While my overwhelming trayfness (i.e., the fact that I am a shellfish-consuming shiksa with poor grooming habits and leanings toward agnosticism) hardly qualifies me to opine, I’ll take this opportunity to put in a good word for two new books that happen to be by Jewish writers: The Task of This Translator by Todd Hasak-Lowy and The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. (Follow the links to prior posts about each book.)
And if you’d like to debate the actual or probable merits of Krauss’ novel, please join the Old Hag and me over at Tingle Alley, where Carrie Frye’s collection of links on the subject has stirred up some impassioned discussion.
PLEASE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP. Maud, please go listen. If you can confirm that the book is the exact opposite of the poems — both in content and in the way the author insists on reading them aloud as is she has been yoked with five other slaves on the dusty road to Ur — I will read the History of Love. Because I object. I object, Paris Review! I object!
(I told Lizzie I’d listen to the poems, but I don’t know whether I actually will. I’m kind of afraid.)