Book Review: Messiah of Stockholm, by Cynthia Ozick

How much I was missing the distopic ambiance of the Central-European literature! Jewish refugees after the war are sharing their broken identities and aborted new beginnings as well as memories of forgotten cultures in the Scandinavian neutral city of Stockholm.

A group of Polish Jews, trying more or less successfully to hide their real identity, are following, not without an obvious mark of craziness, varius idols: an absent and incertain father (Bruno Schulz), an unknown manuscript (by the same Bruno Schulz), their origins, their memories. Dislocated souls with conflictual memories, lost countries and past, but not without humour. The author successfully depicted a typical literary ambiance for the Central European sour-sweet sadeness, easy to be found in many real time memories of the post-Shoah first generation of survivals. We were sad, but at the end we went through all!

Ozick dedicated the book to Philip Roth who edited two of Bruno Schulz books: "The street of Crocodiles" and "Sanatorium under the sign of the Hourglass".

A book to read and think about!

Mr. Nathan Zuckerman is leaving the stage

"Nathan Zuckerman is sick. I've read this, is in the book. He recently underwent a prostate surgery, perhaps Alzheimer is waiting to share its part too...". "Oh, you mean Philip Roth? Impossible. Can believe is true...And he's not even 70. It will be such an incredible loss". "Yes, they are not too many people like him these days. You know, he was involved in Operation Skylock, the Demyanuk case". "Illness don't spare anybody. I undestood him so well after reading the story of Alexander Portnoy. Psychanalitically speaking, I can understand a whole lot how his life is now".

And the dialogue could continue, be enriched and diversified. It's not an exchange of words about weather or the last events from the life of Paris Hilton or Britney Spears. It touch the abuse of biography in interpreting the fiction and yes, in many cases, the "elitist" interpretation of a piece of literature is badly and irremediably affected by a narrow focus on the life of writer. I can guess the hidden smile of Thomas Pynchon while reading - I can bet he's connected to Internet - the desperate efforts to identify him. Nobody saw him for almost 20 years, no interviews, public readings, we don't know how his personal life is going on. For sure, his works are cryptic and only the stubbornness of a detective-skills literary critic will help us to reveal the inner personal substance of his wonderful novels.


The first chapter of Exit Ghost