My Russian Grandmother and Her American Vacuum Cleaner (Meir Shalev)

Before last month, I had read three books by Israeli authors.  The first was a Holocaust narrative, and the others were novels describing dysfunctional families. They were good, but they all were dark and somber, and I had to ask, “Don’t Israeli writers have a sense of humor?”  My very literary cousin Michal, unwilling to tolerate this shameful ignorance in the family, straightaway shipped me several more Israeli books - Books!!  Beautiful books!!! Among them was Meir Shalev’s My Russian Grandmother and Her American Vacuum Cleaner.  I laughed aloud at the title and knew I had to read it first.

This book is a whimsical memoir centered on the author’s Grandma Tonia, a tiny terror in ever-oscillating stages of affection and irritation with everyone around her. But her most defining characteristic is her radical cleanliness as she relentlessly battles the pervasive dirt from their farm.

Moshav Nahalal in the 1930s

Shalev beautifully constructs the plot of betrayal, pride, and revenge surrounding Grandma Tonia’s gigantic General Electric “sweeper.”  He builds wonder and suspense in every chapter and even fosters empathy for the machine itself.  As he tells that bigger tale, he also diverges into lots of other unrelated but substantive family lore, some of it real, some fantastical, enhancing our perspective on that zany and volatile clan.

Shalev is clearly a great writer and storyteller from a lineage of writers and storytellers, but there’s more to love than just the narrative.  There’s the historic Israeli setting - the moshav, the rival kibbutz, urban Jerusalem, trucks, trains, tractors, and farm animals.  There’s the patriotic and familial pride of the settlers, their innovative frugality, and best of all, Grandma Tonia’s prolific Hebrew-as-a-second-language malapropisms.

Meir Shalev (photo by Beny Shlevich)

From what I can tell, Shalev couldn’t have chosen a better translator.  Evan Fallenberg keeps the reading light and simple, nicely offsetting the inherent cultural abrasiveness. He also elegantly incorporates explanations for some crucial Hebrew expressions.

And now my previous assumption about Israeli literature is disproved.  It’s not all gloomy.  I know there’s at least this one downright delightful exception!  

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Ragtime (E. L. Doctorow)

Last year, I was impressed with Lipscomb University’s stage performance of Ragtime. It was a fabulous story - historical, fun, tragic.  At the time, I didn’t realize it was an adaptation from an E. L. Doctorow novel. So when my very well-read dad loaned me the book a few months ago, I knew it would be worthwhile, and I hoped it would be even better than the play.  My hopes were realized!  Doctorow not only tells a great tale, but he’s also a wonderful wordsmith.

Ragtime is set in New England in the decade or so leading up to World War I, the time and place of nascent tensions among classes, races, genders, and political groups. Doctorow interweaves true events involving historical figures (including Harry Houdini, Henry Ford, J. P. Morgan, Booker T. Washington, the explorer Robert Peary, architect Stanford White, lunatic millionaire Harry K. Thaw, anarchist Emma Goldman, and the model Evelyn Nesbit) with the fictional stories of a white, suburban upper-middle class family, an impoverished Jewish immigrant and his pretty little daughter, and the dynamic black pianist, Coalhouse Walker, along with his girlfriend, Sarah, and their infant son.  

Ragtime - Children's Musical Theater San Jose

Each of Doctorow’s characters, real and fictional, somehow touches and influences the others, fulfilling their collective destinies. With or without their realization or consent, they all advance the cause of civil rights through a series of escalating tensions and tragedies that eventually brings New York City to a frightened halt.

Doctorow’s prose is lucid and sparse, comprised mainly of short declarative sentences that are simultaneously matter-of-fact and poetic.  It’s kind of like Hemmingway, but with a lighter touch on the testosterone.  The tone is factual, not emotional, with a subtle morality.  There is no preaching.  The events say it all.

E. L. Doctorow

Interestingly, Doctorow never gives names to some of his central fictional characters, most notably, the members of the suburban family.  Instead, he calls them simply Mother, Father, the boy, and Mother’s Younger Brother.  If I were still a university student and had to write an analytical essay on Ragtime, I’d probably make this my thesis:  By leaving the characters unnamed, the author emphasizes that they are typical for the time, not wealthy or celebrities like the others; in this way, he demonstrates that the average, “nameless” people in society influence the workings of history just as much as the big-name crowd.

There’s an idea for you students.  No plagiarizing now!

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Jeannie Out of the Bottle (Barbara Eden with Wendy Leigh)

My oldest sister is a Jeannie fanatic. When we were kids, she sat entranced at the TV when I Dream of Jeannie was on, and now she cherishes her I Dream of Jeannie DVD set almost as much as her jewelry collection.  So when she saw Barbara Eden’s autobiography, she couldn’t resist. She bought it, devoured it, effused over it, brought it to my home and left it there, insisting that I read it.  Maybe because I was just born when I Dream of Jeannie’s original run ended, I was less fond of the show.  But I accepted the book, and last week when my reading rotation demanded a non-fiction, I smiled when I opened the front cover and saw that my sister had inscribed her own name, followed by ...who always dreamed of being Jeannie.  August 2011.

I wasn’t as smitten by the book as my sister was.  Even though Eden secured the services of a writer (Wendy Leigh), the text is sophomoric and littered with redundancies (which my Facebook subscribers know I love to hate).  Either Leigh is a bargain basement writer, or she deliberately kept the text mainly Eden’s work, and just organized it a bit and fixed the worst grammatical faux pas.

I also think that Eden embellishes the anecdotes for entertainment value.  I’m certain the story of the purring lion is less than gospel truth, since lions are physiologically incapable of purring.*  Unfortunately, that yarn occurs early in the book, so I was a smidgen skeptical for the duration.

Barbara Eden, Larry Hagman, and lion on set

With those caveats, I admit that Jeannie Out of the Bottle is fun to read.  I love rise-to-fame stories, how celebrities work and chance their way to success.  Barbara Eden’s saga is distinctly heavy on work and short on chance.  She details her vocal, dance, and acting training, her hopeless auditions, her humiliating failures, and her surprising successes.  From her teens and throughout her career, she accepted (almost) any job, and with inspiring enthusiasm.  She regales us with gossip - some flattering, some frightful - but her tact is admirable.  Even her tittle-tattle is ladylike.

If Eden’s telling of her life story is indeed accurate, then her morals were quite traditional, especially among the Hollywood crowd.  She was faithful in each of her marriages and routinely declined advances from even the most alluring male stars.  She didn’t like to curse, wouldn’t pose nude, and maintained a loving relationship with her mother.  She never developed a starlet attitude, and she suffered gracefully through her personal tragedies - the stillbirth of a baby she desperately wanted, an abusive second marriage, and her only son’s drug addiction and eventual death by overdose - accepting responsibility for her role in each of these events.

Barbara Eden, 2011

 Jeannie Out of the Bottle comes with an index of names and shows, and of course, several glossy pages of gorgeous photographs.  The pictures attest to Barbara Eden’s physical beauty, but you’ll have to read the text to see the beauty of her spirit.

 *Cheetahs are the only big cats that purr.  You really, really should search “purring cheetah” on YouTube.  Really.

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Animal Farm (George Orwell)

Animal Farm is a charming fairy tale describing the dark, adult realities of political revolution and corruption, of the advantaged few gaining the trust of, and then ultimately tyrannizing the less-blessed masses.  George Orwell wrote the story in 1943-44 to criticize Stalinism, but modern readers can (and probably will) apply the themes to current political goings-on or even to some corporate tactics.  

When the Manor Farm animals revolt against their human owner and assume responsibility for all farm operations, they take on anthropomorphic societal roles:  the loyal, unquestioning workhorse; the thoughtless, slogan-bleating sheep; the vain, comfort-craving carriage horse; the elusive, self-serving cat; the apathetic old donkey; the tale-baring raven; the snarling dogs, etc.  And of course the pigs (Who else?) emerge as the leaders and masterminds of the new social system.

Animal Farm illustration by Ralph Steadman

The animals are mostly good-hearted and willing workers, but not especially bright, which makes them vulnerable to manipulation. They forget history, recite songs and slogans rather than exercise thought and reason, and implicitly trust their ruler despite glaring reasons for suspicion.

My Christian high school didn’t teach this book, as many other schools did at the time, and I’m guessing this jab at religion is why:  Early in the rebellion, some particularly doltish beasts believe the lazy raven’s story of a carefree afterlife on Sugarcandy Mountain somewhere above the clouds.  With effort, the more discerning creatures convince the believers that Sugarcandy Mountain does not in fact exist, encouraging them instead to work hard for the present, communal good.  But over time, the corrupt leadership indirectly abets the spread of the Sugarcandy Mountain faith.

George Orwell

 Animal Farm is an extremely approachable summary of political maneuvers such as isolationism, desensitization, revisionism, scapegoating, subterfuge, fraternizing, and intimidation.  It’s a palatable little package for lightweights like me who won’t tackle a textbook on Soviet history.  In my never-to-be-humble opinion, this story should be read to children, then taught to teenagers, and enjoyed again by adults.  Pity I waited this long to read it.

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Steve Jobs (Walter Isaacson)

After reading Steve Jobs, I feel as if I know the man so well that I’m just gonna call him Steve.  I think he’d like that.  And since Steve was all about telling people what they want, I’ll tell you, you want me to call him Steve.

But I’ll call the author Isaacson because, while I admire his work (which also includes biographies of Albert Einstein, Henry Kissinger, and Ben Franklin), I just don’t know him as well.  That’s okay though.  His literary objective is to familiarize us with his subjects, not himself.

Steve, in fact, specifically solicited Isaacson to write this biography.  The choice makes sense.  Isaacson handles the job according to Steve’s basic design philosophies - the product should be simple but elegant, easily understood by the consumer despite its technical nature, with acute attention to detail.

I won’t carry on about Steve.  That’s Isaacson’s job, and he does it thoroughly, from Steve’s conception and adoption, his indulged childhood, his elementary school inquisitiveness and insolence, the high school mischief, college-age social rebellion, religious searching, troubled relationships, and business adventures and misadventures.  

Apple Store on Fifth Avenue in New York City

Isaacson manages to diplomatically present a divisive character, someone about whom lots of people had extremely unflattering things to say.  There’s no denying the negative.  It’s clear that Steve was an obnoxious spitfire.  The ubiquitous first-person accounts of his outbursts, crying fits, and astonishing rudeness will keep you reading a text that might otherwise have all the charm of a technical journal.

However, there’s also no denying Steve’s formidable business success.  Here’s what made him special:  While most of us schlubs tend to be predominantly right brained or left brained, Steve was both.  He loved design.  He loved technology.  And this resulted in products that worked great and looked great.  Steve also loved control, and the book explains how he ultimately produced a simple, friendly user experience by tightly restricting access to the internal hardware and Apple’s software.  By prioritizing quality over profit, and by narrowing Apple’s focus to just a handful of devices at a time, he created superior products that people were - and are - willing to pay for.

Walter Isaacson

 This chubby book (630 pages on paper, or 2,571 pages on my iPhone) is stuffed with goodies: end notes, an extensive index, an annotated list of characters (which is helpful since Isaacson drops hundreds of names), and most importantly, pictures!  The content is approximately 80% business and 20% personal, which seems like a fair representation of his life.  While I wish Steve’s familial relationships had been given more page space, I do love my Apple products, so I got through the business stuff with a fair degree of interest.  But Steve’s tempestuous personality is what carries the story along, and after reading this, I hope-hope-hope that Apple can also carry along without him.

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The Lover (A.B. Yehoshua)

Here’s the story:  In Haifa, Israel, during the Yom Kippur War (1973), a husband and wife, Adam and Asya, have grown emotionally distant from each other.  Adam, who owns a lucrative auto mechanic shop, has lost all sexual interest in his wife, an incisive history teacher.  When a quirky younger man, Gabriel, brings his dying grandmother’s classic blue Morris to Adam’s shop for repairs and then can’t pay the bill, Adam hires him as a research assistant for Asya, hoping (accurately) that the relationship between Gabriel and Asya will become sexual.

Gabriel then disappears after joining the military, and Adam begins a prolonged search for him with the help of a teenage employee, Na’im.  While the search continues, Na’im lives with Gabriel’s grandmother, Veducha, and falls in love with Adam’s maverick daughter, Dafi.

Haifa, Israel

The Lover is wrought with psychological tension.  Yehoshua humanizes the broader Arab-Israeli struggles by highlighting more intimate unsettling coexistences.  For example:

• Adam is not especially educated, but he’s wealthy and extravagant; Asya is a serious academic, but she’s embarrassingly frugal.
• Young, restless, Arab Na’im lives with and cares for old, immobile, Jewish Veducha.
• Secular Gabriel camouflages himself in the Orthodox community.

The mismatches lead to identity disorientation:  Straight-laced Asya has a powerful libido and wild dreams.  Veducha fancies Na’im a substitute grandson.  Na’im starts feeling Jewish.  Even the spunky blue Morris morphs into a black, belabored workhorse.  

Yehoshua

You may also begin to ask yourself, Is Gabriel necessarily “the lover”?  The other relationships in the story - the youthful romance of Na’im and Dafi, an illicit event between Adam and a teenager, and the guarded tenderness between Veducha and Na’im - raise questions on the variations of “love.”

 
My apologies if I missed crucial elements.  Like My Michael (which I reviewed in August 2011), The Lover is a Hebrew book, and I read an English translation.  My understanding, therefore, is necessarily less than complete.  While I’m not really qualified to comment on whether the translator (Philip Simpson) successfully captured the author’s original meaning and tone, I offer a small criticism, and this isn’t about Yehoshua specifically.  All (three) Israeli books that I’ve read have been penetrative and poignant, but not one of them has been even peripherally lighthearted.  They’re decidedly humorless, saturated in gloom.  So, I ask those of you who are more familiar with Israeli literature, is this the cultural standard?  Don’t any Israeli authors have a sense of humor?  Help!  Show me an Israeli book that’s smart and funny!

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Dani’s Story: A Journey from Neglect to Love (Diane & Bernie Lierow and Kay West)

After reading an interview with Kay West, the ghost writer of Dani’s Story, in the City Paper (a Nashville news magazine), I vaguely remembered hearing about the abuse case on the national news, but I couldn’t recall the details.  The interview was compelling enough to send me to Amazon for the book.  

Dani’s Story tells about a little girl in Florida who was profoundly neglected by her biological family and was eventually rescued and adopted by Diane and Bernie Lierow after they chanced upon a photo of her and felt an immediate connection.  Although Danielle would have been a healthy, normal little girl, the abuse she endured for the first part of her life rendered severe consequences:  She couldn’t feed herself.  She couldn’t talk, but only howled and grunted.  She was in diapers full time.  She walked on tip toe, a result of a neurological underdevelopment.  She had no sense of social or physical boundaries, running and climbing anywhere - into ocean waters and swimming pools, onto furniture, and into the kitchen freezer.  The biological mother had never taken Danielle to a doctor, but when she was examined after her rescue, at almost eight years old, she tested no higher than twenty months of age for various developmental functions.

Although Dani was initially “feral” and therefore extremely demanding, she was also surprisingly sweet natured, considering the abysmal conditions in which she’d been kept until Diane and Bernie found her.  Through tremendous sacrifice, patience, and love, the Lierows helped bring Dani to a normally functioning level on many counts.

The Lierow family, 2009

What struck me most about this story is that there is nothing extraordinary about the adoptive family.  Neither parent is too highly educated.  Neither has a glamorous career.  They had both been divorced twice before.  They’re not wealthy or otherwise privileged.  The mother’s first-person narrative isn’t poetic or intellectual.  She sounds like someone you’d run into at the grocery store - someone who looks and sounds completely typical until she tells her very atypical story about the gorgeous little girl beside her.  

When you read Dani’s Story, you’ll be confounded by the ignorance and incompetence of some people, but you’ll also be inspired by the wholehearted service and commitment of others, especially adoptive parents, and even more especially those like Diane and Bernie Lierow who adopt children with profound needs.

Check it out on Amazon!