Call It Sleep
Henry Roth
Wow. What an ambitious novel. This is definitely a work written in the style of James Joyce, that unintelligible master of modernism and bane of advanced literature scholars everywhere. When I heard that the novel was a modernist work a la Ulysses, I was absolutely terrified. After I got into the book, however, I realized that it wasn't so scary after all. Actually, I realized that once I got over my fear of pretention, the novel was actually quite good.
It's hard to actually classify this work. It's kind of a coming-of-age story, but the main character only reaches the tender age of eight (or so). It's kind of a novel about Jewish life in the ghetto of New York, but its Judaism is restrained and incidental, not pivotal. The book is really just the story of a kid experiencing his world, told through his own eyes. It is the story of discovering how to view the world, told from the perspective of one who is living the experience. As such, the reader often doesn't have any idea what is going on, which surprisingly works.
Because the novel doesn't explain things outright, seeing as its main character doesn't know things outright, the reader is forced to be careful and diligent. While this may seem like a haughty burst of self-righteousness from the author, it's actually what makes the novel stand out. The reader is constantly engaged throughout the book, trying to make sense of the world just as its main character David is. There are moments where, after being lost in a swirl of pages and images, the light bulb clicks on and suddenly everything makes sense. The novel is an experience in and of itself, not just a detached retelling of isolated occurences. The novel is a life.
The prose is absolutely brilliant. Lyrical and soaring, its imagery is spot-on, always suited to the situation. The way that Roth plays with light and its absence is more suited to movie direction than writing, but it makes the images in the reader's hand stand out and interact, drawing the reader in even more to the world David is experiencing. The fact that the narrator is third person but witholds information makes the reader feel, along with David, that there is something missing, without knowing quite what. The central mystery of the book is unresolved, but you think you know what's going on, and that's the desired effect. The reader is expected to make the book their own, and Roth excells at provoking this active participation without demanding too much of his reader.
The only point where the book loses its focus is at the very end, where sentences disappear mid-word and show up again a page later. I know the effect that Roth was going for, one of time stopping and utter confusion, a portrait of a moment, but I was so incredibly lost that there was no meaning in the plot, let alone in the experience of the events. When Roth sticks to gentle confusion, to breaking up thoughts after a sentence is completed rather than in the middle, the technique works and illuminates the moment.
The key to this book is subtlety. The usage of Yiddish as the narrative language is almost hidden, but reveals the extent of its use in daily Jewish life of the period. The extended metaphors reappear often enough in the book to make sense, but not so much as to bludgeon the reader. The reader is always expected to be thinking, and is respected as an active participant in the story, a direct witness to these crucial moments in David's childhood. I may have been terrified of this novel, and parts of it did elude me, but all in all I am remarkably impressed at the beauty of this work, the poetry found in the clattering chaos of turn-of-the-century New York City.
Grade: A
Henry Roth
Wow. What an ambitious novel. This is definitely a work written in the style of James Joyce, that unintelligible master of modernism and bane of advanced literature scholars everywhere. When I heard that the novel was a modernist work a la Ulysses, I was absolutely terrified. After I got into the book, however, I realized that it wasn't so scary after all. Actually, I realized that once I got over my fear of pretention, the novel was actually quite good.
It's hard to actually classify this work. It's kind of a coming-of-age story, but the main character only reaches the tender age of eight (or so). It's kind of a novel about Jewish life in the ghetto of New York, but its Judaism is restrained and incidental, not pivotal. The book is really just the story of a kid experiencing his world, told through his own eyes. It is the story of discovering how to view the world, told from the perspective of one who is living the experience. As such, the reader often doesn't have any idea what is going on, which surprisingly works.
Because the novel doesn't explain things outright, seeing as its main character doesn't know things outright, the reader is forced to be careful and diligent. While this may seem like a haughty burst of self-righteousness from the author, it's actually what makes the novel stand out. The reader is constantly engaged throughout the book, trying to make sense of the world just as its main character David is. There are moments where, after being lost in a swirl of pages and images, the light bulb clicks on and suddenly everything makes sense. The novel is an experience in and of itself, not just a detached retelling of isolated occurences. The novel is a life.
The prose is absolutely brilliant. Lyrical and soaring, its imagery is spot-on, always suited to the situation. The way that Roth plays with light and its absence is more suited to movie direction than writing, but it makes the images in the reader's hand stand out and interact, drawing the reader in even more to the world David is experiencing. The fact that the narrator is third person but witholds information makes the reader feel, along with David, that there is something missing, without knowing quite what. The central mystery of the book is unresolved, but you think you know what's going on, and that's the desired effect. The reader is expected to make the book their own, and Roth excells at provoking this active participation without demanding too much of his reader.
The only point where the book loses its focus is at the very end, where sentences disappear mid-word and show up again a page later. I know the effect that Roth was going for, one of time stopping and utter confusion, a portrait of a moment, but I was so incredibly lost that there was no meaning in the plot, let alone in the experience of the events. When Roth sticks to gentle confusion, to breaking up thoughts after a sentence is completed rather than in the middle, the technique works and illuminates the moment.
The key to this book is subtlety. The usage of Yiddish as the narrative language is almost hidden, but reveals the extent of its use in daily Jewish life of the period. The extended metaphors reappear often enough in the book to make sense, but not so much as to bludgeon the reader. The reader is always expected to be thinking, and is respected as an active participant in the story, a direct witness to these crucial moments in David's childhood. I may have been terrified of this novel, and parts of it did elude me, but all in all I am remarkably impressed at the beauty of this work, the poetry found in the clattering chaos of turn-of-the-century New York City.
Grade: A
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