| Title | : | De joodse messias |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 9050005144 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9789050005142 |
| Language | : | Dutch; Flemish |
| Format Type | : | Hardcover |
| Number of Pages | : | 494 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 2004 |
| Awards | : | AKO / ECI Literatuurprijs (2005) |
De joodse messias Reviews
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Welcome to the world of Xavier Radek, teenage high schooler and grandson of a late Nazi SS officer living in Basel, Switzerland with a highly developed aesthetic sense and noble ambitions, his highest and most noble ambition, as it turns out, is taking on the role of comforter of the Jewish people. After enjoying two highly regarded Dutch novelists, Willem Frederik Hermans and Cees Nooteboom, I wanted to explore a contemporary Dutch author and came across Arnon Grunberg and his outrageous novel. I’m very glad I did since young Arnon tells Xavier Radek's provocative tale in a most accessible and easy-to-understand language at times lyrical and richly poetic.
In the first section of the novel we are introduced to main character Xavier's peculiar way of looking at the world, for example when he makes a public pronouncement at his school that the pursuit of beauty is his highest goal and observes how all of human suffering is but an emergency exit out of the realm of the beautiful. And then, sometime later, Xavier reflects on how beauty is a fine thing but a person needs a higher aim, and, in his case, that higher aim means aligning himself with Zionism as an ideal, an ideal, he judges, that fits him like a custom made suit. Of course, since Xavier was not raised Jewish and claims a grandfather who was a staunch member of the Nazi SS party, there is a strong irony at work here.
Rather than conveying any specifics of plot, let me simply note how this novel is laced with a good measure of not only irony but also satire and black comedy and how Arnon Grunberg introduces us to a number of characters surrounding Xavier, or, perhaps more precisely, character sketches surrounding Xavier, since a few telling details of each person is all the author needs to set the tone of his novel told with a light authorial touch as he touches on the dark subjects of violence, domination, sadism and masochism:
Awromele – Son of a Rabbi, Xavier's Jewish friend, companion and occasional lover, who tutors Xavier in Yiddish, who has dark hair and smooth, white skin and is seen by Xavier as having a drop of changeless beauty.
The Mother -- Xavier's mother, that is, who spends many hours in the kitchen and, as the story develops, acts out her masochistic and sadistic tendencies.
The Architect Father - Xavier's father, that is, a man who craves not only a high level of order in life but who also craves messages and saunas.
Marc - The mother's boyfriend who appears once the architect father leaves the scene, a man who fills his time with jazz and jet flight simulation and who also has powerful feelings for Xavier.
Dancia - Awromele's younger sister who becomes the object of bullying and abuse at school and then assumes the role of willing victim.
Rochele - Awromele's much younger sister who envisions the messiah as a pelican (thus the captivating cover of the book), a pelican who will fly her on its back to America.
The Egyptian - Sexy restaurant owner and falafel king, but, being an Arab, is a universal object of hatred.
Bettina - Sexually charged young lady who takes on a number of social causes along with her own cause of having lots of sex and keeping up with the current fashions.
Mr. Schwartz - Old half-blind Jewish businessman who trades in cheeses and offers his services to Xavior as a circumciser.
The Tall Boy - Leader of a schoolyard pack who quotes Kierkegaard and uses the Danish philosopher as a stand-in for the German Führer, or, as the novel's characters refer to him – ‘You-Know-Who'.
You-Know-Who - Although Hitler isn't an actual character in the novel, the Führer casts his shadow (thus the cover of the book – bold black and red with white trim). Indeed, the mentality of Nazism infects a number of characters.
The first 350 pages take place in Basel when Xavier is a 16-year old student, the next 50 pages continues with teenage Xavier in Amsterdam and the last 50 pages is a fast-forward, covering the subsequent 20 years of Xavier's life wherein his worldview of beauty and becoming the Jewish messiah plays itself out in unexpected and brutal ways. Such a meaty, thought-provoking novel, a book that would make an excellent choice for anybody wishing to ponder a number of challenging perennial and contemporary philosophical topics. Highly recommended.
Basel, Switzerland - Setting for the major portion of the novel -
I thought I had been branching out after joining this site but I had really just played it close to home by going for pseudo-science over science fiction, pop bestselling fiction over epic fantasty, revisiting young adult fiction (although there are some new gems in that category, NOT Twilight), pop bestselling survival memoirs, miscellaneous library shelf culls...completely avoiding the huge huge huge universe of Literature. Like most American schoolchildren, I was forcefed a few of the acknowledged classics. Like most American schoolchildren, I had found them boring. Why were these adults forcing us to think about life and meaning? I just wanted an A, most others just wanted to get stoned and/or hang out (I imagine...). I remember one English teacher speaking of the story "The Dead" in Dubliners, straining with popping forehead vein and that one gesture where you hold your hand palm-up with fingertips bunched together, willing us to ponder the meaning of life with Joyce! Poor man.
Since those schooldays, I've read a few other acknowledged classics without a critical mind, classifying them into boring/not boring, maybe following the movie adaptation. For those who know Powell's Bookstore, I stuck to the Gold room later venturing into Green and Orange with occasional forays into Purple; in pursuit of Literature I will now add the Blue room. But in this new world, it's laughable that I read this so early on. I need to use metaphors: Talk about going from 0 to 60 with one pedal-to-the-metal, whiplashing-headsmack-against-the-seat, cheek-flapping acceleration. Dropped into the middle of the Pacific after the first swimming lesson and stretching the legs down, hoping to swish against a bottom that is fathoms below...well, bear with me as I hold my nose in thumb and forefinger and attempt to plumb these depths.
In my inexperience with Literature, this reads as heavy Ahrt.* A little incomprehensible but maybe some of that is because it's translated from Danish. The inside jacket blurb gave away plot points, similar to Invitation to a Beheading's backcover blurb; I'm getting the impression this is common in Literature (erm, based on my two data points).
Grunberg writes of sorrow, love, cruelty, family, etc. A would-be savior who mistakes ambition for altruism, love for...something else, I'm not sure what. A Jew who feels empty literally fills the void. A mother whose passionate side is neglected turns away from men to a knife. And on and on. A litany of gruesome, shock, disgust, terror, pity. Botched circumcision. Yeah. You know how some men have sympathy pains along with pregnant women, a sort of imaginary phantom womb thing? My phantom testicles retracted in sympathy pain. With all the horrors this book revels in throwing at the reader like monkey turds, I kept coming back to the pack of boys who beat Awromele that Xavier ran away from. I think it's no coincidence that they called their actions 'taking away loneliness' and 'communicating true friendship with their feet' as they kicked Awromele to pulp, that they were 'reassuring' him (they were quoting Kierkegaard? knowledge of K would probably help in understanding this episode); Xavier calling his ambition to 'comfort the Jews' sounded similar to my ears. These boys were described as having every advantage of stability and material good, but they came to the same point as Xavier with his messed up beginnings. Disturbing.
Interspersed with this mess of a story of messed up lives, there are phrases and sentences and paragraphs of beautiful...truths. At least they seem to ring out with truth. There are more phrases and sentences that elicit an "OMG!" of disgust (e.g. Just as some women were apparently asking to be raped, so, too, some Jews were apparently asking for a pogrom.).
I'm garbling this unforgiveably. Since I'm unable to cite other authors who have similar work or write intelligently about the 'political, economic, and religious' overtones (stock answer to expound upon in history class essays), I fall back on simile. Reading this, with the ending in mind, is like walking through a bombed shell of a city. The pavement is cracked and buckled, no building has a roof, everything is dead. As you walk around a corner you notice something white; it's human bone, a pelvis. When you look up, there is bleached bone everywhere (mostly pelvises though, this work of Literature seems to like to use that area of the body for shock...like ceramic Ahrtists* with their phalluses). But as you back away in horror and accidentally dislodge one of these bones from their rest, you uncover a spot of color, a flower. All around this husk of a city there is a beautiful meadow full of these flowers. But in this setting, surrounded by the charred remains of a once vital infrastructure, this one flower takes on an emotional significance, an added undefinable beauty. No doubt a walk through a meadow of flowers is preferrable, but perhaps it's good for the soul to trip through the bones and comtemplate the broken walls, find life and loveliness where you would not expect it, and think about who/what/when/where/why/how. That seems to be one of the things Literature is meant to do (uh, again from my two data points).
*Copied from karen's shelf name. -
Aaron Grunberg is a courageous writer, and The Jewish Messiah is a testament to his bravery. It’s been a while since I’ve encountered an author so ready both to challenge and antagonize readers.
The Jewish Messiah starts in farce-mode. Xavier Radek decides he wants to “comfort the Jews” and immerses himself into the Zionist culture, much to the annoyance of his hyperborean mother. He befriends (well, more than befriends) Awromele, the son of an “autistic” (at least to his long-suffering wife) rabbi. The pair decide the best way to proceed is to agree never to feel anything for each other and begin the process of translating Mein Kampf into Yiddish. Subplots address the Egyptian owner of a kebab shop torn between donating money to Hamas and his attraction to an operative from the other side to whom he is supposed to supply information, although he has no useful information whatsoever, and Awromele’s little sister’s interactions with a group of violent, Kierkegaard-obsessed high school boys. Grunberg’s a master at slipping the truth through his character’s clueless ways, and for the first hundred pages I perceived this book as a hilarious Swiss brother to The Confederacy of Dunces.
Then Xavier decides he wants to be circumcised and everything changes.
Grunberg could have coasted into “isn’t this a cute, amusing portrayal of the European Jews’ antics?” territory but instead pivots into bottom-of-a-coal-mine black humor. Xavier’s mom becomes, ahem, enamored with a sharp Italian knife (has Grunberg been watching Bergman?) and the high school boys’ chance encounter with Awromele turns transformational in the worst way possible. Xavier’s circumcision at the hands of an elderly cheese seller creates a world-famous icon. The pain, well, the pain to which Xavier wants to give meaning becomes too much for anyone to handle, and the book stops with the funny and starts with the harrowing.
This book is all about pain, and the wrong writer would probably take the story into maudlin, knock you over the head with a trite message territory. The author chooses to avoid the Hollywood ending; this book reminded me of how accustomed one becomes to the easy wrap-up. Grunberg, thankfully, tosses off sentences that the rest of us would be lucky to beget annually. The Jewish Messiah stimulates without complacency. I’m going on record as saying this book will attain classic status within a decade. Mark my words. You want to read this novel, however dark it may be. -
Kellemetlen olvasmány. De milyen is lehetne egy könyv, amiben fejezeteken keresztül vagyunk kénytelenek elmerülni egy balul elsült körülmetélés ocsmány és fájdalmas következményeiben? Ehhez képest Zolát legjobb formájában is olyan olvasni, mint Vivaldit hallgatni és bonbont eszegetni közben, mert ez már nem is naturalizmus, ez hipernaturalizmus. Itt eufemizmus azzal jönni, hogy az író kimozgat minket a komfortzónánkból - helyesebb úgy megfogalmazni, hogy amennyiben a komfortzónánk egy kádnyi forró habfürdő, amiben relaxálni szoktunk, akkor Grunberg ezt a habfürdőt rothadó döglött halakkal és hatnapos napon érlelt csirkebelsőséggel pakolja tele.
Nyilván a történet is, ahogy mondani szokás: provokatív. Xavier, egy buzgó és hithű SS unokája elhatározza, hogy meg fogja vigasztalni a zsidókat, vagy ha úgy tetszik, ő lesz a Messiásuk. (Vagy ha nem tetszik úgy, akkor is.) De hogy lehet megvigasztalni egy népet, kérdezzük mi a földhözragadt elménkkel? Hm, hát ezt nehéz megmagyarázni. Mindenesetre a Mein Kampf jiddisre fordítása része kell legyen a tervnek, legalábbis Xavier szerint, aki (mint a fanatikusok általában) mesterien hidalja át a logikán tátongó szakadékokat pusztán az akarat erejével. Tekinthetjük ezt egyfajta tanmesének is a megszállottságról, amely a saját képére formálja a valóságot, és ami képes bármilyen pozitív célból embertelen őrületet előállítani.
Technikailag ez egy szatíra alapanyaga, és valóban, a szereplők karikatúraszerűsége, a groteszk helyzetek mind-mind arra utalnak, hogy Grunbergtől nem áll távol a műfaj. De ha szatíra is, végtelenül kellemetlen. Ennek elsődleges oka, azt hiszem, Grunberg stílusa, ez az érzelemmentes, távolságtartó nyelv. Úgy ábrázolja az erőszakot, úgy mondatja el szereplőivel a legszörnyűbb ideákat is, hogy azokat megfosztja minden erkölcsi vonatkozásuktól, mintha a tetteknek, gondolatoknak nem lenne morális értelemben következménye. Mintha nem is emberekről, hanem mondjuk hangyákról lenne szó. Ezzel tudatosan veszi el az olvasótól az azonosulás lehetőségét, mert egy hangyákról szóló könyvben szeretni a szereplőket csak akkor lehet, ha magunkat sem embernek, hanem hangyának tekintjük. Ami viszont valami kényelmetlen, viszkető érzéssel jár. Mintha hideg, idegen térben kóvályognánk, a kabátunk meg otthon maradt. -
I was recently sent a link to the "Stuff White People Like" blog. I started scanning the list with shock and horror. Marathons, Organic food, no TV, Tea, Yoga, Sushi, Public Radio, Grammar, CHRIST ON A JET SKI!!! I'M WHITE!!! and then in subsequent bookster threads regarding "hip or not hip" and avoidance of the hip I came to the shocking realization that not only am I whiter than white but I'm also not as original as I had thought. Wait, does this mean I have to get a moped and start wearing skinny jeans? I won't do it!!! I won't! So to combat my own neuroses I decided to read something different.
The first hundred or so pages were farcical and delightful. Then came the circumcision. He went from dark comedy to an even darker pit of delusion, self-pity and bizarre. I can handle a lot but this was over my limit. It felt like loads of bizarre troubles and atrocities were being shoveled on my reading pleasure. There was no end to the intriguing characters. From the far-sighted Mohel to the Kierkegaard quoting gang of happy thugs mixed in there with the altruistic hooker and the Rabbi who regularly visited tranny masseuses because it "made him happy and god said he should be happy". On the other side you had the severely disturbed nameless mother who mixes rat poison in her baby's milk and later falls in love with a knife that she stabs into herself. Really, I'm reading this for pleasure? Please let the shocking continue. Which it did. I won't get into it just in case you too need to pile on the atrocities contained in this book and rid yourself of that safe comforting feeling.
All in all, fine, it was entertaining but holy hell, David. There may be something wrong with you. -
(P.S. If you don't want to read my long and rambling review, you can read someone else's long and rambling [and much more coherent and specific] review
here )
after: The blurb on this site calls The Jewish Messiah a "grotesque farce," which is pretty apt. With a strong emphasis on grotesque. I have never read a book with so much blood, so much insanity, so much sex, so much death and agony.
Honestly? This book really upset me at times. That's tough for me—a girl who believes she's so jaded, so overread and overstimulated as to be above perturbation—to admit. But for real, if this book were a movie (and it really probably ought to be), I'd have had my hands over my eyes for maybe forty percent of the time.
But what's weird is I was almost as upset at myself for not getting upset until like two-thirds of the way through. I think that because this book is so over-the-top, I kind of didn't take any of it seriously for the first hundred or so pages. I mean, I knew all along it was dark and deranged, but I just sort of told myself it was a very black comedy. I even giggled as I recounted plot points for my boyfriend—a seventeen-year-old boy getting circumcised by a myopic octogenarian, a rabbi who embezzles grant money and uses it on transsexual "masseuses," two young Jews deciding to translate Mein Kampf into Yiddish because "the time is right"—and I kept trying to decide if the book was actually anti-Semitic or just pretending.
But at about the halfway point, this already extremely dark book took a nosedive into the truly appalling, and I just couldn't keep it at arm's length anymore. There's a mother who buys rat poison and mixes it with her baby's milk. There's a gang of teenagers who roam around deserted parks quoting Kierkegaard as they beat boys bloody and force girls to give them blowjobs. There's a woman who is so unsatisfied with her love life that she begins stabbing herself in the leg in the middle of the night, and believes she has fallen in love with the knife. There's a restaurant owner turned informant who is tortured by having his feet deep-fried. There's a boy who is so convinced of the evilness of the vagina that he tries to re-seal a woman using hot candle wax. Not to mention our "hero," he of the botched circumcision, who lost a testicle in the process, which he calls King David and carries around in a jar.
Sorry if I've given too much away. But while you may think this was all spoiler-y, it's not. Because these little episodes are really just a tiny fraction of this huge, sprawling, unbelievably fucked-up book. And far far more powerfully disturbing than these isolated incidents of violence and depravity are the musings that Aaron Grunberg carries on throughout. In this way he reminds me of Kundera, who I have always believed uses his novels primarily as vehicles for his philosophical ideas. Grunberg too uses the most horrific scenes to draw sweeping conclusions about love, loneliness, pain, sorrow, sex, and everything else. Many of these conclusions are very thought-provoking and seem to feel quite true. Others are far more harrowing than the bloodiest incidents in the book.
In closing, I would like to reiterate that this book is fucked up. I, who can handle a whole lot, couldn't handle many parts of it, and was only able to do so by kind of disassociating. Ultimately I'm not sorry I read it, but I really can't say I liked it, and I'm extremely glad to be done with it. Sorry David!
during: Um, I have two things to say about this book right now, a third of the way through.
1. This is not a good cover or title for one who often reads in public places, like subways, parks, and right outside one's apartment, where the hipster droves who walk by while I'm smoking have been throwing me even stranger looks than usual.
and
2. This book is insane.
before: Ok David, this better be good... -
I'm thinking that this novel is an empty broken-taboo-strewn phantasmagoria of violent and sexual tableaux sprinkled into which we find much Kurt Vonnegut (the flat so-it-goes tone) and more than a smidgeon of Donald Barthelme (the idea of Christ returning as a testicle in a jar) and that whilst fun's fun, taking a few modishly grim aspects of modern life (paedophilia, computer games, sex slaves, self harming, falafel) and thinking up about a dozen catchphrases (e.g. loneliness is nothing to be ashamed of) and repeating them so many times the reader's brain explodes, and chucking all of this with gay abandon into the bijou literary blender you have on your kitchen worktop will not, alas and alack, sorry to say, produce the delightful and outrageous satire which I thought I was reading for the first one hundred pages as I smirked, chortled, cackled and guffawed and as, indeed, I was ordered out of the room for my pains.
I'm thinking that this novel is the perfect companion to Philip Roth's one-true-masterpiece "Operation Shylock" - Roth's book is a gazillion times better but they're both Jewish satires about Jews and they're both funny and they dig you in your soft parts.
Note to Penguin, the publisher : are you crazy? I mean, somebody's head should roll. The blurb on the dust jacket doesn't lightly sketch in the plot of the first third of the book to lure you in, it spells out every significant feature of the plot from first page to last! So, dear prospective readers, skip it! -
This book is not for the squeamish, and sadly, I am one of them. I had some very grim moments while reading this book. Think Coen Brothers level of violence, presented with a "well, what can you do about it" tone. Because, there is no meaning, only pain, in life. At least, as it's portrayed here.
The story follows a Swiss teenager named Xavier Radek, who, to honor his Nazi grandfather's legacy, decides to make his life work comforting the Jews. All around him is misery, people doing terrible things to each other, and sometimes to themselves. So comforting seems like a reasonable desire. We all need comfort, right?
But the plot did not comfort, it discomfitted, over and over again. I read this book with my fingers metaphorically over my eyes, peeking at the horrors on the page. Not at first, though, at first it seemed like an exploration of a banal young man with grandiose plans: Xavier swims with young Zionists, goes to synagogue, meets a rabbi, sort of, and becomes friends, and later more, with one of the rabbi's sons, Awromele. But to truly become a Jew, he must be circumcised. Let the squirming begin!
I'll just say that the circumcision does not go well, and leave it at that. Other characters suffer from park beatings, self-inflicted stab wounds, and other trauma, and when a deep fat fryer was given prominence, I shuddered because I knew it would be put into play.
While I can't say that Xavier succeeds in his plan to comfort the Jews, I did notice that the two most prominent Jews in the book were very good at comforting themselves. The rabbi and Awromele seemed to be the characters who found the most pleasure in life. It was meaningless, of course, there IS no meaning, but at least it didn't hurt.
And what was the meaning of all this? I'm really not sure. I found all the violence so disturbing, that if there is a satirical message in the book, other than don't look for meaning, there is only pain, I missed it. -
*bad word alert*
I really don't know how to rate this book. I just finished it and I'm sitting here thinking (probably waaaaayyyyy too hard) about it.
I'm still not sure how I feel about this book. I like it. I hate it. I just don't know.
*last chance to avoid naughty words!!!*
Never ever have I read a book with such complex, fucked up characters. Yes, I dropped the F bomb, you know why? Because they really were fucked up. Calling them screwed up, messed up, fascinating, or unique does not even begin to touch it.
All of them - f-u-c-k-e-d UP.
I'm still not sure how this makes me feel about this book. I like it. I hate it. I just don't know.
Do I leave the stars blank? Do I give it three? Do I give it 5 for characters that continued to make me shake my head?
I just don't know. -
A dystopian story full of crackpot characters. Not fun to read but addictive nevertheless.
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“De christenen hadden Jezus, de kapitalisten hadden winstmaximalisatie, de boeddhisten konden langzaam versmelten met het niets, de socialisten konden loonslaven verheffen, drie avonden per week, bij mooi weer in de open lucht, en de joden hadden niets. Geen messias, een God die het liet afweten en ze werden unaniem gehaat, minder openlijk dan vroeger misschien, iets besmuikter, op het herentoilet van het koffiehuis, achter gesloten gordijnen, op vergaderingen waar de pers niet aanwezig mocht zijn, maar wel gehaat. En daar was vast een reden voor.
Bovendien had je joden die zichzelf haatten, had Xavier gelezen in een encyclopedie, de joodse zelfhaters. Die moesten qua troost maar het eerst aan de beurt komen.”
Xavier Radek is de hoofdpersoon in deze roman uit 2004, die uitkwam na De asielzoeker en voor Tirza. Op de eerste pagina lezen we dat zijn grootvader met veel enthousiasme de ss had gediend (“niet zo’n slampamper van een opa die achter zijn schrijftafel bleef zitten”). Al op jonge leeftijd raakt Xavier geïnteresseerd in ‘de vijanden van het geluk, die ook bekend stonden als de connaisseurs van het lijden.’ Hij besluit zich op te werpen als de trooster van de joden. Als hij voor het eerst kennismaakt met joden in de synagoge lezen we:
“Hij voelde zich een truffelvarken dat in de buurt van de truffels was beland. Hij zei: ‘De joden hebben ook Lebensraum nodig.’”
Zijn uitstapjes naar de synagoge werden door zijn ouders getolereerd.
“Ze hadden liever gehad dat hij naar de hoeren was gegaan, als hij dan toch het exotische moest opzoeken, maar je kon niet alles hebben. Hun zoon was tenminste gezond en niet aan de heroïne.“
De typische humor van Grunberg kun je bijna op elke pagina vinden. Bovenstaande citaten zijn allemaal uit het begin van het ruim 500 pagina’s tellende boek. En ook hier is er weer geen normaal personage te vinden. Ze zijn allemaal verknipt. Ok, Awromele met wie Xavier vrienden wordt is de enige die normaal is maar die kan dan weer geen nee zeggen ("Mijn moeder zegt: wij joden hebben al zo’n slechte naam, daarom moeten we op het meeste ja zeggen."). En ongemakkelijk scenes zijn er zoals altijd ook bij Grunberg. Maar toen ik deze week las dat Hamas onlangs 5 Palestijnen executeerde voor 'samenwerking' met Israël, wist ik weer dat de werkelijkheid soms nog erger is.
Knap hoe Grunberg historische parallellen in het verhaal heeft verwerkt. De naam Hitler wordt overigens geen enkele keer genoemd, over hem wordt alleen gesproken als je-weet-wel-wie. Met heel veel plezier gelezen: 4,5* -
De helft van het boek zat ik met mijn benen over elkaar en een vertrokken gezicht. Naar, pijnlijk, goor. De tweede helft was ok.
-
Follow this link -
http://us.penguingroup.com/nf/Book/Bo... - and you'll get the official summary. Go on, read it. I'll wait.
There. That's it: you've just read the book, essentially. The official publisher's summary tells the story from beginning to end, and the book simply fleshes it out. I know this sounds negative, but I mean don't mean it that way. The summary is honest and tells you exactly what you're getting into, from plot point A to plot point Z.
So now that you've "read" the story, let's delve. The characters in this book - and I mean all of them, the main ones, the side ones, and the supporting ones alike - are very, how do you say, crazy. Not the "haha, that's funny" crazy; the "I really think you need to see a doctor about your failing mental stability" crazy. But none of them seem to notice this, which adds to the dark, outrageous and almost depressing feel of the book. Injury, agony, self-loathing, jealousy, lust, delusion... none come in short supply, and there's not much to balance them in terms of positive emotions.
It's difficult to say what the actual point of the novel is other than to tell a slightly jarring, fairly impossible, very off-the-wall story. When I'd finished the book, I didn't hate myself for reading it or think, "Well, there went several hours of life I'll never get back", but I didn't love it to pieces either. If you can take a dark book, and don't actually require it to make sense, you might like this; but it's not for everyone. Even I'm still on the fence. -
This one falls into the frustratingly-incomprehensible-yet-compelling –category. Weird oddness. Odd weirdness. That sort of stuff. I really can’t claim to know what this story aimed at, but I know that it’s been written really well. Grunberg crafts a tale of a man with an arguably twisted and unlikely way of perceiving the world with a narrative that floats above the realistic, Terry Gilliam style. I guess that “The Jewish Messiah” is in short a daringly raw and psychologically interesting satire told with the tools of magical realism.
Grunberg’s characters are peculiar, somewhat distant and unrealistic, yet deep, surprising and very much alive. Through them and some really harsh, shocking scenes themes of war, hate and modern antisemitism are dissected with an approach that is quite direct for a novel this surreal. Then again, I often felt that only a novel this odd could be so very blunt and controversial with its statements and characters.
I can’t quite shake the feeling of frustration this book left me with, though. There’s not that much of a plot to follow, and some portions of the narrative are just so blatantly meaningless they disturb the flow of Grunberg’s mostly smooth storytelling. Still I must confess that I’ve been left very curious about this fascinating author’s other work. There is much potential here, and originality is always a good thing, even if it doesn’t always carry all the way. -
I should have judged this book by its cover: I hated the picture, and after reading the inside jacket, I thought to myself that it was probably going to be an extremely odd book. I was right. Every character is severely dysfunctional. I felt depressed each time I put the book down. I imagined the plot as oil spill of psychosis. The spill originated from the central character, Xavier, and spread out in odd and uneven ways across countries and continents, covering new and interconnected characters along the way. One of the only redeeming things about the book for me was that the author circled back to the supporting characters at strange and unusual times and gave a little update about what had become of them. This quote stood out to me:
There is a collection of meaningless pain. That collection is also referred to as humankind. But all pain begs for meaning. That is why there is religion, that's why there is art.
Thought provoking and taboo, yes. But not worth my time. -
Évekkel ezelőtt jutottam ehhez a könyvhöz, már nem tudom, hogyan. Nem egy egyszerű történet, botránkozni is lehet rajta, de én nagyon jól szórakoztam. Élveztem minden sorát, ez alapjáraton rettenetesen hangzik egy ilyen könyv kapcsán, de csak olvassátok el. Hihetetlen, hátborzongató és a maga sajátos stílusában, még humoros is. Már, ha vkinek ez a stílusa. Én kedvelem a morbid dolgokat.
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There was a certain joy in completing this one, perhaps it was the sublime day outdoors, but I was elated to end this contrived rasher of shocking images. The novel shouldn't be considered a meditation, as such, instead, it was an excercise in excess. I didn't flinch, but I was annoyed.
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Overbearing sarcastic tone. None of the characters, not a single one, is really sympathetic, yet it is somehow an interesting read.
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i felt like i was kicked in the chest with steel toe boots by a gay skinhead in a pink prom dress! fucked up read, but i just could not put it down!
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Growing up in Basel, Xavier Radek feels a calling. He needs a passion, he needs to commit to a cause, he wants to fight against the enemies of happiness. Like his grandfather, who served in the SS, who did not desert his post in the face of the danger, dying a hero’s death in Russian gunfire.
Xavier feels bad for the Jews and their suffering, so undertakes to comfort them. He decides to convert to Judaism, learn Yiddish and get circumcised. Awromele, the local rabbi’s son agrees to help him. The Yiddish goes well, the circumcision less so. Mr Schwartz, a cheese importer with failing eyesight, botches the operation and Xavier loses a testicle.
With his unattached testicle (christened King David) in a jar, Xavier returns home. He can think of nothing but Awromele, and begins to paint. He paints his mother, holding King David, and thinks of his Jewish friend. Mother’s new boyfriend, Marc, is not working out as she’d hoped – unfortunately Marc’s in love with Xavier – so she embarks on a new sexual adventure. With a kitchen knife.
Awromele and Xavier’s relationship grows, on the condition that neither of them allow themselves to feel anything. Their new project is translating Mein Kampf into Yiddish.
"It's a fascinating book," Awromele said. "It's got pace, it's got momentum, it's full of humour, and I think the writer has a good story to tell. We've struck gold."
Kierkegaard-quoting youths beat Awromele up, and provoke the pair’s departure to Amsterdam. Xavier discovers new art forms, while Awromele discovers he just can’t say no.
Finally, they travel to Israel, where Xavier manages to become Prime Minister. Here the parallels to Hitler come into play, and the man with a passion becomes a danger to the world. His end comes in a bunker with his dead dogs and dead lover while his people revolt.
Such an audacious premise takes true skill to balance prejudice, religious sensitivity, and historical memory with gorgeously crafted writing, character and pace. The former Grunberg handles perfectly. The themes provoke consideration, and many set pieces make you laugh aloud while wincing in pain. And all the while, you’re checking over your shoulder for the political correctness police.
The latter is less even. Early chapters are worth reading simply for the glorious language. Yet pace is problematic. Grunberg draws out two scenes of agony to the point of exasperation, while haring through the last section of the book as if he can see the finish line. And characterisations, despite being privy to interior monologues, seem only partially inhabited.
It is a satirical farce, written with an acidic intelligence which rejects kid gloves, taking on subjects most politically castrated writers would not touch with rubber ones. Grunberg is an astounding writer, but his best may be yet to come. -
TJM is a raucous exploration of neurotic Zionism, neurotic philanthropy, neurotic politics and neurotic love, and it attempts to chart these universals as neurotically as humanly possible. It is too lengthy, repetitious, and also slightly infantile in its description of some of the more disgusting quirks I have had the opportunity to read. There is a circumcision gone awry (it actually induced in me real, physical pain), a woman who performs sexualized acts with a kitchen knife, beatings and oral rape by a group of Kierkegaard-inspired teens, an Egyptian who suffers a unique way of using a deep-fryer, and so, so, so much else.
Grunberg has taken a broad, Rabelaisian canvass and filled it with a series of ultra-shocking vignettes that are more like a sickening sitcom than a novel of outrageous satire. At one point the main character, Xavier Radek, proclaims that all communication is pain, and this seems to be the central thrust of the book's aims. While reading it you sincerely think that it could not possibly be forgotten; yet, one week later it's difficult to summarize what, exactly, was the point.
It's redemption comes in the form of very finely drawn, freakish characters, some poignant remarks Middle East politics and the second coming in the form of a pelican... -
"It's a fascinating book. It's got pace, it's got momentum, it's full of humor, and I think the writer has a story to tell. We've struck gold."
This is as good a review as I can give right now. That the above is one of the two main characters talking about Mein Kampf, which they are translating into Yiddish, gives you an idea of the tone. Biting satire, but satire kept in a disturbingly real, grounded reality. (Well grounded for the majority of the book. Grunberg slowly wound his characters up and in the final section of the book everything is fast and unbelievable.)
Grunberg is the most awesome writer than probably 97% of the reading public would not touch with a ten foot pole. But if you like your lit straight up, fearless and difficult he is the dude for you. If you want to scare a friend or relative go up to them with big puppy dog eyes, hand them the novel and say softly, "I love this book..."*
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*(I would never do this in real life, but on the internet I'm okay with scaring the crap out of all you imaginary people.) -
Als je de kleinzoon bent van een Nazi SS officier heb je natuurlijk wel war te verwerken. Sowieso voel je je misplaatst? schuldig. "Je wilt dan b.v. de Joden gaan troosten".
In Arnon Grunberg's "De joodse messias" kun je lezen hoe Xavier Radek dat gaat doen.
Niet iedereen houdt van Arnon's Grunberg's boeken. Ik denk doordat hij het nogal over rare mensen heeft, die zich gek gedragen en vreemd denken. "Wat moet je daar nu mee?" Hij schrijft goed en het boek leest vlot. Het is vooral ook vaak heel humoristisch.
Er is die onderstroom in het boek, die ik zelf niet helemaal helder krijg. Waar heeft Grunberg het echt over?
Het gaat gewoon over de hele wereld, zo blijkt in die laatste 50 blz. Hij voert er maar een kleine groep mensen in op. Xavier wil de Joden gaan troosten en redden? Die Pelikaan van Rochelle moet uiteindelijk klaarblijkelijk uitsluitsel geven.
Gewoon een goed boek, maar lastig. Het beste boek tot nu toe wat ik van Arnon heb gelezen. -
I liked parts of this book but I did not love it on the whole. The elements of the grotesque and comedy were interesting and made for enjoyable reading. All of the characters were compelling to me and the similarities drawn between the main character and Hitler were well plotted.
I also really liked the development of the main character and his sidekick/lover from simpletons to powerful politicos peddling nuclear weapons.
The pace of the writing was not consistent and I didn't like the way the last 100 pages went at light speed covering a large span of time in two paragraphs. I think I understand what Grunberg was doing but it really didn't work for me and I was getting a little bored with it towards the end. -
very nice book by one of Holland's contemporary top authors. It's about a teenager whose grandfather was a SS camp guard who wants to understand suffering and therefore decides to comfort the enemies of happiness: the Jews.
The first 250 pages or so are hilariously funny (the scene in the sauna where his parents are exposing the dubious past of his grandfather, him deciding to translate Mein Kampf into Jiddish, him getting circumcised at age 17 by a half blind old amateur cheese selling Jew and so on). But I felt the story slip away a bit and slow down too much from page 250 - 400. At the end the narrative is picking up speed again and finishes nicely in a grand finale.
recommended read and will certainly read more of this author. -
Savage satire: no ox ungored, no ax unground, erasing all the boundaries between Judaism and fascism. Disturbing, much like speeding down the freeway, suddenly traffic slows to a crawl and everyone gawks at the accident on the side of the road. This isn't Grunberg at his best, when he magically pulls you into character, time and place--for that, read "The Story of My Baldness" or "Blue Mondays." Here there's a kind of bitterness that leaves a bad taste in your mouth--at least figuratively if not literally. Still, it's an amazing gawk. And beware of pelicans....
