whole parliament of sparrows", and "inhaling silence like a smell".
The question for me is why is this included as a book you must read before you die? It was added after the first edition and it has retained its position. It really isn't fiction though memoirs are never fully literal either. It's important to me was to read about the European Jews who left Europe before Hitler started killing them. I liked reading about what it felt like as hey waited to hear if they would get to be a country. I also learned a lot about the painful childhood of Amos Oz who wanted to grow up to be a book and later states, "I killed off my father" referencing his decision to change his name to Oz. The author has taken the somewhat unpopular stance that there should be two countries, Arab and Jew. It's a long list of authors, books and literary mentions in this book. Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson was the inspiration that launched his career.
Amos Oz's memoir of growing up in Israel from before war of independence till ...An only child prodigy, mother commits suicide, Arab Israel Conflict, moving to a kibbutz
Firstly as a personal record of those years I found the book invaluable. Secondly, this wonderful translation
As a teenager this conflict sees Amos leave home (a few years after his mother's desperately sad suicide), change his name to Oz and join a kibbutz, much against the family traditional view of what his future should be. It is as a kibbutzim that Oz finds his gift as a writer and in an odd way reinforces the great tradition of literary scholarship that brought his forebears fame.
An important book to read.
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2014-15 Reading Circle selection