The Mighty Walzer / by Howard Jacobson

Young Oliver Walzer doesn't have much to recommend him, even less to recommend his family. Growing up Jewish in 1950's Manchester (UK), he's the butt of numerous jokes by his older sisters, the shame of his father who wants a more macho son (with "swagger") and the target (literally) of his peers, the "prefab boys", who peg him with rocks if he goes outside. Yet Oliver's never questioned that he's destined for great things. "Grandiosity was in the family," after all. As adolescence settles upon him, so does a penchant for the game of ping pong which he plays by himself each afternoon in mesmerizing fashion. Before long he's good enough to beat his parents then his neighbors, then the kids at the local Jewish Community Center, the Akiva club where his use of a hardbound book as a paddle is smirked at until he wins over some admirers with his skill. Walzer comes into his own by his mid-teen years, even entering into a few awkward relations with the opposite sex where it becomes apparent that, despite his prowess at table tennis, he's nothing so grandiose when it comes to love. Through it all, anecdotes of growing up in post war England, life in blue collar Manchester, living with his charismatic father and "reserved" mother are colorfully portrayed and generously detailed in equally poignant and ribald fashion.

Howard Jacobson, 2010 Booker Prizewinning writer of The Finkler Question, has been called England's version of Philip Roth, a commendation he's replied to by proclaiming that he's the "Jewish Jane Austen". Not just a fantastic comic novelist, he's also very outspoken politically as a "liberal Zionist", contributing weekly to the UK news publication The Independent. The Mighty Walzer is the most autobiographical of his books--Jacobson was also a champion table tennis player as a teenager in Manchester--and though it may not be apparent upon a first reading (a lot of Yiddish and British slang can be a bit hindering) the satire and jovial tone of the book is enough to satisfy any reader already familiar with the work of Philip Roth, John Irving or even Saul Bellow. Either way, Jacobson's definitely not an author to miss out on and not someone who should be taken merely for his comically acerbic style. (FIC JACOBSON)

Songs For The Butcher's Daughter: A Novel / by Peter Manseau

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In Massachusetts in the summer of 1996, a young man works diligently at translating some obscure Yiddish literary works when, almost by accident, he stumbles upon a 93-year-old man, one Itsik Malpesh, who claims to be the "last and greatest Yiddish poet in America". Originally from Kishinev in the Russian Empire (modern day Moldova), Malpesh has come a long way, his life a twisting journey ever since the very beginning. He was born during a pogrom, or political uprising in which a series of riots directed towards the Jews in the region was intensely underway. While hiding from the marauders at one point during the upheaval, Itsik's mother, grandmother and sisters as well as the town butcher’s small daughter, Sasha, were discovered when Itzik’s mother unexpectedly went into labor and her birth pains alerted their pursuants. The story goes that all of the attackers froze when the young Sasha raised her fist against the intruders, ultimately allowing the family to escape. Since then, Malpesh has written poems, all dedicated to Sasha, in a collection he has called “Songs for the Butcher’s Daughter.”
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With help from the translator who dutifully records all of the pertinent details, Itsik lays down the story of his life, how he escaped further persecution in Russia during the revolution, fled Europe ultimately avoiding both wars and ended up in New York City's lower East Side during the Great Depression. It was here within the Jewish enclave of the broader immigrant community that the Yiddish language flourished and Itsik's gift for poetry began to be fully cultivated. Also relayed is the story of how, against improbable odds, Itsik was able to reconnect with Sasha, the two becoming lovers later in life until a crucial misunderstanding broke their bond and Itsik's faith in humanity.
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More of a fictional recreation of the sage of real-life Yiddish poet Itsik Manger, who's story is more or less the same as Manseau's literary creation (odd how similar the names are), this is yet another book which attempts to preserve a forgotten part of Jewish heritage. It's a likeable story. The riveting chronicle of Manger/Malpesh, his words and poetry, is as good a saga as any to bridge the gap between languages, cultures and generations. Manseau, his own alter ego forming the book's other main character of the Yiddish translator, nicely lays down the finer points of Jewish folklore and mysticism in addition to fleshing out a good narrative. But although Itsik's life is cleverly told, he and the other characters lack substance, and many unfolding events push the story outside the realm of believability. Taken into context with the historical anecdotes of Manger's own life, the book becomes a bit convoluted as it goes on. (FIC MANSEAU)

Matters of Honor / by Louis Begley

American author Louis Begley is perhaps best known for his 1996 novel About Schmidt, a book later adapted into a same titled, Oscar-nominated film starring Jack Nicholson and Kathy Bates. Born Ludwik Begleiter in Poland in 1933, Begley survived the deadly World War II genocide of all Polish Jews (he's Jewish) with aid from a compassionate Catholic family who helped hide he and his parents from the Gestapo. After the war, the Begleiters immigrated to America where the family Americanized their name and Ludwik Begleiter officially became Louis Begley. Upon graduating from Harvard, he married and had children, served for a time in the US Army and later went to law school. Despite only beginning his career as a novelist in the early 1990's (when he was in his sixties and still practicing law), Begley has carved out quite a career for himself publishing 8 novels, all well-received. Matters of Honor, Begley's latest published in 2007 is also his most autobiographical observing the relationship of three Harvard University friends in the mid-fifties.

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Thrown together as freshman roommates at Harvard in the fall of 1954, Sam Standish, Archibald P. Palmer III ("Archie") and Henry White quickly hit it off, bonding through their mutual affinity for women, alcohol and other 'gentlemanly' pursuits. On their own for what's really the first time, none feel the least bit homesick. Rather each has reason to put some distance between home and school and would rather establish new identities within the collegiate microcosm than dwell on where they came from. Blue-blooded Sam would seem the most prototypical Ivy Leaguer with his New England roots, an established family name, old money wealth and a boarding school upbringing. Yet that's exactly the classification he wants to separate himself as any silver spoon perks he does have are smoke and mirrors. In all honesty, Sam's parents are a public embarassment: his father's a notorious drunk and his slatternly mother's well-known for her parade of casual affairs. If that weren't reason enough to seclude himself from his preppy brethren, there's the fact that he's also adopted--a secret only he, his parents and the family lawyer know about.

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As a lifelong military brat, Archie has no real roots other than wherever his father's been stationed and nothing so exceptional for a surname absent the deceptively prestigious roman numeral at the end giving off the suspicion of elite breeding. His easy manners and worldwise nature never find him without friends and, consequently, never without a free drink in his hand or a fun-loving girl on his arm. Diametrically opposite of Sam and Archie is Henry, a New York City native who got into Harvard on full academic scholarship. Despite attending one of the crummiest public high schools in Brooklyn, he's nevertheless among of the smartest, most well-read and hardest-working freshman students around. Henry's no nerdy outsider though. His booksmarts and unfashionable looks don't offset his equally acute knack for adapting and fitting in. Just like the other two though, Henry has his uncomfortable past issues which he'd prefer not to get into: he's Jewish, a Polish immigrant, he hid in a cellar during the Gestapo raids, all extended family apart from he and his parents were gassed, etc. On the surface, Henry's tragic past doesn't seem too encumbering. He's upbeat and on top of things mostly, into girls and good times and happy to be out of earshot of his squawking mother, until the day everything changes bringing the three friends into contact with a daunting truth and a decision which could haunt their lives forever.
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Begley knows how to tell a story. Even writing about the holocaust, a genre so top heavy with personalized fiction accounts, the author's ability to peak a reader's interest is remarkable. He writes with a sort of casually sedated style, relaying information about each character with practiced nonchalance. Somehow this gives the story an alarming level of assiduity, the reader keen on all of the subtle moods and motives of the trio of friends who seem like your closest kin (imperfections and all) rather than literary characters. Narrated in past tense by Sam recollects everything from first impressions to girlfriends to nights out on the town as the book moves along at a solid pace, never revealing too much too fast yet offering enough crumbs for the reader to keep the pages turning as the accessible prose slyly allows everyone in to the lives of the three protagonists. (FIC BEGLEY)

Daniel Deronda / by George Eliot

Born to unknown parentage, Daniel Deronda has been raised by respected gentleman Sir Hugo Mallinger since infancy. Now a grown man, Dan's a well-educated, well-traveled and well-groomed proper Victorian gentleman. Yet not all's quite right; intuition tells him he needs to re-examine his life from a root perspective, to pursue a more philosophical mode of existence. And so, after a series of circumstances in which he rescues a young woman, a Jewess, from the river, Deronda begins a twisting, soul-searching journey, one leading him down an unforeseen path of enlightenment and self-revelation.

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Meanwhile not far away, Gwendolen Harleth is a beautiful, adventurous young girl from a middle class family. Well-versed and privy to the fact that she's a desirous prospect among men, Gwendolen has the role of the minxish coquette down pat and though discrete to the proper degree, sees no reason she shouldn't enjoy her life to the fullest. But when her father dies, leaving her mother widowed with limited assets, the family is forced to move in with relatives, a situation obliging Gwendolen to "marry up", thus providing financial leverage for herself and her family. Wealthy neighborhood bachelor Henleigh Grancourt seems a timely match for Gwendolen. The nephew of Sir Hugo Mallinger and heir to a vast fortune, he's well-regarded and can provide the type of life Gwendolen feels she deserves. But things change quickly as, after the wedding, Gwendolen finds Grancourt to be a cruel, emotionally abusive man who's already fathered several children with a previous mistress, a woman he'd previously promised to marry. Now trapped in a fate she never could have anticipated, Gwendolen foresees a bleak, foreboding future as her life becomes one of relentless, daily misery.

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Eliot's final completed novel, published just before her death in 1880, was also her only book set in contemporary Victorian society; her others usually dated back a generation or two previous. As well as rendering themes associated with ethical soul searching, the perils of marriage and conflicting intellectual paradigms, the story is notable as an early reference to Jewish mysticism, namely its associations with Kabbalah and proto-Zionism. Deronda's introspective quest for personal truth contrasts well to Gwendolen's egotistical, self-seeking nature and the pair's ironical relationship and correlating problems elicit a clever nuance. This complementary dichotomy of characters was a signature literary device Eliot had used previously in Middlemarch and Adam Bede and an arrangement which Tolstoy and others would similarly incorporate into their own work. (FIC ELIOT)