This book, as per the norm, vividly showcases why Chaim Potok is an absolute master of his craft.

He skillfully weaves his prose into incredibly intricate tapestries of sight, sound, and feeling.

His characters grapple with religious issues that are, on one hand, highly specific to the Jewish faith, offering readers an intimate understanding of their beliefs.

On the other hand, these religious issues are so broad that readers of all faiths can connect, understand, and empathize with the characters.

Potok also deftly handles philosophical issues and ideas with such authority and brilliance that they seem to transcend time, place, and people.

In this book, the main character finds himself in Korea and Japan shortly after the Korean conflict ends.

He and his friend engage in profound discussions about the nature of war, the meaning of religion, their place in the world, and how children suffer for the deeds of their parents, regardless of the intent behind those deeds.

These are issues that all people can relate to in some form or another.

Potok weaves this story with such mastery and power that from the very first page to the last, the reader is completely captivated and reluctant to put the book down.

While sometimes having a more Dickensian feel, Potok can also wax eloquent, often achieving the same effect as Dickens.

At the end of the book, you are left with the distinct impression that you have been in the presence of a genius author who has an unwavering passion for his craft, and all who come into contact with it, even for a brief moment, are forever changed.

Quick review here.

This book is the story of a child whose parents were involved in the Manhattan project. Just like other Potok books, it is about a kid attempting to come to terms with the violence brought about by life and war.

Primarily, it focuses on a rabbi who was deployed as a chaplain in the Korean War. It is not his finest work and concludes rather weakly instead of with a powerful impact.

However, for those who, like me, have a deep love for Potok's writing, it is still a must-read.

Although it may not reach the heights of some of his other masterpieces, it still offers valuable insights and a unique perspective on the human experience during a time of war and conflict.

Potok has a way of bringing his characters to life and making the reader empathize with their struggles and emotions.

Even though this particular book may not be as strong as some others, it is still a worthy addition to any Potok fan's collection.

It's Chaim Potok, and as expected, the work is of high quality. Very good indeed. However, it's perhaps my least favorite among his books. As always, Potok demonstrates his mastery in character development. Just a few pages in, I found myself emotionally engaged with Gershon. The storyline is expertly crafted, but the ambiguities were a touch too pronounced for my personal preference. I was both charmed and frustrated by the mysticism. At times, I felt as if I was overlooking something crucial that I should have understood, leading me to reread certain passages multiple times without quite grasping what I had missed.

I believe part of this frustration stems from my very limited understanding of Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism. The book does offer valuable insights into this area, yet it also seems to presuppose that the reader has a certain foundation in it. I did appreciate the interesting juxtaposition of light playing a role both in the positive aspects of Kabbalah and in the destructive horror of the death light (atomic bomb).

Undoubtedly, it's a worthy read. However, I have a sense that I might need to read it several times before I can fully appreciate its depth and nuances.

A good read, nothing like The Chosen though.

This statement implies that the book in question is enjoyable, but it doesn't quite reach the same level as The Chosen.

The Chosen is perhaps a highly regarded and influential work that has set a certain standard.

However, the current read still has its own merits.

It might offer unique perspectives, engaging storylines, or well-developed characters.

Even though it may not be on par with The Chosen, it can still provide entertainment and value to the reader.

It could be a different genre or have a distinct writing style that appeals to a particular audience.

In the end, while it may not be a masterpiece like The Chosen, it can still be a worthwhile addition to one's reading list.

The story of two rabbinical students exploring light and darkness, one via the Kabbalah and the other through nuclear physics and the impact of the atomic bomb on society, this book, The Book of Lights, is the least engaging and comprehensible of Potoks' fiction.

The language is often beautiful, yet at times it is overly elaborate and slows down painfully. This is especially true when Potok seems to be reliving his own Asian travels during his leave from the Korean War.

The most tangible part of the book involves Potok's nearly autobiographical descriptions of his characters' life as a chaplain in wartime Korea. However, it is frustrating and unsatisfying due to the main character, Gershom's, lack of involvement. He drifts through the story, seemingly absent from his world. When he does achieve something, like writing a paper or giving a speech in Korea, he is puzzled when it turns out well as he has no memory of what he said or why it was good.

Potok tells us what Gershom is doing, and shows it a little in Korea, but whenever Gershom succeeds, he seems to be the last to know. I grew tired of Potok's repeated device of Gershom claiming not to remember after being praised. I also found it puzzling that Gershom's main achievement in Korea was due to him being the only Jewish chaplain for a time, covering vast distances.

I am a big fan of Potok's early works, such as The Chosen, The Promise, My Name is Asher Lev, In the Beginning, and The Gift of Asher Lev. Potok excels when he focuses on the conflicts between orthodoxy and individual freedom. When he strays from this, as in The Book of Lights and Davita's Harp, he doesn't succeed with me.

This book was a partial success for me as I found the concepts interesting, but the author overwrote and left his character adrift. I wondered if rereading would improve my perception, as it did with The Gift of Asher Lev. However, on rereading The Book of Lights, I was increasingly frustrated with Gershom's aimlessness.

The ending was abrupt and anticlimactic. Gershom has no clear plan and drifts to a new place. The book is more about Gershom's journey and his unsolved life puzzle. Some parts, like the Korean section, were interesting, but others, like the Asian tour and the seminary parts, were less so.

Gershom's life and Potok's Book of Lights are somewhat a development of In the Beginning, but while the main character in In the Beginning has drive and purpose, Gershom seems barely aware of his real life. This lack of real character development in Gershom makes the book frustrating and unsatisfying.

The book, like The Gift of Asher Lev, did not receive the critical acclaim and popularity of Potok's earlier works. In these later books, the characters seem to fall into their fates rather than actively strive for something. Potok's writing still has beauty and a message, but it feels incomplete.

This is, quite frankly, one of my absolute favorite books throughout all of time.

I initially read it several decades ago. However, in the face of all the current crises that we are experiencing, I found myself irresistibly drawn to pick it up once again.

Reading it cover to cover this time around, it was still every bit as thrilling as it was before. This is because of its meticulous and in-depth inquiry into the moral and religious issues that revolve around human evil and the extensive damage that it can cause.

Those individuals who firmly believe that they are doing the right thing - in this case, their involvement in the development of nuclear weapons - can ultimately find themselves on the wrong side of history. The consequences of their actions can even have a harmful impact on their own children.

And finally, there is the whole complex problem of the Jewish religious approach as exemplified by the Talmud, with all of its numerous rules. This stands in contrast to a more mystical approach, which allows for a process of grappling with the mystery of an anthropomorphic god who permits, and perhaps has even created, certain aspects of human existence that are so deeply troubling that it becomes extremely difficult to even believe in G-d.

All of this is masterfully presented through excellent fiction-writing skills. I truly and wholeheartedly love this book!

Chaim Potok was an outstanding writer, and this is yet another of his remarkable books.

However, in my opinion, it doesn't quite reach the level of excellence as most of the other works of his that I have read.

The story centers around Gershon Loran, who is engaged in the pursuit of studying Kabbalah, which is evidently the belief in mysticism.

The initial third of the book chronicles Gershon's studies up until his graduation.

Subsequently, the remainder of the book delves into his time in Korea serving as a chaplain.

The story, in and of itself, was rather good.

Nevertheless, I found Gershon to be somewhat unappealing.

He simply appeared to be too aloof and incapable of making commitments.

This aspect of his character somewhat detracted from my overall enjoyment of the book.

Despite this, Potok's masterful storytelling and his ability to bring the characters and settings to life still made this a worthwhile read.

This is a long and frankly boring story.

It delves far deeper into a pointless plot than I had any desire to explore.

Throughout the narrative, you find yourself constantly expecting something significant to occur.

However, it never does.

The story just plods along, lacking any real excitement or momentum.

It seems to be going nowhere, and yet it continues on and on.

It's as if the author is determined to take you on a journey that leads to nowhere in particular.

By the end, you're left feeling disappointed and wondering why you bothered to read it in the first place.

It's a prime example of a story that could have been greatly improved with a bit more focus and a lot less meandering.

I haven't given this a star rating yet. The only time I read it was in the late 1980s, when I was probably in the ninth grade.

For some inexplicable reason, my strict Born Again Christian school assigned us "My Name is Asher Lev" for summer reading. This was a revelation to me. Immediately, I wanted to read everything by Chaim Potok that I could.

I had tremendous difficulty trying to understand this. I remember the Korean War being involved. I also remember a kinky scene on the couch where he's kissing her nipples, and she asks for the light to be turned off.

Maybe I'll try it again, now that I'm in my 50s. But my memory is sighing, "Why bother?"

Looking back, that summer reading experience was quite an eye-opener. It introduced me to a world that was so different from what I was used to in my strict Christian school environment. The story of Asher Lev and his artistic journey seemed both fascinating and somewhat challenging to comprehend at that young age.

The mention of the Korean War added an element of historical context that I perhaps didn't fully appreciate then. And that particular scene on the couch, while it might have seemed a bit shocking at the time, also made me realize the complexity and diversity of human relationships and desires.

Now, as I consider revisiting the book, I wonder if my perspective will have changed. Will I be able to understand it better, or will it still hold the same mysteries and challenges? Only time will tell.

While The Chosen is far more widely recognized than this particular book, I have discovered that The Book of Lights has remained with me more intimately over the years and is the one I consider as a guiding influence.

For me, it is a book that goes beyond the Jewish perspective and offers a meditative/contemplative encounter that individuals from various faiths can relate to.

In the years following my reading of the book, I have found it fascinating to compare it with works from other traditions, such as The Cloud of Unknowing, a Christian contemplative work from the Middle Ages.

The Book of Lights is not suitable for everyone - many people might very well find it dull. However, others will find its historical aspect, the convergence of cultures and beliefs, and its portrayal of mysticism to be profoundly rewarding.

The scenes on the rooftop and the scenes with Gershon and his Mormon driver traveling through war-torn Korea vividly depict what it is like to have that fleeting realization that there truly is something beyond the veil.

It had been a long time since I delved into a Chaim Potok book. Recently, I picked up "In The Beginning," which, for me, followed a similar path as most of his other works.

It is a story about an Orthodox family set in a particular period, grappling with life, Antisemitism, and the challenges of the times.

"The Book of Lights," on the other hand, is a markedly different book. Set eight years after the end of WW II, it conveys the sense of a lost generation. One of the protagonists in the story experiences profound guilt over the dropping of the atomic bomb.

This was Potok 2.0, extremely cerebral and with a very slow pace. The book is divided into three parts and centers around two seminary roommates who are pursuing rabbinical studies together. The first part details their time at the seminary, which I found to be very long and tedious reading. The second part focuses on their stint as Army chaplains in Korea, and the third part deals with their journey to Hong Kong and Japan.

My impressions of the book are rather mixed. Firstly, I believe you will gain more from the story if you have a knowledge of Kabbalah and/or Torah, which I unfortunately did not possess. However, what I did find interesting was the perspective of someone who had lived in Los Alamos as a child and then had to come to terms with the aftermath of having a father who was one of the architects of the atomic bomb. "The Book of Lights" is a book about two men striving to find their place in the world while simultaneously confronting the demons that haunt them.

Apr 3, 845am ~~ Review asap.

Apr 2, 8pm ~~ Chaim Potok's 1981 novel The Book Of Lights is as intense as his previous works. The main character, Gershon Loran, has endured a great deal of pain in his life. This begs the questions: Is this the reason he feels disconnected from the world? And is it also the reason the reader feels a disconnection from him? I, for one, never felt that Gershon was as real to me as the main characters in Potok's earlier books. I've attempted to figure out why this is so, but the best conclusion I could reach is that Gershon simply wasn't as present in his own world, and thus couldn't be as present in mine as Asher Lev, Reuven Malter, and Daniel Saunders were.

Daydreaming through school yet somehow emerging as a brilliant scholar, Gershon is plagued by losses, both personal and tribal, during his youth. He's unsure of what he wants to do in life and doesn't seem interested in much. However, two of his teachers see more in him than he himself is aware of, and they try to guide him, often on conflicting paths.

He not only has to face his own personal demons but also the atomic demons unleashed upon the world in the final days of World War Two. He's closer to the source of the bombs than he realizes: his college roommate was the son of one of the men who developed the atom bomb and called Albert Einstein Uncle. Gershon never fully grasps the guilt Arthur feels, but he begins to experience it himself just the same.

And while part of the occupying Army at the end of the Korean War, he wonders how it's possible for a large portion of the world's population to seem quite happy in their beliefs of their own God, never knowing of the existence of his own. How can this be explained? How can it be accepted?

With nearly every book Potok has written, I've wondered just how much of his own life is depicted in the main characters. After finishing this book, I learned that it was intended to be somewhat autobiographical, as Loran faces dilemmas that Potok himself dealt with while serving as a chaplain in Korea. I suppose all writers put a part of themselves on paper; otherwise, how could they follow the rule of writing what you know?

This book is moving and thought-provoking on a much grander scale than just the events that occur in one man's life. It attempts to open the reader's eyes to an issue that impacts the entire world. And it leaves us with the question: What can I do about this?