Monday, June 29, 2015

# PDF Ebook Is It Night or Day?, by Fern Schumer Chapman

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Is It Night or Day?, by Fern Schumer Chapman

It's 1938, and twelve-year-old Edith is about to move from the tiny German village she's lived in all her life to a place that seems as foreign as the moon: Chicago, Illinois. And she will be doing it alone. This dramatic and chilling novel about one girl's escape from Hitler's Germany was inspired by the experiences of the author's mother, one of twelve hundred children rescued by Americans as part of the One Thousand Children project.

This title has Common Core connections.

Is It Night or Day? is a 2011 Bank Street - Best Children's Book of the Year.

  • Sales Rank: #1144398 in Books
  • Brand: Farrar, Straus & Giroux
  • Published on: 2010-03-16
  • Released on: 2010-03-16
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.49" h x .91" w x 5.93" l, .71 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 224 pages
Features
  • Great product!

From School Library Journal
Grade 5–9—Tiddy, 12, can't understand why she is being forced to leave her beloved family to go and live in a strange land. By 1938, anti-Semitism has taken hold in Germany and the Westerfields, "an old and once respected Jewish family of Stockstadt," are suddenly "filthy Jews." Grandmother refuses to leave, but Vati and Mutti fear for the lives of their daughters, so they send Betty to a family in Chicago. A year later Tiddy is put on a ship to America to live with her Onkel Jacob. She soon finds that her aunt and cousin do not want her there, and that her sister lives too far away to visit often. From her first day in her new home and school, Tiddy is stripped of her identity and connection to her homeland. She is horrified when Aunt Mildred throws away her beautiful handmade blouse. She faces the humiliation of being placed in first grade at the age of 12 because she can't speak English. The final cord is severed when her parents die in a concentration camp. The author has "given voice" to her mother, Edith Westerfield, in this fictionalized account of her immigration experience. In doing so, Chapman has created an engaging memoirlike novel.—Wendy Scalfaro, G. Ray Bodley High School, Fulton, NY
(c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

From Booklist
*Starred Review* Chapman based this spare historical novel on her mother’s experience of coming to America to escape Nazi persecution. At age 12, Edith is sent by her German Jewish parents to relatives on Chicago’s South Side in 1937. Oppressed by her aunt, who makes Edith work as a maid, and teased at school, where she starts off in first grade until she learns English, Edith suffers prejudice, including anti-Semitism in the girls’ locker room (“Dirty Jew!”); and after the U.S. declares war, other children view her as an “enemy alien” and call her “Dirty Kraut.” Even worse, she receives almost no word from her parents, until the final shocking news about the camps comes in 1945. In Edith’s bewildered, sad, angry voice, the words are eloquent and powerful. Did her parents want to get rid of her? Why does her older sister, also in Chicago, not call? Just as heartbreaking is an early letter from her mother: “I open the door and no one is there.” On a lighter note, baseball helps Edith, and her hero, Hank Greenberg, inspires her to take pride in her Jewish heritage. As with the best writing, the specifics about life as a young immigrant are universal, including the book’s title, which is drawn from a quote by a Sudanese immigrant “Lost Boy” who arrived in the U.S. in 2001. Grades 6-10. --Hazel Rochman

Review

“This book is an exceptional story of survival and devotion to homeland....This is a wonderful study of the Holocaust in a way that young readers will understand. Highly Recommended.” ―Library Media Connection [STARRED]

“This empathetic historical novel rings with authenticity.” ―Kirkus

“In Edith's bewildered, sad, angry voice, the words are eloquent and powerful... As with the best writing, the specifics about life as a young immigrant are universal…” ―Booklist [STARRED]

“...Chapman captures a plucky determination in Edith that readers will find endearing. There is no Cinderella ending for Edith, but the hope she finds in Jewish ballplayer Hank Greenberg and the honesty in her story make this historical fiction well worth reading. ” ―Publishers Weekly

Most helpful customer reviews

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Is It Night or Day?
By Beth Ivanoski
Is It Night or Day? raises awareness about a rarely discussed topic, child-immigrants assimilating into American culture. Edith, who represents scores of child-immigrants, suffers with waves of confusion and emptiness. Classmates bully her while she is acclimating into American classrooms. Prejudice hurts Edith many times over. She grapples with a greater identity crisis than before leaving her motherland. She is forced to ask herself questions that plague many adolescents: Who am I? Do I belong? Will I ever be loved again?

Fern Schumer Chapman's Is It Night or Day? and her memoir, Motherland, capture childhood trauma and the legacy that results. Both are important works that appeal to young adults and adults. They raise interesting topics for book clubs and are a valuable addition to school curriculums.

5 of 5 people found the following review helpful.
A powerful look at immigration
By J.Prather
This is a stunning portrayal of a young girl struggling to fit into American culture after fleeing Nazi Germany in the years leading up to World War II. Edith comes to our country at the age of 12 after saying goodbye to her family and friends, sent to America by parents who fear for her future but are only able to get visas for their children. The awful decision that families had to face, the heart wrenching grief of parents having to send their young children off alone to a new country is all seen through the bewildered eyes of this young girl. Edith can't really understand why she has to leave, and her parents go back and forth about how much hope to give and how much truth to tell.

Edith's experiences in America are by no means perfect; her aunt is overbearing, she gets placed in a first grade classroom because she can't speak english, and she soon realizes that anti-semitism is common in America too. Some moments, such as her puzzlement over the Jim Crow rules of the south, and her panic at having to say the Pledge of Allegiance at school were particulary telling and will generate lots of discussion.

While this book does not present a particulary happy ending, it takes a unique look at child immigration and will be a perfect addition to a social studies curriculum for middle schoolers. There are many parallels to be drawn here between Edith's plight and the troubles of many immigrants today. I was impressed by the author's ability to tell such a powerful story in so few words. She portrays Edith's growth throughout the book and it was very gratifying to see her finally obtain a sense of pride in her Jewish heritage. A big recommend for grades 5-8.

4 of 5 people found the following review helpful.
What a courageous little girl!
By jackson
I have children and I can't even imagine sending my 12 year old ALONE on a ship to a foreigh country! But her selfless parents wanted life, and a better one at that, for their little girl. She must have had something in her to survive and to make up her mind she would live. Excellent read!

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Thursday, June 25, 2015

~~ Download PDF Till We Have Built Jerusalem: Architects of a New City, by Adina Hoffman

Download PDF Till We Have Built Jerusalem: Architects of a New City, by Adina Hoffman

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Till We Have Built Jerusalem: Architects of a New City, by Adina Hoffman

Till We Have Built Jerusalem: Architects of a New City, by Adina Hoffman



Till We Have Built Jerusalem: Architects of a New City, by Adina Hoffman

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Till We Have Built Jerusalem: Architects of a New City, by Adina Hoffman

A biographical excavation of one of the world’s great, troubled cities

A remarkable view of one of the world’s most beloved and troubled cities, Adina Hoffman’s Till We Have Built Jerusalem is a gripping and intimate journey into the very different lives of three architects who helped shape modern Jerusalem.

The book unfolds as an excavation. It opens with the 1934 arrival in Jerusalem of the celebrated Berlin architect Erich Mendelsohn, a refugee from Hitler’s Germany who must reckon with a complex new Middle Eastern reality. Next we meet Austen St. Barbe Harrison, Palestine’s chief government architect from 1922 to 1937. Steeped in the traditions of Byzantine and Islamic building, this “most private of public servants” finds himself working under the often stifling and violent conditions of British rule. And in the riveting final section, Hoffman herself sets out through the battered streets of today’s Jerusalem searching for traces of a possibly Greek, possibly Arab architect named Spyro Houris. Once a fixture on the local scene, Houris is now utterly forgotten, though his grand Armenian-tile-clad buildings still stand, a ghostly testimony to the cultural fluidity that has historically characterized Jerusalem at its best.

A beautifully written rumination on memory and forgetting, place and displacement, Till We Have Built Jerusalem uncovers the ramifying layers of one great city’s buried history as it asks what it means, everywhere, to be foreign and to belong.

  • Sales Rank: #518463 in Books
  • Published on: 2016-04-05
  • Released on: 2016-04-05
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 9.35" h x 1.25" w x 6.33" l, 1.29 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 368 pages

Review

“[A] scintillating study . . . Hoffman profiles three architects working in Palestine under British rule from 1918 to 1948 . . . The result is both vivid architectural criticism and an illuminating meditation on why Jerusalem’s divisions now seem intractable.” ―Publishers Weekly (starred review)

"Adina Hoffman is that very rare writer who moves lightly across vast realms of knowledge, transmuting the most intransigent material into illuminating and affecting narratives. Here is a book about the making of a city that is as emotionally potent as it is intellectually bracing."
―Pankaj Mishra, author of From the Ruins of Empire: The Revolt Against the West and the Remaking of Asia

“Adina Hoffman does for Jerusalem what great writers have done for Paris, London, and New York: with charm, skill, and originality, she weaves together a vivid social and architectural history of one of the fabled cities of the world.”
―Vivian Gornick, author of The Odd Woman and the City

"Part intellectual search, part urban history, Adina Hoffman’s engrossing narrative reveals the multi-layered polyglot melting pot that was Jerusalem. I thoroughly enjoyed this book."
―Witold Rybczynski, author of How Architecture Works

"A fascinating synthesis that manages to distill biography, history, politics, aesthetics, religion and psychology into one illuminating, lively, witty text. This is one of the finest books I've ever read on the difficult, fragile arts of architecture and city-making."
―Phillip Lopate, author of Waterfront: A Walk Around Manhattan

"Adina Hoffman’s moving exploration of three colorful, cosmopolitan, ethnically diverse architects who shaped Jerusalem beyond the Old City walls restores a sense of vibrant malleability to that city’s stones. This poignant reminder of the place's heterogeneous past gives hope to all those who continue to build a more inclusive Jerusalem in their imaginations."
―George Prochnik, author of The Impossible Exile

"A beautifully written and captivating history . . . in [Hoffman's] hands the search for Houris becomes a captivating detective story . . . Till We Have Built Jerusalem is a passionate, lyrical defense of a Jerusalem that could still be, and a prophecy of the grim future that awaits the city if it continues on its current path. Our leaders would do well to heed her warning." --Samuel Thrope, Haaretz

"A superb and sharp-eyed account . . . [Till We Have Built Jerusalem is] a work of richly detailed cultural and social criticism by an author with a deep command of history . . . None of the many books about Jerusalem is quite as charming and engaging, nor as surprising and satisfying, as Hoffman’s marvelous examination of the Jerusalem streetscape through the eyes of three men who helped to build it." --Jonathan Kirsch, Jewish Journal

“In Till We Have Built Jerusalem, Adina Hoffman goes beyond writing history and biography to bring these [architects], their dreams and their work vividly and poignantly to life . . . She digs deep, but also casts her net outward to pull in dozens of fascinating supporting characters.”
―Elin Schoen Brockman, Hadassah

" [A] brave and often beautiful book . . . [Hoffman's] subjects may be three now largely obscure builders--a German Jew, an Englishman and an Arab--but Till We Have Built Jerusalem is very much a book about the present . . . [Hoffman] writes with a quiet, stubborn courage, scouring the archives not only to understand Israel and Palestine as they exist today but to resurrect another vision, long since clouded over, in which identities were not so violently policed. In the lost Jerusalem that Hoffman so skillfully and sorrowfully rebuilds, the permeability of boundaries--be they ethnic or aesthetic--was not a threat but a proud and defining characteristic of urban life." --Ben Ehrenreich, LA Times

"Lovely . . . A composite of biography, architectural and political history, and reportage, Hoffman’s engaging book illustrates the intricate interplay between architecture, identity, and history in this ancient and troubled city." --Nick Romeo, The Christian Science Monitor

"Till We Have Built Jerusalem delivers a rich portrait of the twentieth-century evolution of the city, its history and architecture. Readers interested in those topics will find much of value in this deeply researched, thoughtful book."--Ira Wolfman, Jewish Book Council

About the Author
Adina Hoffman is the author of House of Windows: Portraits from a Jerusalem Neighborhood and My Happiness Bears No Relation to Happiness: A Poet’s Life in the Palestinian Century, named one of the best twenty books of 2009 by the Barnes & Noble Review. She is also the author, with Peter Cole, of Sacred Trash: The Lost and Found World of the Cairo Geniza, which received the American Library Association’s award for the Jewish book of the year. The recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, she was awarded one of the inaugural Windham Campbell prizes in 2013. She divides her time between Jerusalem and New Haven.

Most helpful customer reviews

4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
A riveting portrait of Jerusalem
By JH
I was lucky enough to receive a copy of this before its publication and was immediately drawn in by the deft and beautiful writing. I never imagined that a book about three of modern Jerusalem's architects could be so moving and illuminating. The book gave me an entirely new perspective on the city's history as well as its present. Hoffman's personal impressions of both are relayed with a light, masterful touch, but are nonetheless devastating. I'll read anything Adina Hoffman writes - she can clearly tackle any subject and make it riveting! Highly recommended especially for fans of writing about architecture, urban life, Jerusalem, and the Middle East.

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Wonderfull for s visitor to Israel and esp Jerusalem--very
By Amazon Customer
Wonderfull for s visitor to Israel and esp
Jerusalem--very timely

0 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Raj nostalgia
By Arpangeles
A passable history of early twentieth century Jerusalem in the key of Raj nostalgia. Palestinians have a notably minimal presence. Still some interesting things to be learned about the Mandate period, although nothing groundbreaking.

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Saturday, June 20, 2015

** Fee Download American Mirror: The Life and Art of Norman Rockwell, by Deborah Solomon

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American Mirror: The Life and Art of Norman Rockwell, by Deborah Solomon

"Welcome to Rockwell Land," writes Deborah Solomon in the introduction to this spirited and authoritative biography of the painter who provided twentieth-century America with a defining image of itself. As the star illustrator of The Saturday Evening Post for nearly half a century, Norman Rockwell mingled fact and fiction in paintings that reflected the we-the-people, communitarian ideals of American democracy. Freckled Boy Scouts and their mutts, sprightly grandmothers, a young man standing up to speak at a town hall meeting, a little black girl named Ruby Bridges walking into an all-white school―here was an America whose citizens seemed to believe in equality and gladness for all.

Who was this man who served as our unofficial "artist in chief" and bolstered our country's national identity? Behind the folksy, pipe-smoking façade lay a surprisingly complex figure―a lonely painter who suffered from depression and was consumed by a sense of inadequacy. He wound up in treatment with the celebrated psychoanalyst Erik Erikson. In fact, Rockwell moved to Stockbridge, Massachusetts so that he and his wife could be near Austen Riggs, a leading psychiatric hospital. "What's interesting is how Rockwell's personal desire for inclusion and normalcy spoke to the national desire for inclusion and normalcy," writes Solomon. "His work mirrors his own temperament―his sense of humor, his fear of depths―and struck Americans as a truer version of themselves than the sallow, solemn, hard-bitten Puritans they knew from eighteenth-century portraits."

Deborah Solomon, a biographer and art critic, draws on a wealth of unpublished letters and documents to explore the relationship between Rockwell's despairing personality and his genius for reflecting America's brightest hopes. "The thrill of his work," she writes, "is that he was able to use a commercial form [that of magazine illustration] to thrash out his private obsessions." In American Mirror, Solomon trains her perceptive eye not only on Rockwell and his art but on the development of visual journalism as it evolved from illustration in the 1920s to photography in the 1930s to television in the 1950s. She offers vivid cameos of the many famous Americans whom Rockwell counted as friends, including President Dwight Eisenhower, the folk artist Grandma Moses, the rock musician Al Kooper, and the generation of now-forgotten painters who ushered in the Golden Age of illustration, especially J. C. Leyendecker, the reclusive legend who created the Arrow Collar Man.

Although derided by critics in his lifetime as a mere illustrator whose work could not compete with that of the Abstract Expressionists and other modern art movements, Rockwell has since attracted a passionate following in the art world. His faith in the power of storytelling puts his work in sync with the current art scene. American Mirror brilliantly explains why he deserves to be remembered as an American master of the first rank.

  • Sales Rank: #328165 in Books
  • Published on: 2013-11-05
  • Released on: 2013-11-05
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 9.09" h x 1.62" w x 6.43" l, 1.69 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 512 pages

From Publishers Weekly
In this well-paced, insightful biography of the iconic illustrator for the Saturday Evening Post, art critic Solomon (Utopia Parkway: The Life and Work of Joseph Cornell) reveals an enormously complicated man whose wholesome vision of America was not merely commercial kitsch, but art that sprung from an emotional life fraught with anxiety, depression, and self-doubt. This sympathetic portrait depicts a repressed and humble Rockwell—a fastidious realist whose style and obsessions clashed with the values of modernism. Thrice married and an apathetic husband, he clearly preferred the companionship of male friends and was likely a closeted homosexual. Rockwell also had an obsessive-compulsive personality and received therapy from the psychoanalyst Erik Erikson, who became a crutch as his second wife slipped into manic alcoholism. Solomon effectively refutes common misperceptions of his work, showing that Rockwell did not promote stereotypes, suburban conformity, or cater his work to the Post&'s demands. In addition, the author perceptively highlights the paintings&' narrative intelligence, comedy, and technical skill. Though Solomon opts to simplify and quickly dismiss criticism of Rockwell (such as Dwight Macdonald&'s), her substantive narrative captures the abundant complexities of this unusual artist, and reclaims him as a master storyteller. 8 pages of color illus. Agent: Amanda Urban, ICM. (Nov.)

From Booklist
*Starred Review* Esteemed art critic and biographer Solomon turns our perception of Norman Rockwell inside out in this fast-paced yet richly interpretative inquiry. Rockwell became famous for creating 323 meticulously rendered, witty, and touching covers for the spectacularly popular Saturday Evening Post between 1916 and 1962. Precise in their detail and expressive in their psychology, Rockwell’s narrative depictions of all-American small-town life are charming and rascally, yet Solomon discerns sorrow. She reads his many portraits of exuberant boys as a rewriting of his own unhappy past as a runty kid in cramped New York apartments. Drawing was his solace and illustration his goal, though for all his success, he felt anachronistic as abstract expressionism flourished, and his “fastidious realism” seemed quaint. But that wasn’t his greatest source of frustration. A workaholic neat-freak, Rockwell—whose first wife divorced him due to mental cruelty, and whose second, the mother of his three sons, became an institutionalized alcoholic—was happiest in the company of young men. As Solomon points out manifestations of “homoerotic desires” in Rockwell’s brilliantly composed paintings, her sensitivity to his struggles deepen appreciation for his virtuosic artistry and for his valor in using his work to champion civil rights and nuclear disarmament. Solomon’s penetrating and commanding biography is brimming with surprising details and provocative juxtapositions, just like Rockwell’s mesmerizing paintings. --Donna Seaman

Review

“In her engaging and ultimately sad biography of Norman Rockwell, Deborah Solomon fills in the partly known life of one of America's most famous and popular illustrator-artists . . . Ms. Solomon's book fully justifies a fresh look at his life. An art critic and author of biographies of Joseph Cornell and Jackson Pollock and a frequent contributor to The New York Times, she offers something new, entertaining and disturbing. Her challenge was to explain a life utterly different from Rockwell's humorous and optimistic paintings. She has told his story with a breadth of facts and narrative finesse. It is a revelation.” ―John Wilmerding, The New York Times

“Deborah Solomon has created a biography as vivid and touching as a Rockwell interior. This is the definitive biography of an American master who came in through the back door.” ―Steve Martin, author of An Object of Beauty

“American Mirror is a masterpiece--vivid, forthright and insightful. Through superb research and keen interpretation, Deborah Solomon tells the story of an artist so many thought they knew well, and perhaps did not know at all. An epic achievement.” ―Laurie Norton Moffatt, director of the Norman Rockwell Museum

“Norman Rockwell turns out not to have lived in the America he invented, the republic of station wagons, Santa Claus, and good citizenship. Deborah Solomon offers up a textured portrait of the man who carried no pictures of his family and never met a therapist he didn't like. Solomon masters foreground, background, and middle ground in this taut, beautifully written biography.” ―Stacy Schiff, author of Cleopatra: A Life and winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Biography

“Norman Rockwell remains our country's most beloved, most reviled, and most misunderstood painter. In American Mirror, Deborah Solomon tells his remarkable story with uncommon intelligence and grace.” ―Roz Chast, New Yorker cartoonist

“Deborah Solomon has done the culture a huge favor by placing Norman Rockwell among the most important American artists of the twentieth century. She reveals Rockwell in all his contradictions--celebrant of family values but indifferent husband, self-professed New Englander but restless traveler, apolitical for most of his life but by the end a passionate believer in civil rights. This is a great biography of a singular American genius, who has long deserved it.” ―Bruce McCall, New Yorker illustrator

“In American Mirror, Deborah Solomon has set herself, pointillist detail by detail, to unraveling the mystery of Norman Rockwell--the friendliest of painters who turns out to be the most complex of men. This is that rarest of books: the biography as page-turner, leading you effortlessly onwards.” ―Daphne Merkin, author of Enchantment

“Deborah Solomon's beautiful, complex life of Norman Rockwell shows how his beloved pictures--many of which appeared in the Saturday Evening Post--expressed Americans' hopes for the nation, even though they did not often show the real America.” ―Alan Brinkley, author of The Publisher: Henry Luce and His American Century

“Solomon's book is deeply researched, vigorously argued, and very well written.” ―Christopher Benfey, The New York Review of Books

“[A] highly readable, illuminating book . . . Solomon is blessedly free of art-world blather or snobbery, writing in a style that balances elegance, irony and straightforward storytelling.” ―Maria Puente, USA Today

“Don't be fooled by the controversy into thinking that this book is about Rockwell's sexual impulses. It isn't. Solomon traces his evolution as an artist, laying it alongside struggles in his own life. The result is a fascinating portrait of an underappreciated and often ridiculed artist.” ―Stephen L. Carter, Bloomberg (Best Books of 2013)

“American Mirror: The Life and Art of Norman Rockwell is a masterpiece of the biographer's art.” ―Lee Siegel, The New Yorker's "Page-Turner" blog

“Esteemed art critic and biographer Solomon turns our perception of Norman Rockwell inside out in this fast-paced yet richly interpretative inquiry . . . Solomon's penetrating and commanding biography is brimming with surprising details and provocative juxtapositions.” ―Donna Seaman, Booklist (starred review)

“In anticipation of Thanksgiving, every American who cherishes the traditions that make this country great should acquire a copy of American Mirror, Deborah Solomon's brilliantly insightful chronicle of the life of illustrator Norman Rockwell.” ―Jonathan Lopez, The Wall Street Journal

“American Mirror is a book of dazzling and accomplished detail.” ―Ben Davis, Slate

“[Deborah Solomon's] Rockwell biography is well-researched; her prose intelligent, accessible and touched occasionally with humor; her readings of Rockwell's paintings sharp and sensible.” ―Jim Higgins, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

“[American Mirror] is a biography of the highest caliber . . . Solomon's intimate language is complemented by brisk pacing, providing a narrative that feels refreshing, nimble, and keyed into the present.” ―Rebecca Rubenstein, Kirkus Reviews

“Rockwell is a beloved figure in American art, and Solomon's compelling portrait offers the attention and insight that this complex man deserves.” ―Alice Cary, Bookpage

“[A] wonderful biography. . . . [Deborah Solomon] does a beautiful job of rescuing a man who became something of a cliche and making him fresh again.” ―Garrison Keillor, Tampa Bay Times

Most helpful customer reviews

144 of 158 people found the following review helpful.
biography dragged down by excessive opinion and interpretation
By Mark bennett
This is a sort-of biography of Norman Rockwell. Sort-of in the sense that its far more a collection of Deborah Solomon's opinions, interpretations and subjective analysis of Rockwell than it is a book about Rockwell. Rockwell is given the bug-on-a-slide treatment by an author dripping with condesenction. The introduction reads as if she is trying to explain to her friends why she would waste her time on such an undeserving subject.

We get a sort of chronological overview of his life mixed up with amature psychoanalysis of the most predictable and pedestrian variety. She finds anxiety. She finds obsessive-compulsive disorders. And following the pattern he was distant to his wives and children. And by giving him and his work a disturbed psychological subtext, he can be somewhat rehabilitated into the pantheon of artists.

There are interesting bits and pieces in the book. But they are only found after walking through mountains of trash. Art Historians by training who do biography seem inevitably to produce works far more dedicated to their own opinions rather than the subject of the book. She writes far too romantically about the "art world" for example. The "art world" is not primarily about meaningful context, judgement of works or understanding of works in the context of other works. The "art world" is about commerce and as much about selling the "personality" of the artist as it is the art. Its about making money for gallery owners and being good at parties. The author, by her background, obviously knows better. But still writes the romance view of the art world.

Solomon's fault as a writer is mostly a lack of any sort of originality in her analysis. The book, its opinions and its interpretations are utterly predictable from beginning to end. Predictable down to the authors page of sexuality baiting which was the cornerstone of the book's publicity campaign.

Then there is what she does with regard to pedophilia which is worthy of a specific example:

"we are made to wonder whether Rockwell's complicated interest in the depiction of preadolescent boys was shadowed by pedophilic impulses. But an impulse is not a crime. There is no evidence that he acted on his impulses or behaved in a way that was inappropriate for its time"

Note the careful poison pen craftsmanship of the words. She moves from "wondering" about something to saying its "not a crime". Then she finishes off with "acted on his impulses". No wondering anymore. No speculative tone anymore. She picks the words "acted on his impluses" to directly imply that he had them.

Going further, she doesn't straightforwardly say that he never acted inappropriate. She carefully inserts the qualifier "inappropriate for its time". The qualifier outright leaves the impression that by current standards, his behavior with male children was inappropriate. This is not the careful tone of a biographer. This is the sort of thing one finds in tabloids and gossip columns. Its all the worse because this is no untrained person. This is a graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism and a former employee of the New York Times. She knows what basic ethics are and certainly knows what she is doing by engaging in this style of writing.

The other thing to note about the book is that certain arguments it makes seem derivative of "Norman Rockwell: The Underside of Innocence" by Richard Halpern published in 2006. She mentions Halpern by name in the book, but never this particular book. It seems unlikely that she would not be familiar with the book and if she was familiar, she should have properly given it credit. Halpern does a sexualized analysis of Rockwell, but unlike Solomon avoids mixing that art analysis with standard biography.

I dont really much agree with the idea of Rockwell as Mirror either. If he was a mirror, it was a mirror reflecting a distilation of American commerical art rather than anything to do with real American life.

198 of 226 people found the following review helpful.
A dishonest, sleazy biography of an American icon
By Adventurous Reader
If allowed I would post no stars for Ms. Solomon's dishonest and irresponsible biography. I read this biography with interest, and then deep disgust. Innuendo replaces facts and there is a sleaziness in this biography that offends any careful reader who is looking for information about the man rather than ill founded sensationalism. This author suggests that Rockwell was a repressed gay man because he was skinny and that being gay led to secret pedophile feelings because he painted kids - ignoring the fact that children were one of the favorite magazine cover themes of the 1930's. If the subject of your work reveals your hidden sexual preferences than I suppose Andy Warhol was a secret, repressed heterosexual for all those paintings of Marilyn and Jackie, and that Sir Edwin Landseer who painted dogs was into bestiality. This book would be laughable if it wasn't so libelous. No wonder this writer was purportedly fired from the NY Times for distorting and recreating her interviews with Tim Russert and others. And no wonder Norman Rockwell's family who gave this woman their trust are now angry about this vicious and distorted biography. Filled with improvised facts and absurd theories Ms. Solomon admires the art only to use it to demean the man. What some people will write to make a buck. Shame on Ms. Solomon and shame on her editors for not fact checking this book, and for permitting slanderous suppositions to pass for critical observations.

93 of 104 people found the following review helpful.
Not the definitive bio on Norman Rockwell
By Richard
Forget the controversy for a moment. Looking at the book strictly from a literary standpoint, quite a lot of the writing is poor, clumsy and absurd. Solomon's observations of the art are sometimes laughable - for instance her assessment of Saying Grace (the painting that just sold at Sotheby's for 46 million) she describes the "TNARU", the last part of the Restaurant sign in the window - Solomon likens this to cubist lettering or perhaps an anagram of UN-ART or even better, a secret message of U R AN ANT (She can't seem to remember Norman Rockwell did not paint in the context of today's texting language, he painted this back in the 50's). Solomon cannot grasp the artistic mind - very simply the "TNARU" spelled backwards in the window is an even better design element and visual if not seen in it's entirety. Her assessment of No Swimming (1921) is ludicrous - instead of just seeing that it is clearly a story of some boys swimming where they shouldn't have been been and getting chased by an authority of some sort - Solomon muses, "Various scenarios are imaginable. Perhaps the boys are playing hooky from school. Or perhaps they violated Prohibition and bought a bottle of something alcoholic." Really? Only in Solomon's fevered imagination. No one else sees these ridiculous scenarios.

And throughout, her prose is painfully awkward - she mentions Rockwell's image of the city (see his Autobiography) a woman brandishing an umbrella and hitting a man with it in a vacant lot - but then she ruins this powerful imagery with "as if the woman were the evil twin of the Statue of Liberty". Huh? I found myself commenting on the margins about the absurdity of so many of Solomon's observations, judgements and assessments. And some of the reviewers find this intelligent prose? A good college professor would have taken Solomon to task for much of what she writes. But alas, there was no college professor helping to edit this. What we're left with is this mess of a book.

I await the definitive bio of Norman Rockwell, hopefully sometime in the future. We all need to cleanse our psyches from this one first.

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** Ebook Free The Guilty Plea: A Novel, by Robert Rotenberg

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The Guilty Plea: A Novel, by Robert Rotenberg

With The Guilty Plea, a gripping sequel to the international bestseller Old City Hall, Robert Rotenberg has delivered another sharp, suspenseful legal thriller with an explosive conclusion.

On the morning his high-profile divorce trial is set to begin, Terrance Wyler, the youngest son of Toronto's Wyler Food dynasty, is found stabbed to death in the kitchen of his luxurious home. Detective Ari Greene arrives minutes before the press and finds Wyler's four-year-old son asleep upstairs. Hours later, when Wyler's wife, Samantha, shows up at her lawyer's office with a bloody knife wrapped in a towel, the case looks like a straightforward guilty plea.

Instead, an open-and-shut case becomes a complex murder trial, full of spite and uncertainty. There's April Goodling, the Hollywood starlet with whom Terrance had a well-publicized dalliance, and Brandon Legacy, the teenage neighbor who was with Samantha the night of the murder. After a series of devastating cross-examinations, there's no telling where the jury's sympathies will lie.

As in Old City Hall, Rotenberg's gift for twists and turns is always astonishing, but his true star remains the courtroom: the tension, disclosures, and machinations that drive this trial straight to its unpredictable verdict.

  • Sales Rank: #2323573 in Books
  • Brand: Sarah Crichton Books
  • Published on: 2011-07-05
  • Released on: 2011-07-05
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 9.29" h x 1.17" w x 6.25" l, 1.16 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 336 pages
Features
  • Great product!

Review

“A few lawyers are really expert in managing cases--especially criminal cases--in the courtroom. A small percentage of these are very good at making trials come alive. Robert Rotenberg is one of the few, along with Scott Turow, David Baldacci, and John Lescroart. The Guilty Plea is a crackling good read. Plan to keep turning pages late into the night!” ―F. Lee Bailey

“Smart and spellbinding. Puts you right in the shoes, and the lives, of lawyers caught up in a high-stakes murder trial. The best courtroom drama I've read, bar none, since Anatomy of a Murder.” ―Douglas Preston, coauthor of The Monster of Florence and Gideon's Sword

“Old City Hall is a terrific look at contemporary Toronto.” ―Ian Rankin, author of The Complaints on Old City Hall

“Breathtaking . . . A tightly woven spiderweb of plot and a rich cast of characters make this a truly gripping read. And of particular interest is the setting: Robert Rotenberg does for Toronto what Ian Rankin does for Edinburgh.” ―Jeffery Deaver, author of Edge on Old City Hall

“The plot is chock full of atmospheric tension . . . Old City Hall has enough hidden motives and gumshoeing to make it a hard-boiled classic.” ―Nathaniel G. Moore, The Globe and Mail (Toronto) on Old City Hall

About the Author

Robert Rotenberg is the author of Old City Hall (Sarah Crichton Books, 2009). He is also one of Toronto's top lawyers, defending, as he likes to say, "everything from murder to shoplifting." He lives in Toronto with his wife and three children.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
 

Even for Arceli Ocaya, it was too hot to sleep. The heat wave had gripped the city for days and by six in the morning her tiny apartment was already steaming. Back home in Manila, her husband and their five children would never believe it could be so warm in Canada. By next summer when she brought them over, Ocaya planned to have a bigger place, and she knew they would never understand what it had been like—all these years alone with the summer heat, the winter cold, and the eternal loneliness.
It was good that she was up early. Her employer, Mr. Terrance Wyler, would need all the help she could give him this morning. Poor man. Even though he was rich.
The bus she took every day to the subway arrived on time, but there was a delay on Eglinton Avenue where a film crew was making a movie. This happened so many times in Toronto. The trailers parked on the side of the road funneled the traffic. Ocaya saw a stone building with a new sign that said CIRCUIT COURT—BALTIMORE and police cars with the words BALTIMORE CITY POLICE on the side.
Unfortunately, most people on the subway were reading the transit newspaper, which had a picture of Mr. Wyler right on the front page with his arm around his famous American girlfriend, the actress April Goodling. The headline read DIVORCE FROM HELL TRIAL STARTS TODAY. Why do they write such terrible things? Ocaya wondered. Her employer was the nicest person she’d worked for since leaving the Philippines.
At her last subway stop, Bayview Avenue, she rushed up the escalator. Oh, no, she thought when she got to street level and saw the back of the bus pull away, its tailpipe spitting out sooty black smoke. She decided to walk the six blocks to his house.
Marching up Hillside Drive, Ocaya couldn’t stop thinking about that foolish headline. “Divorce from Hell.” Try being separated from your family for six years and only getting to go home to see them once. That was hell. This divorce was silliness. Mr. Wyler was an excellent father and those accusations his wife, Samantha, made against him last year were nonsense.
After three blocks she felt the sweat collect on the back of her neck. The lawns of all the expensive houses were turning brown at the edges from the long dry spell and most of the driveways were empty. For the next three blocks the street climbed at a steeper grade, but she refused to slacken her pace.
Ocaya had learned that in Toronto during the month of August many people were on holiday, especially the wealthy ones. They called it “going up north.” When Mr. Wyler’s son, Simon, was just a baby—and Mr. Wyler and Samantha were still married—the family went up north to a cottage and Ocaya went with them. Why they would leave their air-conditioned home to spend a week in a woodshed with an old refrigerator, a place with bugs and snakes outside, was a mystery to her. Strangest of all, one afternoon they caught seven fish and insisted on throwing them all back in the lake.
She arrived every day by seven-thirty. Mr. Wyler was always up, his stereo on loud, prancing around the kitchen, chopping up fresh fruit. Sometimes he played his piano. On the weeks he had Simon, he would make breakfast while listening to a man named Billy Joel. Apparently Mr. Joel played piano too. Her employer even named his dog Billy.
Simon had just turned four years old and was already learning to read. Short words, but Mr. Wyler was so proud. A few weeks earlier he bought some colorful magnetic letters and put them on the front of his refrigerator. Each night he spelled a short word and when Simon came down for breakfast the boy would read it. First D-O-G, then C-A-T, then H-O-U-S-E, then T-R-A-I-N.
As she climbed the stone steps to the front door, Ocaya was surprised to see that the newspaper was still there. Usually Mr. Wyler had read it by the time she arrived, and he often showed her an article he thought would interest her. This morning, with so much on his mind, he probably didn’t have time. She scooped the paper up and put her key in the door. It was unlocked. Mr. Wyler had probably been outside earlier, before the paper came, and forgotten.
I’ll bet the poor man couldn’t sleep, she thought. His parents and two older brothers had been at the house last night for Sunday-night dinner, and Ocaya had been there to help out. The family had fought about their business. That, on top of the trial starting today, must have upset him.
It was quiet inside the house. There was no music playing. No clatter of dishes in the kitchen. No patter of Simon’s little feet. And where was Billy? Every morning when the dog heard Ocaya come in, he would bark with happiness, stand up on his back legs to greet her.
The house was hot. Mr. Wyler often forgot to put on the air-conditioning before he went to sleep, especially lately when he was so upset. She took off her backpack and slid it under the front hall desk. At last she heard the click of dog tags on Billy’s collar. He poked his head around the corner of the living room.
“Billy, my favorite little doggie.” She clapped her hands together. “Where’s Simon?”
Saying “Simon” always brought an instant response from the dog, but Billy seemed uninterested. He lowered his head. Must be the heat, Ocaya thought.
“I better get you some water.” She swung open the kitchen door but the dog was reluctant to follow.
The first thing that hit her was the smell. Something strong. Horrible.
She saw the blood. A dark red splotch on the clean white tile floor. She would use one of the rags under the sink to wipe it up, she thought.
Then she saw Mr. Wyler.
He was lying on the floor near the refrigerator. His eyes were open. Vacant. She ran to him. “Did you fall, sir?”
There were cuts across his white shirt, the one she’d ironed for him on Friday. So many cuts. On his neck too. And the blood. All the blood.
Her heart was pounding. She was having trouble breathing. Thinking.
Wait, she thought, hearing the silence of the house.
“Simon,” she shrieked, louder than she thought she knew how to yell. And raced to the stairs.

 
Copyright © 2011 by Robert Rotenberg

Most helpful customer reviews

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Great authenticity, weak plot
By Will B.
I recently finished both The Guilty Plea, and its predecessor Old City Hall. I consider this a review of both books.

3 stars is a relatively low rating, although I want to be clear that I enjoyed reading this book. It has a lot of positives. First and foremost, this book is authentic. I currently study Canadian law, and have spent a lot of time in the Toronto area. This book is a very authentic reflection of both. It is refreshing to read a legal thriller with an authentic Canadian edge. I also think that Rotenberg does a great job developing some of the main characters, Detective Greene and his father in particular.

Now for the "buts". Even though the plot is reasonably exciting (I was eager to see what happened next), I found it to be simplistic. It had the depth of an episode of CSI. It reminded me a bit of the Hardy Boy books I read as a kid. There are a couple twists, some subtle hints along the way, and a climax "ah hah" moment at the end. More experienced thriller writers generally put together a much more complex, multi-layered story, with different story arcs, overlapping in interesting ways. Both of Rotenberg's books focus on a single narrative: a single murder, with an obvious suspect who everyone thinks committed the crime (but did they really?!). We see the case from different perspectives, but Rotenberg doesn't really use that device to create suspense. There is a side plot in both books regarding the death of Officer Kennicot's brother, but neither book pushes the story line forward, even a little bit. That annoyed me.

There were a few other things that annoyed me as well. Right off the bat, I found it agitating to see the same device used to kick off the plot in Guilty Plea as we saw in Old City Hall. In both books, an immigrant worker goes through a routine, comments to themselves how silly North Americans do things, and then discovers the body and calls the police. As I started reading the book, part of me wondered if I could have saved my money and just read Old City Hall again. But my money spent, I read on. The main story wasn't so forumalic, but I ran into a bigger problem: it didn't always make a lot of sense. For instance, there is one scene in which Detective Greene and his father mourn the death of the detective's late mother. The chapter concludes with Greene emotionally "letting go". Here's the problem: Greene's mother has almost never been mentioned in either of the two books, and this whole things comes totally out of nowhere. At least the distraction is momentary; the romantic relationships of our main two characters (Greene and Kennicot) are a constant annoyance. The relationships don't progress in a believable way, they have no value to the plot, they don't reveal anything about the main characters, and by the end of the book they are of no significance at all. Speaking of the end of the book, I didn't like the final twist/climax. A good twist is one that you can't believe you didn't see coming; this twist was one I couldn't believe even after it was spelled out in detail. The resolution of the story also felt rushed, although in some ways that was a good thing: the climax made more sense when I didn't have time to think about it.

That's how I'd recommend you approach this book. It's an insightful and authentic look at Toronto, and the Canadian criminal justice system. The story is good popcorn fun, and some of the characters are quite likeable. But don't waste your energy trying to figure out whodunnit. Enjoy the book like you would enjoy CSI: don't think too much, and try to enjoy the ride.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
An enjoyable legal thriller that had definite strengths, but a rushed ending
By L. J. Roberts
First Sentence: Even for Arceli Ocaya, it was too hot to sleep.

Det. Ari Greene is called to the murder scene of member of Toronto's wealthy Wyler family, known for Wyler Fresh fruits and vegetables. The kitchen is awash in Terrance Wyler's kitchen but, even worse, his 5-year-old son and the object of a bitter custody fight, is asleep in his bedroom upstairs. Defense attorney Ted DiPaulo receives a call from a fellow-attorney who is representing Samatha Wyler, the victim's wife. Ted is asked to represent Sam from the murder charge certain to come but also is handed a dish towel containing the murdering knife. Who can prove their case; the detective for the prosecution, or the attorney whose client threatened her husband, had the murder weapon, and was in the house but claims her husband was already dead?

Rotenburg captures the readers' attention with an excellent, evocative opening followed by short but compelling chapters. Plot is definitely the author's strength. For non-Canadian readers, it is a fascinating look at that country's judicial system. It is a story filled with very good plot twists, which keep things interesting, including an excellent twist that, even though you assumed was coming, was still very effectively executed.

Where the story lacked was in the characters. In spite of their being well-constructed backstories, there were so many characters I never felt emotionally invested in any of them and I found it a bit difficult keeping track, with the lawyers and police, of who was on which side of the legal aisle and with the Wyler family, who was being referred to when. The characters never really came to life for me.

"The Guilty Plea was an enjoyable legal thriller that had definite strengths, but a rushed ending.

THE GUILTY PLEA (Legal Mys-Atty Ted DiPaulo/Det. Ari Greene - Toronto, Canada, Cont) - Good
Rotenberg, Robert - 2nd book
Sarah Crichton Books; Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2011, Unc. Proof

3 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
entertaining investigative-legal thriller
By A Customer
In Toronto, the murdered corpse of Terrance Wyler is found in his kitchen. The police suspect the victim's wife Samantha stabbed the Wyler Foods owner as they were contesting a public acrimonious divorce and she sent her spouse a threatening email just before he was killed. TPD homicide detective widower Ari Greene, father of two teens, leads the shocking investigation made more stunning when he finds the estranged couple's four years old child Simon asleep at the crime scene house.

While Samantha visits her defense attorney Ted DiPaulo, Greene questions the child who admits his mom visited him earlier in the evening to say goodbye to him as she would not see him for a while. Former Crown attorney Jennifer Raglan leads the prosecution, which means contact with her former lover Greene.

The second Ari Greene investigative-legal thriller (see Old City Hall) is an entertaining tale as the courtroom drama is filled with twists with seemingly everyone purging themselves. The story line is at its best when the focus is the case. However, the personal tsuris, a sub-genre requirement to humanize key cast, at times overwhelms the main theme of whether Samantha murdered her husband in a fit of passionate ire. Still readers will enjoy Greene's investigation and the legal battle between DiPaulo and Raglan.

Harriet Klausner

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The Men's Club: A Novel (FSG Classics), by Leonard Michaels

The Men's Club: A Novel (FSG Classics), by Leonard Michaels



The Men's Club: A Novel (FSG Classics), by Leonard Michaels

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The Men's Club: A Novel (FSG Classics), by Leonard Michaels

Seven men, friends and strangers, gather in a house in Berkeley. They intend to start a men's club, the purpose of which isn't immediately clear to any of them; but very quickly they discover a powerful and passionate desire to talk. First published in 1981, The Men's Club is a scathing, pitying, absurdly dark and funny novel about manhood in the age of therapy. "The climax is fitting, horrific, and wonderfully droll" (The New York Times Book Review).

  • Sales Rank: #1527109 in Books
  • Published on: 2008-07-08
  • Released on: 2008-07-08
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.50" h x .44" w x 5.50" l, .40 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 192 pages

Review

“Chekhov and Kafka, after consulting Chaucer, might have collaborated on The Men's Club. It is excellent.” ―John Leonard, The New York Times

“Leonard Michaels's stories stand alongside those of his best Jewish contemporaries--Grace Paley and Philip Roth. Like theirs, Michaels's vernacular achieves the level of song.” ―Mona Simpson, The New York Times

“Leonard Michaels was an original; everything he wrote, like it or not, came alive. His prose moved at a fast clip and paid readers the compliment of assuming they could match his mental velocity, with a concise, pungent and pyrotechnic style that tolerated no flab.” ―Philip Lopate, The Nation

About the Author

Leonard Michaels (1933–2003) was the author of five collections of stories and essays―Going Places, I Would Have Saved Them If I Could, Shuffle, A Girl with a Monkey, and To Feel These Things―as well as two novels, Sylvia and The Men's Club. All of his fiction will be reissued as FSG Classics.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Men's Club
ONEWomen wanted to talk about anger, identity, politics, etc. I saw posters in Berkeley urging them to join groups. I saw their leaders on TV. Strong, articulate faces. So when Cavanaugh phoned and invited me to join a men's club, I laughed. Slowly, not laughing, he repeated himself. He was six foot nine. The size and weight entered his voice. He and some friends wanted a club. "A regular social possibility outside of our jobs and marriages. Nothing to do with women's groups." One man was a tax accountant, another was a lawyer. There was also a college teacher like me and two psychotherapists. Solid types. I supposed there could be virtues in a men's club, a regular socialpossibility. I should have said yes immediately, but something in me resisted. The prospect of leaving my house after dinner to go to a meeting. Blood is heavy then. Brain is slow. Besides, wasn't this club idea corny? Like trying to recapture high-school days. Locker-room fun. Wet naked boys snapping towels at each other's genitals. It didn't feel exactly right. To be wretchedly truthful, any social possibility unrelated to wife, kids, house, and work felt like a form of adultery. Not criminal. Not legitimate."Cavanaugh, I don't even go to the movies anymore.""I'm talking about a men's club. Good company. You talk about women's groups. Movies. Can't you hear me?""When the phone rings, it's like an attack on my life. I get confused. Say it again.""Listen to me, man. You're one of my best friends. You live less than a mile away, but do we see each other three times a year? When is the last time we talked to each other, really talked?""I lose over a month a year just working to pay property taxes. Friendship is a luxury. Unless you're so poor it makes no difference how you spend your time.""A men's club. Good company.""I hear you."But I was thinking about good company. Some of my married colleagues had love affairs, usually with students. You could call it a regular social possibility. It included emotional chaos. Gonorrhea. Even guilt. They would have been better off in a men's club."What do you say? Can we expect you?""I'll go to the first meeting. I can't promise more. I'm very busy.""Yeah, yeah," said Cavanaugh and gave me an address in the Berkeley flats. A man named Harry Kramer lived there. I was to look for a redwood fence and pine trees. 
The night of the meeting I told my wife I'd be home early. Before midnight, certainly. I had to teach the next day. She said, "Take out the garbage." Big sticky bag felt unpropitious and my hands soon smelled of tuna fish. After driving only five minutes, I found the place.The front of the house, vine-covered, seemed to brood in lunatic privacy. Nobody answered when I knocked, but I heard voices, took hold of a wroughtiron handle and pushed, discovering a large Berkeley living room and five men inside. I saw dark wood paneling and potted ferns dangling from exposed beams. Other plants along the window ledges. A pottedtree in a far corner, skinny, spinsterish-looking. Nervous yellow leaves filled its head. Various ceramics, bowls on tabletops and plates on the walls beside large acrylic paintings, abstractions like glistening viscera splashed off a butcher block. Also an amazing rug, but I couldn't take it in. A man was rising from a pillow, coming toward me, smiling."I knocked," I said."Come in, man. I'm Harry Kramer.""I'm Cavanaugh's friend.""Who isn't?""Really," I said, giving it the L.A. inflection to suggest sympathetic understanding, not wonder. Kramer registered the nuance and glanced at me as at a potential brother.His heavy black hair was controlled by a style, parted in the middle and shaped to cup his ears in a way that once belonged to little girls. It was contradicted by black force in his eyes, handshake like a bite, and tattooed forearms. Blue, winged snake. Blue dagger amid roses. They spoke for an earlier life, I supposed, but Kramer wore his sleeves rolled to the elbow. It was hard to connect him with his rug, which I began to appreciate as spongy and orange. I felt myself wading and bouncing through it as Kramer led me toward the men.Shaking hands, nodding hello, saying my name, each man was a complex flash--eyes, hand, name --but one had definition. He was graphic; instantly closer to me than the others. Solly Berliner. Tall, skinny, wearing a suit. Dead-white hair and big greenish light in his eyes. The face of an infant surprised by senility. His suit was gray polyester, conservative and sleazy. Kramer left me with Berliner beside the potted tree, a beer in my hand. A man about five foot six or seven came right up to us. "Care for a taste?" In his palm lay two brown marijuanas, slick with spittle. I declined. Berliner said, "Thanks, thanks," with frightening gratitude, and took both cigarettes. We laughed. Then he dropped one back into the man's palm. Turning toward the others, the man said, "Anyone care for a taste?"The sound of Berliner's voice lingered after the joke; loud, impulsive. Maybe he felt uneasy. Out of his natural environment. I couldn't guess where that might be. He was a confusion of clues. The suit wasn't Berkeley. The eyes were worlds of feeling. His speedy voice flew from nerves. Maybe the living room affected him. A men's club would have seemed more authentic, more properly convened, elsewhere. What did I have in mind? A cold ditch? I supposed Kramer's wife, exiled for the evening, had cultivatedthe plants and picked the orange rug and the luscious fabrics on the couches and chairs. Ideas of happiness. Berliner and I remained standing, as if the fabrics--heavy velvets, beige tones--were nothing to violate with our behinds. It was a woman's living room, but so what? The point of the club was to be with men, not to worry about women. I turned to Berliner and asked what he did for a living."Real estate," he said, grinning ferociously, as if. extreme types were into that. Wild fellows. "I drove in from San Jose." He spoke with rapid little shrugs, as if readjusting his vertebrae. His eyes, after two drags on the cigarette, were full of green distance. He was already driving back to San Jose, I figured. Then he said, "Forgive me for saying this, but a minute ago, when Kramer introduced us, I had a weird thought.""You did?"His eyes returned to me with a look I'd seen before. It signaled the California plunge into truth."I hope this doesn't bother you. I thought ..."I waited."Oh, forget it, man.""No, please go on. What did you think?""I thought you had a withered leg.""You did?""Yeah, but I see you don't. Isn't that weird?""Weird that I don't have a withered leg?""Yeah, I thought your leg was all screwed up. Like withered."I wiggled my legs. For my sake, not his. He stared as if into unusual depths and seemed, regardless of my wiggling, not convinced. Then he said, "I'm forty-seven.""You look much younger." This was true. But, with the white hair, he also looked older."I stay in shape," he answered, marijuana smoke leaking from his nostrils. "Nobody," he said, sucking the leak back against crackling sheets of snot, "nobody else in the room is forty-seven. I'm oldest. I asked the guys."He gagged, then released smoke, knifing it through compressed lips. "Kramer is thirty-eight."I wondered if conversation had ever been more like medical experience, so rich in gas and mucus. "I'm always the oldest. Ever since I was a kid I was the oldest." He giggled and intensified his stare, waiting for me to confess something, too. I giggled back at him in a social way. Then the door opened and Cavanaugh walked in."Excuse me," I said, intimating regret but moving quickly away.My friend Cavanaugh--big, handsome guy--hadheroic charisma. He'd been a professional basketball player. Now he worked at the university in special undergraduate programs, matters of policy and funding. Nine to five, jacket and tie. To remember his former work--the great naked shoulders and legs flying through the air--was saddening. In restaurants and airports people still asked for his autograph.Things felt better, more natural, healthier, with the big man in the room. Kramer reached him before I did. They slapped each other's arms, laughing, pleased at how they felt to each other. Solid. Real. I watched, thinking I'd often watched Cavanaugh. Ever since college, in fact, when he'd become famous. To see him burn his opponent and score was like a miracle of justice. In civilian clothes, he was faintly disorienting. Especially his wristwatch, a golden, complicated band. Symbolic manacle. Cavanaugh's submission to ordinary life. He didn't burn anybody. He'd once said, "I don't want my kids to grow up like me, necks thicker than their heads." He wanted his kids in jackets and wristwatches.He stopped slapping Kramer's arms, but Kramer continued touching him and looked as though he might soon pee in his pants. People love athletes. Where else these days do they see such mythic drama? Images of unimpeachable excellence. I was infected byKramer's enthusiasm, a bit giddy now at the sight of Cavanaugh. When Kramer left to get him a beer, we shook hands. He said, "I didn't think I'd see you tonight." There was mockery in his smile."It's not so easy getting out of the house. Nobody but you could have dragged me to this.""You open the door, you're out.""Tell me about it.""I'm glad you're here. Anything happen yet? I'm a little late because Sarah thinks the club idea is wrong. I'm wrong to be here. We argued at dinner." He whispered, "Maybe it isn't easy," and looked at his wristwatch, frowning, as if it were his mind. Kramer returned with the beer just as a phone started ringing.

Most helpful customer reviews

11 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
The Evolution of Men's Club
By Murray Browne
Originally published in 1981, the Men's Club is set in the Bay Area during the late 70s. A psychologist named Kramer gathers a small group of men in their mid-to-late thirties together to discuss guy stuff. The club starts out, writes Michaels, "trying to recapture high-school days. Locker-room fun. Wet naked boys snapping towels at each other's genitals." There's some drinking and pot smoking before the men migrate into more dangerous territory-a refrigerator stocked full of food for tomorrow's luncheon - a woman's group hosted by Kramer's wife.
Mixed in with the bacchanalia are men talking about themselves. These aren't men talking about sports or power tools, but strange, sometimes sad, stories about their relationships with women - sometimes their wives -- who they've connected with, but are still trying to process. Michaels does a satisfying job tying up the story with a cohesive ending and the writing is terse and engaging.
Also, it's not an especially dated book, because men haven't evolved much in the last 20 years.

11 of 13 people found the following review helpful.
A truly funny novel that brings news from the gender wars
By A Customer
Seven men, some acquainted and some strangers, meet one night to begin a club. This won't be a working man's club named for a large four-legged mammal or a toney businessman's city athletics and dinner club; instead it's a club dreamt up by a psychotherapist, modeled on the women's consciousness raising groups of the 1970s. Without an agenda, the men immediately focus on one subject -- women. They tell stories of bafflement, need, love, abuse, and marriage. They listen and they argue. They eat and drink and smoke and fight and break things. Their stories are outrageous and they sound true. Most of all, these men pay serious attention to one another. Michaels's masterful prose brings each man to life with gestures and dialogue and unforgettable stories. This is a small novel, but it brings important news from the gender wars. Women should read it, because it is both amusing and horrifying. These are characters you can hate and love just as if you knew them. In fact, you do know them. They are your brother, father, son, husband, lover, or friend.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
I'm Okay and You are Crazy!
By Randall L. Wilson
Recently I heard a New Yorker fiction podcast of Leonard Michael's short story, "Cryptology" and it made me want to read more of his work. I picked up "The Men's Club" at a used bookstore and found it bracingly dated. It captured the baby boomers in their first flush of adulthood and full of the seventies psychobabble.

Six men come to Kramer's house for the first meeting of the "Men's Club." The entire novel takes place over the span of an evening and the early morning. The men vent about women troubles as they become increasingly stoned, drunk or more accurately, primal. The novel is about stripping away civilization's veneer to get at the base core of men. The irony is that here they are celebrating an advancement in human development - the therapy group - they end up figuratively sitting around a cave fire competing for the alpha male position.

I say bracingly dated because the language while no longer pure, resonates with us today in its ridiculous avoidance of real life in favor of self absorption. My only quibble is that the novel feels like a stunt and the characters don't completely come alive outside their context of their usefulness as mouthpieces. Still the language, energy and satire keeps the work alive even as the characters in the book are now in their retirement years.

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Thursday, June 18, 2015

~~ Get Free Ebook The Nimrod Flipout: Stories, by Etgar Keret, Institute for Translation of Hebrew Literature

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The Nimrod Flipout: Stories, by Etgar Keret, Institute for Translation of Hebrew Literature

The Nimrod Flipout: Stories, by Etgar Keret, Institute for Translation of Hebrew Literature



The Nimrod Flipout: Stories, by Etgar Keret, Institute for Translation of Hebrew Literature

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The Nimrod Flipout: Stories, by Etgar Keret, Institute for Translation of Hebrew Literature

From Israel's most popular and acclaimed young writer―"Stories that are short, strange, funny, deceptively casual in tone and affect, stories that sound like a joke but aren't" (Yann Martel, author of Life of Pi)

Already featured on This American Life and Selected Shorts and in Zoetrope: All Story and L.A. Weekly, these short stories include a man who finds equal pleasure in his beautiful girlfriend and the fat, soccer-loving lout she turns into after dark; shrinking parents; a case of impotence cured by a pet terrier; and a pessimistic Middle Eastern talking fish. A bestseller in Israel, The Nimrod Flipout is an extraordinary collection from the preeminent Israeli writer of his generation.

  • Sales Rank: #247649 in Books
  • Brand: Keret, Etgar/ Shlesinger, Miriam (TRN)/ Silverston, Sondra (TRN)
  • Published on: 2006-04-04
  • Released on: 2006-04-04
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.29" h x .54" w x 5.50" l,
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 167 pages
Features
  • Etgar Keret
  • Middle Eastern
  • short stories

From Publishers Weekly
Keret, an Israeli writer who also writes children's books and collaborates with illustrators on graphic stories and novels, specializes in brainteasing short short stories reminiscent of the "Shouts and Murmurs" section of the New Yorker—30 are packed in this thin volume. A typical Keret situation is enacted in "Your Man": the narrator finds that his girlfriends inexplicably break up with him in the back of taxicabs while the radio always announces a caller from a certain address. He goes to the address, finds photos of his exes tacked to the wall and erupts in violence, with repercussions that give new meaning to masochism. Dogs play a role in Keret's stories similar to the sly role they assume in Thurber cartoons, hovering between the fantastic and the everyday, and sex is an obsession ("Actually, I've Had Some Phenomenal Hardons Lately" is one story's title.) In "Fatso," a man's girlfriend confides a secret: she turns into a rotund male at night. Like French surrealist Marcel Aymé, Keret keeps his stories one dimensional, but it's a dimension he has mastered, one that peels away the borderlines of normalcy. (Apr.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Booklist
Once you know that Keret's work has been featured on NPR's This American Life and Selected Shorts, it becomes hard to think of these 30 pieces as short stories. The adenoidal 35--going-on-13 tones of the former program's host grate in the mind like the voices of Woody Allen, Shelley Berman, and other ur-stand-ups, and the veil is parted. These aren't stories, they're routines! They're mostly told in the third person by the same kind of guys (once, gal) as the protagonists: schlemiels, though the singles among them are also slackers.^B They're modern young Israelis fixated on sex, unable to make lasting connections, frustrated to quiet madness, and feckless as . . . a stand-up's persona. Most of their stories are could-be realistic, a few are ultimately sentimental, and the best are arguably the fantasies, such as the volume opener, whose protagonist has a girlfriend ("the sex is dynamite") who becomes a fat, hairy, party-animal guy at night, and is still as much fun to be with. Vulgar, sad-sacky stuff, but amusing. Ray Olson
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

Review

“His enchantingly witty stories suggest that a keen intelligence can still flourish even when the air is full of flying metal ... Our best chance is that Etgar Keret will become a craze, a craze for sanity.” ―Clive James

“The best work of literature to come out of Israel in the last five thousand years--better than Leviticus and nearly as funny. Each page is a cut and polished gem. Do yourself a favor, walk over to the counter and buy this book now.” ―Gary Shteyngart, author of THE RUSSIAN DEBUTANTE'S HANDBOOK

“Stories that are short, strange, funny, deceptively casual in tone and effect, stories that sound like a joke but aren't--Etgar Keret is a writer to be taken seriously.” ―Yann Martel, author of THE LIFE OF PI

“Keret's short stories are filled with antiheroes. There are no brave Maccabees, no swashbuckling warriors. Instead, his sketches dramatize the mundane details of daily life. "When you wake up in the morning," he says, "before you've had your first cup of coffee, what you think about is not, Why isn't there a Palestinian state? You say, 'Why doesn't my girlfriend love me?' Or 'I hope somebody didn't steal my car.' "
Stories can be dreams, of a sort, and Keret's seem to promise that there is more to life than Merkava tanks and suicide killers, more even than nanotech or IPOs. His quirky collections--which have sold more than 200,000 copies in Israel--offer a glimpse into the Israeli subconscious. They satisfy jumbled, humble hopes--not the high-blown fantasies of the original frontiersmen.” ―Kevin Peraino, Newsweek

“Etgar Keret's short stories are fierce, funny, full of energy and insight, and at the same time they are often deep, tragic, and very moving.” ―Amos Oz, author of A Tale of Love and Darkness

“To try to describe Keret's work in fewer words than the work itself is a project perverse, paradoxical, modern, and strange--in short, it is like an Etgar Keret story, except not as funny and not as interesting. So I ask you to open the book and read.” ―Neal Stephenson, author of Cryptonomicon

“Etgar Keret is the voice of young Israel . . . [His] stories still seemed to deal with all the important things, friendship, sadness, fear . . . Unlike anything else the country [is] producing.” ―Linda Grant, The Independent

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Quirky Humor
By Valerie P.
The stories are very funny, but they start to get a little overwhelming when I read several of them in a row; the quirkiness can be a bit much all at once.

27 of 29 people found the following review helpful.
When he's good, he's good . . .
By KH1
There are many fantastic short stories in this collection, _The Nimrod Flipout_, by Israeli author Etgar Keret. There are also many that are reminiscent of first drafts from a night-school creative writing class. When he's good, Keret is a fantastic new talent, full of humor and existential angst, but when he's not - he's trite, cliche, and boring - one more young guy writing about getting stoned and laid.

The titular story "The Nimrod Flipout", is one of the best in the entire collection. Three young men are possessed, in turn, by the spirit of their friend, Nimrod, who killed himself after his girlfriend broke up with him. [Variety is also not Keret's strong suit. There are at least two other stories where someone kills themselves because they've been dumped.] After the narrator, the last to succumb to the spirit of his deceased friend, the possession repeats itself starting over again with Miron, the first to be possessed. It's a touching story about the frivolity of youth, and deeply tragic, as well; its also one of the funniest stories in the collection.

"Fatso", the opening story, I also loved. It is about a guy whose girlfriend turns into a fat, drunk, soccer-loving man after the sun goes down, and how, after spending many nights going out and watching soccer at the bar with this character, he begins to love his girlfriend, too.

This collection has its shining moments, and is highly recommended to fans of short fiction. However, don't be surprised if some of the stories dissapoint.

22 of 26 people found the following review helpful.
so-so
By concerned reader
Some of these stories are brilliant, first round knockouts. Others are shtick-yawns. The best are like the wondrous short-short stories of Spencer Holst. The worst are whines from the slacker you'd never listen to for five minutes if you bumped into them at a bar. Buy the book for the wonderful, but expect a very mixed bag.

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