Just to clear up any misconceptions...

According to the previous post, "Snippet of an overheard conversation" quoted someone saying, "Dude..." I know that some might have associated me with this statement, however, it was not I. Might I add, that lasts night round-table (or booth) discussion was great!

Snippet of overheard conversation

"...and you really can't remember where you were when you saw those guys?" "No, for real, I can't. I couldn't concentrate because there were so many goyim around. And I've been to a bunch of places since then. Why do you want to know, again?" "I'm supposed to meet them. Or allegedly I am. But they never told me where." "Dude, I bet it's a conspiracy to keep out the Jew."

My Impression of a Misunderstood Writer

As I approached the Beer Barn, the classy establishment the book club that I’m just barely an active member in intended to meet, I recognized the person walking out and toward me. I knew who he was immediately, because his face is on the cover of the book that I just read. Actually, his mug was not on my copy of the book. The book has two covers and I purposefully chose the cover that wouldn’t stare at me while using the bathroom. “What’s up,” I said. This was my usual non-intimate greeting. “This guy inside kept telling me about painting his kitchen. He asked if I wanted to help, but I don’t think that he was serious.” “Yeah, I know that guy,” I said. He gave me an odd look. “That guy or a guy like him?” “Definitely that guy. Did he tell you about the wagon?” “No.” “How many times did he tell you he has painted his kitchen?” I asked. “Thirty-two times.” “Seriously, or are you making that up?” “I’m making that up.”

It was amazing how naturally he led me right to the most important question I could ever ask him. “Is there any significance to the number thirty-two, or is it just a random thought?” I asked. “Nothing I say or write is completely random. Everything has significance.” “Shut up!” “No, really.” “Shut up!” “No, really.” This could have gone poorly if I had continued. I was afraid that the conversation was over, but I had a follow-up question. “So, what is the significance of thirty-two?” I asked. “It’s for my favorite basketball player, Magic Johnson.” “That’s it? Nothing profound? It isn’t symbolic, doesn’t deal with our conscious feeling of being tired and desire to rest, which is completely contrary to our fear of dying?” He slowly scratched his head. “I don’t even understand what you just said.” “I didn’t think so,” I said.

We looked at each other for quite some time. I wasn’t really sure what I was thinking, but his thoughts were electric images displayed in his eerily large eyes. He was ogling a young college student and swinging his right arm in a rigid, lifeless way. And then we parted.

A night at the bar with Jon Foer....

So there I am sitting on the barstool of the "Society of Letters Bar and No-Grill." Hanging out, having a good time, listening to the banter back and forth between the other patrons (I swear if either Kristen or Josh mention "black @#$%^ bread" again I'll throw one of Tre's leftover wing bones at them) when I look over my shoulder and there's ol' Jon Foer sitting all alone nursing a black eye and a broken spirit. I excuse myself from the delightful Indian fella I've been talking with and walk over to the table in the dimly lit corner.


R: "Hey John. So, um, how's the eye?"

JSF: "Oh hi Rick, it's fine, no thanks to you. It was a little swolen at first but I've been keeping the it down with a handful of $100 bills from my last huge advance."

R: (uncomfortable laugh) "Yeah, you kinda took a beating earlier. About that, I wanted to help but, well you know, I was on the phone with my wife talking about cars and... I told you about my kitchen project, right?"

JSF: "Save it Rick, it doesn't help me now does it? You can't spare five minutes to run over with a barstool and club Franklin as he's kicking me on the ground? Josh and Dusty won't even acknowledge me but I thought you'd at least have my back. I tried damn it; I tried to fight off Bruce but he just kept laughing at me saying things like 'Hit me with your good arm, Foer!' I could be wrong, but I swear I heard him saying something about how if he'd made it as a professional wrestler his finishing move would have been called the 'final solution.' You've known me longer than any of these guys, you should have at least hit one of them."

R: "But, I do feel like I've known Jaqua my whole life. Between you and me I think he might be the reincarnation of the actual Sammy Davis Jr, he's just that likable. And to be fair, Curri had your back so you didn't need me."

JSF: "But he couldn't save me from Kristen's words - she said I was a no-talent, cliched, hubristic undergrad-English-major hack of an author!"

R: "Well she has a point, it does seem like you're trying a little hard at times."

JSF: "I studied literature, journalism, and creative writing, don't you think I'm aware of the various literary genres and styles? If it were all just a hodgepodge of unoriginal techniques and immature ambition wouldn't someone had called me out?

R: "Maybe you made it through because of some kind of Jewish control of the entertainment business conspiracy? Or maybe in lieu of your immaturity you wrote a really good story that on occasion suffers from the impulsiveness of youth."

JSF: "You're talking about the arm aren't you?"

R: "I'm talking about the arm. I can't stop talking about the arm! I was thinking if I'd only had a dead arm I would have been the coolest guy in my high school; the girls would have loved me. I was trying to think of some kind of profound meaning, but tell me the truth it doesn't have any meaning does it?"

JSF: "Nope, I was 22 when I wrote it and thought, let's give him a dead arm. Then I thought, wouldn't it be crazy if women craved the dead arm, wasn't too long until it was pleasuring all of Eastern Europe. I thought it was funny and random, like the guy on Kids in the Hall who had a cabbage for a head."

R: "Sure but what about that whole we experience illumination and a glow visible from space when we're, um, doin' it? That whole village-wide orgy thing. But later your grandfather gets more pleasure from destruction than sex, right?"

(Foer writes a bunch of stuff on a napkin and slides it across the table)

JSF: "Why don't you talk about this at your meeting, I don't have the time to talk about it here, I'm meeting Wes Anderson for dinner. It's a not-so-serious book about a very serious subject, with the juxtaposition of meaningless and meaningful experiences. I think that life, and love, is ultimately a frustrating experience that is part idea and part praxis and it's the conflict and powerlessness that occurs between the two that give us the pathos of life - well, at least for the characters, I've got so much paper I don't even know what pathos is anymore.

R: "But, as you point out, in lieu of all this frustration there are those special moments when you can look through a hole in the wall, fondle yourself, and make it all worth while, that's what I took from it."

JSF: "Yes, it took me 250 pages and a few other words, but that's pretty much it."

R: "Well, I think it's a good book and I'd hardly call you a hack. I think your second book makes you a hack. Hey, you'd better get out of here, you've been here a long time and this place can get pretty rough once Josh, Dusty, and Huskerson join in."

JSF: "Yeah, I'm going to go. Tell your Indian friend I said Hi and I hope he gets treated better in here than I did. Oh, and be sure to tell the janitor I'm sorry for the mess."

(Moments later an elderly gentleman with a mop, a bucket, and a goatee begins to clean the beer, peanuts, and bits of Jonathan Safran Foer off the floor.)

R: "Night Francis, see you next month."

"A book is never a killer, it's a tool in Killah's hands" or Tom Rubane returns to protect Jonathan Safron Foer....

Seneca (the author of the above quote, but talking about a sword rather than a book) would have been proud of the Society's open discussion of books, ideas, and the marvelous things that can occur when human ingenuity, teenage lust, and a dead-armed Jew cross paths in Eastern Europe. We put off meeting to discuss the most recent controversial book until Jaqua returns from his vacation. That being said, we should probably nail down a specific time to meet on either Monday or Tuesday of next week- whichever night won't end in sending Bruce Sharp out to coach little girl's soccer smelling like banquet beer.
Also, we will meet to discuss my selection on India the Tuesday or Wednesday following Labor Day if that's good for everyone.

This will give me (as well as Josh, Dusty, and Huskerson) time to write a take on the book before next week...maybe Huskerson can write about the differences between the movie and the book?

Round and Round We Go

Any ideas for the round-table? My schedule is getting thick, so I need to plan a little in advance. Friday August 17th after work perhaps? Or if you don’t want to give up your Friday, Monday August 20th?

Now I really feel like I am back in undergrad...

As my colleague accurately pointed out, Roggenbrot, or roggenbrod, is not the Russian word for black bread. In my haste to post before meeting up with my mother, I admit to a mistake or two. In addition to a few typos, I misspoke with reference to Roggenbrot, crediting Russia with the etymological origin of this former USSR favorite. Roggenbrot is not the Russian word for black bread. Rather this Germanic word refers to a specific class of black breads popular in Eastern Europe and Southern Russia. References to Roggenbrot have been found in the literature of the Ukraine, Russia, and other countries formerly part of the USSR as early as 1717 (probably earlier than that, but I don’t feel like looking into it). Chorniy (this is how it is spelled by the leading Russian bakeries in the US – some even spell it Cherniy) is indeed Russian for “dark”, however it is often used to classify dark breads made without sugar and oil. It is my opinion that the bread referenced by Foer is indeed the Ukrainian favored Roggenbrot which is made with both molasses and sugar. Now that I know the “standard” our blogs must meet, I will take more than 30 minutes to post.

Roggen Brod

As I read this book I was transported back in time to the fall of 2001. I am back in my English Lit capstone course listening to the drabble being spewed forth by my fellow English majors as they proudly proclaim that they just finished the last sentence of the next great American Novel. I am forced to read Elizabeth’s borderline plagiarism in which she reworded some of my favorite passages from Shakespeare, Butler, Hawthorne, Bronte, Chaucer and Dickens, piecing them together to form 200 or so pages of what can only be coined as “crap”. So in true Elizabethan form, let me summarize Foer’s work:

“Multifarious in its Forced Construction, Extraordinary in its Regurgitated Story, and Irrelevant in 101 Diverse Ways… Written with Stanch Self-Absorption and Self-Importance.”

What is Love:
Lots of death, lots of violence, lots of bread, what’s not to love? Perhaps a better question would be what is love?

Don’t worry guys, I am not going mushy on you. There was a lot I did not like about this book (it took me 156 pages to get to a point where my reading was not forced). Most of my complaints/concerns/frustrations have already been expressed by others, so I will move on.

Love is clearly an issue for Mr. Foer. Perhaps he wasn’t loved as a child. Perhaps he loved and lost. Perhaps he tried to hard to write the new “it” novel. He uses every tired cliché, and a few new ones, to create forced dialogue in hopes of leading him to an understanding of what love is. While it appears that Mr. Foer feels that he solved the riddle through the self-sacrifice (suicide) of Grandfather, I am not confident that he got it right. In fact I am rather confident that he got it wrong. So where did Mr. Foer go wrong?

Sex:
A tired cliché. After reading Alex’s first few pages I closed the book. Being carnal? 270+ pages of listening to a 20 something go on about being carnal is not my bag, baby. Devoted to the group, and having little to do, I trekked on through the gratuitous sexual escapades of Brod’s line. As I approached the end of the book I began to wonder if perhaps all the sex had a point (lame as it may be) after all. Foer’s characters spend approximately half of the book having sex in a vain attempt to feel love. Brod is repeatedly beaten by a husband crazed by a saw blade because she wants to feel love. Safran (who I dubbed “Duce”) pleasured the village’s old and widowed while remaining as dead inside as his calcium deprived arm. Alex claims to have been carnal with many women, but as we learn his claims are only to make him appear “premium” to Little Igor. (Wow, dead arms, miniature hunchbacked grave robbing little brothers, oedipal references EVERYWHERE… it’s like reading every great work of literature in one book! Elizabeth, you may have a run for your money.) No one achieved love through sex. (I realize that some believe that love was achieved through the parent/child relationship, and since children are created through the act of sex, sex clearly led to love, but it is my position that love did not exist between parents and children). Sex is clearly not the answer.

Violence (aka passion):
Yet another tired cliché. “I hit you to remind you that I love you.” “I don’t care that you beat me because I know you love me.” “I am raping you in hopes that you will love me.” “I only pounded my dead grandfather’s face because I loved him.”

“I am temped in occasion to strike Brod, not because she does wrong, but because I love her so much.” Pg. 86.

I think Foer spends too much time watching the Lifetime Network. I hear that there is a movie based on this book. Let me guess the cast, Costas Mandylor as Father, Victoria Principal as Mother, a young Kellie Martin as Brod, Jim Thorburn as young Safran, Wilford Brimley as Grandfather. I don’t think I need to elaborate.

Roggen Brot:
Take out the sex, take out the violence, what are you left with? About 45 pages of broken English, bad puns, and one (1) creative, original line of thought – Roggen Brot. Roggen Brot, or black bread appears subtly throughout the book.

“What Jacob R Ate for Breakfast on the Morning of February 21,1877
Fried potatoes with onion. Two slices of black bread.” Pg. 205.

“He made a bed of crumpled newspaper in a deep baking pan and gently tucked it in the over, so that she wouldn’t be disturbed by the noise of the small falls outside. He left the over door open, and would sit for hours and watch her, as one might watch a loaf of bread rise.” Pg. 43.

Roggen Brot, also known as Roggen Brod, is Russian for black bread. As I read the next passage, I couldn’t help but think of the Jewish people, Manna, and the desert.

“I tried very hard to be a good person today, to do things as God would have wanted, had He existed. Thank you for the gifts of life and Brod.” Pg. 85.

Yankel was a lost man. He was wondering aimlessly through life, slowly dying until God provided him with the divine gift of Brod.

But why the references to black Brod? Perhaps it is because she and her line appear to be cursed to never understand love. They are destined to be empty, lost, wondering in the wilderness forever without hope of salvation. Or maybe it is simply because Roggen Brod is a common Russian dark rye bread, or maybe Mr. Foer thought it sounded “neat”. Whatever the reason, it caught my attention.

All in all, this one will not be going on the book self.

Unusual Combination of Fun, Deep, and Creepy.

I admit, I'm tempted to write Alexiforously, with the use of thesaurus-enhanced vocabulary that does justice to the flexibility of the English language. Admit it... you were/are all tempted to do the same. Someone will, I hope, do so in their posting before this is through.
Overall... a very mood-spanning read. I wouldn't say a spectrum of moods, or a rainbow of moods, but rather a span of moods. That was fun. The ending, while doing a surprisingly good job of bringing conclusion, also lends a sense of hindsighted creepyness to all the other serious parts of the novel, which I otherwise enjoyed during the reading process. I feel as though I should be asking myself, "ok... so then what?" and yet I'm not. That's why the end is surpisingly conclusive.
What I probably enjoyed most during the read was the character development of the two "writers." One begins with the notion that Alex is all comedy, and that Jonathan is all seriousness, despite the sillyness of the novel what he is writing. But as things progress, the layers really peal off of Sasha-Stop-Spleening-Me. The book's Jonathan character seems to move more and more to the back of what interests us. He is "the hero," but not the hero. I think this is very intentional on the author's part. I think it is intentional that certain parts of the book drag and one feels forced to plod through them. This is perhaps Foer the author's way of pushing Foer the character into the background and bringing into the foreground Alex, his grandfather, and therefore the events that take place towards the end of the novel. The Jonathan character fades away as Alex, grandfather (and vicariously little Igor) are illuminated. In the beginning, Jonathan is Odysseus; in the end he is Ishmael. Perhaps this is also something that the double-house represents. The Jonathan side of the story and the Alex side. It seemed that the switch-over was most noticeable at the point where Alex says that it is he who was born to be a writer, and not Jonathan. Perhaps that was Foer the author's way of telling the reader, "hey... if you haven't noticed yet, pay attention! I'm taking the weight off of one foot (Jonathan) and putting it on the other (Alex)." The way Alex's forthright honesty develops is probably more of an indication of how the relationship between Jonathan and Alex develops more than it is an indication of any change in Alex as a character. Another fascinating thing to Foer the author's approach. Character development without character change. Alex might even think he had changed, but rather it seems that he was more revealed than altered. Stepping into the role of "man of the house" is a new role, but it shows the character that exists, and that has been revealed in the course of the book. It is not a story about how the responsibility will change him, but rather we are gradually shown the character who then steps up to the plate of responsibility.
I've written more than I intended. I've left out any discussion of the philosophy and probable worldview of the author. Overall, probably an enjoyable book. I'll have to see how I think about it as time progresses.

Dead Hand Control

One test that I always give a novel is the "100 page test." If the novel has not sparked my interest by 100 pages, I throw it across the room and send it to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. Unfortunately, since this was a book club selection, I had to forego execution of the test and trudge on with continued reading.

The only real benefit I got from the book was that I may now know how Bob Dole was able to snag Elizabeth Dole. Other than that, I found nothing useful from reading; it was not even entertaining.

I understand that there may be some literary value to the book, however I am ill-equipped to not only speak of it, but also to understand it. If it is not a good story - it is not a good book.

The only character that I could identify with was the grandfather because I wished I would have been able to kill myself at the same time.

The broken Uklish of Tasha was cute for one chapter, and it reminded me of those Dan Akroyd and Steve Martin skits on SNL, but by the third chapter the Uklish became annoying, and by the middle of the book it seemed like I was watching a perpetual skit of the "Wild and Crazy Guys."

If you have to guess at what the main plot of the story is, then I think the author has not done his job. This novel seemed to typify postmodernism to a tee, in that it was all over the place and did not provide any explanations or closure.

Additionally, the author presupposes that the Holocaust actually happened.

Illicit Sex! The Holocaust! It must be a masterpiece!

OK, I JUST finished the book. Maybe 2 minutes ago. Hope that doesn't make my thoughts/comments premature, but I guess there's always the roundtable discussion to look forward to.

Like Tom, I felt extremely ambivalent about the book. Throughout the process of my reading, I felt at different times like it was one of the more courageous and accomplished novels I'd read in a long time, and at other times that Foer was a total hack, and at other times that the novel was extremely self-aware and pretentious, and at other times that it was refreshingly messy and naive. In the end, I feel that all of these are probably accurate at some level. I read an interview in which Foer says he wrote the book in a matter of weeks and edited it for years. That made me think he probably had a really great novel to begin with, and at some point decided he was going to make a masterpiece, at which point the novel became overdone and just good. What I mean is that I felt like there was a lot of good in the book, but also a lot of forced symbolism and themes. The fact that Tom was able to point out such a host of themes, but none of us probably could make sense of half of them tells me quite a bit about how far-reaching Foer's ambition was, and how flawed the outcome became. But, for a 20-year old first-time author, Bravo!

In my opinion, the over-arching theme of the book has to me life versus death, and Foer's inability to distinguish between the two. This factors into almost any work of art that is Holocaust-related, because how else can one account for the murder of millions upon millions of Jewish people, resulting the birth of a (prophetic) nation? In my oh-so-biased opinion, the only answer to this is God, but because the book itself, and all the characters in the book, resist belief in God, they are left with a meaningless search through fiction and made-up history and man-made tradition, looking for meaning to life, which ends up only leading to the opposite of truth, which is death. This God-less searching for meaning and identity is the string that begins being an opportunity to remember and ends up being a spider-web that doesn't mean anything. Sir Francis Schaeffer, anyone? :)

In response to Tom's thoughts, I think this theme is what the bread is all about - a picture of life versus death, or life through death. Jesus used the same symbolism when he calls himself the bread of life, that must be broken in his death. The 2 houses-in 1 symbolism is also extremely prevalent in Judaism, with the division of the House of Israel into the house of Judah and the house of Ephraim. The two are still connected, but are lost in a maze (like the house in the book) until they find each other... The prominent 20th-century Rebbe Schneerson told his followers they don't need to be looking for Messiah, they need to be looking for the House of Ephraim, because Ephraim will tell the Jewish people (Judah) who Messiah is. Overanalysis? Maybe so, like I said I just finished the book...

In response to Aaron's thoughts, I agree that most of the sex in the book was totally gratuitous. To me it is another example of something meant for life being used only to try to cope with death. And Foer is probably pretty sexually broken. I mean, he's fantasizing at length about his grandfather's (imagined) kinky sex life. In this same interview I read, the journalist asked Foer how much he used the internet, and Foer said all the time, several hours a day. The interviewer asked what for, and Foer said only e-mail and porn, honestly. I thought that was pretty interesting...

All right, I'll shut up.

Strings, not-truths, potatoes, and coffee

okay, this one is tricky. When i first started reading i was intrigued. Then confused. Then grossed out. Then intrigued again. If you remember, at the top of the page in which each chapter begun, there were sometimes little drawings. The one in the beginning of the book for the chapter that told the story of the careening wagon, was a little picture of an out-of-control wagon... I feel like this picture best describes how i felt for the duration of the book.

I was talking to Franklin and he made this comment, "Yeah, i can't figure out who is actually writing the book... is it Jonathan or the Ukraine?" I remember thinking to myself, "crap, i didn't even notice that i was confused about that!" As i kept reading i began to think that maybe i should start tying strings around my fingers and body to remind me of the things that were confusing me... or at least to remind myself that i may not be smart enough for this book- haha!

Well, as we all have come across those pesky Final Decrees (you know, the ones that you read and re-read like 20 times and you're still not sure if they're really dead and who gave what to who?) Or as I like to quote Hollywood or Wolfman from Top Gun, "I was like, 'where'd he go,' and he said, 'where'd who go?" -- ask me to do the voice and it will help you to remember this... or maybe you should tie a string around your finger and connect it to the toaster which is connected to the fan which is connected to the DVD of Top Gun.

Okay, to the book. Bruce warned me that he had to make himself read it. And i will say, as i turned the page to see that the next chapter was a letter from the Ukraine, i was thinking, "oh no, this is going to take me forever." When i began the book it was so hard to just get flowing, but then i realized that was the point. Life doesn't just flow... speaking another language doesn't just flow. Family relationships don't just flow. The way that Foer portrays speaking in a different language, trying to learn slang, and combining a bunch of words that technically should make sense in a sentence, but then don't at all, blew my mind. I felt like i was right there in the car with Jonathan, Alex, and Grandfather, and the crazy dog! When everyone is yelling at everyone else, and Alex is stuck in the middle translating.

Alright, as i have a tendency to be long-winded and i guess now "long-typed" i will sum up the rest of my thoughts briefly. I felt that all the sexual descriptions of Jonathan's grandfather were completely unneccessary. Maybe he's proving a point, maybe not. Either way it was one of those moments when i was having to skip huge chunks of the book because they were totally ridiculous.

Example: Tracy Morgan (Saturday night Live). I thought he was hysterical. He came and did stand-up comedy at OU a few years ago and it was so sick and perverted that people started leaving... i mean he started doing stuff with the microphone. Come on, that's lame. I guess when people have to start getting vulgar to appeal to audiences i just lose some respect because in most cases, it feels like an easy way out.

Other than that, i really enjoyed the way he intertwined so many themes, thoughts, and sayings from each character to the next. Tom, i didn't catch a lot of the things you did! Some of those things you brough up are crazy how much they tie into each other. The stuff about the war was very interesting too.

Okay, i need to wrap up. I will end with a quote that stood out to me. "They had been terrified at first. Shtetl meetings were held daily, news reports (Nazis kill 8,200 on Ukranian border) examinded with the care of editors, plans of action drawn up and crumpled up, large maps spread out on tables like patients waiting to be cut open. But then the meetings convened every other day,and then every other every other day, and then weekly, serving more as social minglers for singles than planning sessiion. After only two months, wihou the impetus of any further bombing, most Trachimbroders had removed all of the splinters of the terror that had entered them that night." Funny, how nothing changes, and it seems that ignorance is bliss... or is it?

until next time, friends.

Everything Is Illuminated: What happened (or didn’t happen) and what it might (or might not) mean; or, What the hell?!

This has to be one of the most ambivalent books I’ve ever read. There was much that I enjoyed about it, and some that was less enjoyable, and some that left me scratching my head. But I admire the book for tackling a lot of the big questions head on, and for being genuinely moving (I thought). The ending of the story was terribly anguishing. At any rate, I guess I would like to approach the book on three levels, namely story/plot, meaning/symbolism, and theme.

I had fun with the three different parts of the book (Alex’s narrative, Alex’s letters to Jonathan, and Jonathan’s story of Trachimbrod). They played off of each other in entertaining ways, each throwing light on what was going on in the others. I guess I would consider Alex’s letters and his narrative together as one half of the book, and the Trachimbrod story as the other half. And the two stories are really just parts of the same story, as we find out in the end. The Trachimbrod sections were interesting, I thought, due to the whimsy and folk-tale elements. Even so, I found them less engaging than Alex’s parts of the story. That voice and its mangled English were hilarious, and the present-day story line seemed more accessible, somehow, probably due in part to the contrast with the folk-tale style of the Trachimbrod sections.

The plot seemed (mostly) fairly straight forward. But I was left wondering what really happened, which is odd considering it’s a work of fiction to begin with. Foer played around a lot with themes of truth and fiction, or truth and lies. Alex’s letters pointed out ways that he had altered his story, and ways that Jonathan had, or should have, altered his. And, in the Trachimbrod portions, Foer seemed to incorporate several anachronisms. (I doubt many people in the 18th century were taking vacations, or were vegetarians. Even Alex pointed out the anachronism of the saw-blade at the flour mill.) It seemed like Foer was purposefully drawing attention to the artifice of the Trachimbrod story. (Or would it be ifactifice or maybe ifactifartiface?) The part of the plot that did confuse me was when Jonathan wrote something in his diary about Alex and his father which didn't actually occur until the end of the book. I

I mentioned the story seemed ambivalent; perhaps ambiguous would be a better word. Or if not better, at least equally applicable. In any case, Foer definitely set up a ship-load of dualities. The one that I noticed the most was the duality between remembering and forgetting. There’s the whole contrast between Jonathan’s choice to recover the memory/memories of his family from Trachimbrod and Grandfather’s ultimate choice to sever the thread of memory or of history. I don’t know if Foer was saying you have to remember, or it’s better to forget, or if he believes both. Then, there’s the whole question of whether memory is real or just an invention. Like Yankel’s make-believe wife; or like Trachim Day, for instance - a celebration of an event about which nobody really knew what happened but that was determined by community decree.

Some of the other dualities that I noticed included

Hanah and Chanah (who really seemed indistinguishable)

• Trachimbrod and Sofiowka (interesting that the name of the shtetl on maps and for Mormons was the same as a rapist)
• Uprights and Slouchers (and related dualities such as Torah/Book of Dreams, Ark/Oven, etc.)
• The Kolker’s split brain and the loving v. violent aspects
• Love/hate (or love/not-love).
• Life/death
• remembering/forgetting

Some of the symbolism that I found interesting (or just obvious, but not necessarily understandable (to me (yet))) includes:

• The whole bread motif (Brod sounds like Brott, which is Yiddish for bread; and Yankel kept Brod in his oven when she was a baby; and the flour mill)
• The Brod River (but not sure what it means, or how or if it relates to the bread motif)
• The Garden imagery (all the stuff floating up from Trachim’s wagon was “like a garden”.)
• The house which was made up of two houses, and was always being worked on or re-invented.
• The butterflies

Well, I don’t have much more to say tonight. I’m getting distracted and am starting to ramble a bit. (I may, though, post a little bit later about the issue of antisemitism.) It will be fun to hear everyone else’s take on the book.