Oh, boy, this was an incredibly painful and yet powerfully moving trip through the pages of a remarkable novel. It is truly one of the most engrossing works I've come across in a long time.

It functions as a sort of autobiographical confession/künstlerroman, delving deep into the central tensions that Asher Lev, a devout young Hasidic Jew, experiences while growing up in Brooklyn during the mid-20th century. From an extremely early age, he becomes aware of his monumental gift for art. However, his compulsion to paint constantly creates friction between him and his father. His father is actively involved in bringing Jews safely to America from Eastern Europe and Russia. In a sense, both of them are artists in their own ways, striving to accomplish a great work with their lives and use their gifts to enhance the world. But Asher's visionary art is met with incomprehension and often disgust from his father. Meanwhile, Asher himself rebels against being tamed and controlled by the forces of orthodoxy that seek to curb and limit his creativity. It is the one "Talent which [would be] death to hide" (Milton) for him.

What makes it all so excruciatingly painful is that the narrative presents a zero-sum game, where everyone seems to lose and must atone for the guilt generated by living. All the while, they carry deep love and respect for every aspect of their lives. Asher fiercely loves the Brooklyn street where he grew up, his parents, his Jewish community, and his traditions. But he feels as if he is constantly being called upon to choose between that life and the passionate expression that his art demands. Let me also mention that the dread I felt in the build-up of events in the final chapter was only surpassed by the "talent show" scene from the 2002 film, "About a Boy." You know what has to happen, but you desperately wish there could be another way and that "this cup could be taken from" a central character. The book reminded me a great deal of Joyce's "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" in its narrative trajectory and its themes of the sacred vs. the secular, but it packed an even stronger emotional punch for me.

This book is a captivating exploration that delves deep into the realms of time, place, religion, family, talents, mission, faith, truth, and the numerous struggles that come with them.

It centers around the life of a Jewish boy who is a remarkably talented artist. He keenly observes the world surrounding him and is filled with curiosity about the outside world. While he endeavors to remain dedicated to his faith, he finds himself in a constant struggle to satisfy his parents and religious leaders, all the while staying true to himself and his artistic gift.

The book is enriched with several interesting quotes that offer profound insights. For instance, the quote about man taking the first step to establish a connection with the Master of the Universe emphasizes the importance of individual initiative in matters of faith. Another quote highlights the idea that a life should be measured by how it is lived for the sake of heaven, regardless of one's profession.

The story also showcases the internal conflicts within the protagonist as he grapples with his gift and its implications. He feels the weight of responsibility not only to his people but also to his art. The various conversations and interactions he has with different people further shape his understanding and perspective.

Overall, this book is a thought-provoking and engaging read that invites readers to reflect on their own beliefs, talents, and the challenges they face in life.

The Absence of Italics

I revisited this classic after reading Talia Carner's recent novel Jerusalem Maiden. Both protagonists are talented artists raised within Orthodox Judaism, grappling with reconciling their art and faith. To succeed, the writers must convey the essence of both religious belief and artistic inspiration, a challenge that Potok masters brilliantly.

Consider one significant aspect. Both novels are filled with Hebrew words, but Potok never uses italics. This may seem trivial, but it's not. Italics imply a divide between the writer and the reader, suggesting that the words are foreign and need explanation. Potok's omission of italics eliminates this foreignness. These words are as common to his characters as "overcoat" and "arithmetic." By using them matter-of-factly, Potok invites us into Asher Lev's world as equals, erasing any gap. He also shows that religious observance is not just for the Sabbath but a part of everyday life.

Asher, the only child of prominent Hasidic families, is expected to follow the family tradition. But he is consumed by his precocious talent for drawing. Potok's lack of notional italics convinces us of Asher's genius. He simply shows us Asher's thought process, revealing art as the language through which he processes his life and emotions.
Asher's gift isolates him from his classmates and alienates his father, who sees his pursuit of art as "foolishness." His mother is torn between her husband and son, and between two ways of honoring God. The strife within his family and his own mind leads to the creation of "The Brooklyn Crucifixion," which brings Asher both notoriety and success. Potok's great achievement is to exalt the mystery of both God and Art, presenting them as the most normal things in the world, described in everyday words, without the use of italics.

The story is rich and complex, exploring themes of faith, art, family, and identity. Potok's writing is细腻 and engaging, drawing us into Asher's world and making us feel his pain and joy. The absence of italics is just one of the many ways in which he makes this story feel real and immediate. It's a testament to his skill as a writer that he can convey such deep and profound ideas in such a simple and accessible way.

4.5 stars.

Set primarily in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, New York, from the mid-1940s to the mid-1960s, this novel is an intense, powerful, and emotional rollercoaster that takes readers through the incompatible worlds of Hasidic Judaism and master artists. It's a story I won't forget anytime soon.

Asher Lev is born to ultra-Orthodox Hasidic Jewish parents with a long aristocratic lineage in the fictional Ladover movement. He is their only child and is born with a "unique and disquieting" gift for drawing and painting. This gift has the potential to shatter his family and his close-knit religious community.

Asher must ultimately choose between artistic truth and loyalty to his family and faith, and it's a heartrending journey to witness. Mr. Potok writes this story with grace and intelligence, drawing on many of his own personal experiences. I highly recommend it to everyone.

"Asher Lev, Hasid. Asher Lev, painter. I looked at my right hand, the hand with which I painted. There was power in that hand. Power to create and destroy. Power to bring pleasure and pain. Power to amuse and horrify. There was in that hand the demonic and the divine at one and the same time." This passage beautifully captures the conflict and complexity within Asher as he grapples with his dual identities.