Roth's Sabbath's Theatre is a work that pushes the boundaries of what one can handle. Portnoy seems mild compared to this dark exploration of the life force within the sexual drive. Mickey Sabbath, a 64-year-old ex-puppeteer, is unemployed, broke but still virile. His grief over the death of his lover Drenka, who had an insatiable sexual appetite, leads him on a journey back to his past before he plans to commit suicide. However, his strong life force and vibrant lust make suicide a difficult choice.

The story line is flimsy as Sabbath visits his old pal Norman, defiles his house and family with his out-of-control sex drive, and then retreats to his childhood neighbourhood. He retrieves his dead brother Mort's belongings, drapes himself in the flag and tries to kill himself, all while lamenting and reliving his sexual escapades. Norman's words, "You live in the failure of this civilization, the final investment of everything in sex. And now you reap the lonely harvest," sum up Sabbath's situation.

Roth reveals every shameful and private act, grinding us down into our basest instincts. The book contains acts of phone sex, polyamory, urination, masturbation, fetishism, and necrophilia, written in energetic prose that elevates it from formulaic erotica. The sardonic humour helps soften the pungency and differentiates the narrative from pornography. Roth seems to be asking the reader, "Have you had enough? Shall we take this up another notch?" or perhaps he is challenging the literati by stretching literature beyond its existing sexual boundaries.

Roth chose sex as the linchpin of his work, and Sabbath's Theatre is a comic appraisal of that choice. His later books show the decline of the life force as he ages and the sex drive diminishes. Mickey Sabbath is an unforgettable character, a complex villain with a conscience and an uncontrollably frisky penis. His planned epitaph sums him up perfectly: "Beloved Whoremonger, Seducer, Sodomist, Abuser of Women, Destroyer of Morals, Ensnarer of Youth, Uxoricide, Suicide."

I am recusing myself from this review.

It would not be fair to the book, to myself, or to anyone reading this as a review.

When I brought up the dilemma of reviewing the book at club, there was some interesting debate on the issue. Another member came up with this to help me out:

If Odysseus had to rate the Sirens' song - and he was limited to the goodreads 5 star rating scale, what would he give them? Obviously, the songs were pretty good. Does he give them 5 stars? Would that have upset the other sailors who had to plug their ears? Would that encourage others (who might not have been as cautious as him) to sail the waters in search of the Sirens?

Should he have given them 1 star? Would that have been honest? The songs were sung well, but they were also evil - or at least sung with evil intent.

And splitting the difference and giving a 3 doesn't seem honest either. In fact, I would argue that it just makes the reviewer look like a coward; indecisive.

Yet here we are.

Here is the question: Did Philip Roth have to write Mickey Sabbath as depraved as he was? Or could he have made the points he was trying to make some other way?

It must have been very freeing for Roth to write Sabbath. True, Sabbath was a slave to his depravity - and once he started, Roth was forced to write him that way if he was to have any integrity. But I maintain that it must have been freeing nonetheless: to say - without apology - what the character really would say.

Of course, we'll never know the answer to that question - and it wouldn't be the same book - so maybe that's your answer right there.

I can't recommend the book. In our society, if someone recommends Lolita, they become the perverted Humbert Humbert. And if someone recommends Sabbath's Theater, they risk becoming Mickey Sabbath (at least in the eyes of those who would read the book.)

Maybe Mickey Sabbath would recommend the book. But even in my total depravity, I'm not Mickey Sabbath.

This isn't a review or a recommendation. It's a warning.

We should be cautious when approaching certain works of literature that contain controversial or potentially offensive content. While Philip Roth's "Sabbath's Theater" may have its merits in terms of literary style and the exploration of complex themes, the character of Mickey Sabbath is so deeply depraved that it makes it difficult to recommend the book without reservation. We must consider the potential impact that such a recommendation could have on others and be aware of the associations that may be made. It's important to engage in thoughtful discussions about these types of works, but also to exercise our own judgment and responsibility as readers and critics.

\\"Either foreswear fucking others or the affair is over\\",

Roth's 'Sabbath's Theater' commences with this powerful line. Mickey Sabbath, a 64-year-old washed-up puppeteer, serial adulterer, and high priest of debauchery, is engaged in a conversation with 'Drenka', the woman with whom he has been having an affair for the past 13 years. She desires monogamy within their adulterous relationship, but Sabbath clearly has no intention of complying and attempts to dissuade her. Shortly after this conversation, 'Drenka' succumbs to cancer (the reason behind her longing for monogamy). Sabbath, whose life has been one continuous orgy filled with obscenity trials, numerous affairs, seductions, and who has witnessed his brother's untimely death and his mother's descent into near invalidity due to it, who has been dismissed from the college where he was teaching for alleged misconduct with a student, and who at age 64 thinks nothing of bedding a 20-year-old girl and is aroused by a pregnant woman, with his seemingly unlimited libido and mental fortitude, now finds his life spiraling out of control. The remainder of the book chronicles his tragicomic unraveling and snapshots from his past life.

As is the case with all Roth books, there is a palpable vitality coursing through the entire novel. However, this energy is not life-affirming; rather, it stems from the anxiety of the characters, bordering on the hysterical. The energy is more mental than physical. The offspring of the union between anxiety and energy is that many scenarios are on a grand scale and may seem exaggerated. For instance, Sabbath's act of going to Drenka's grave and masturbating over it. While a lover might visit his beloved's grave, masturbating and doing so while braving blizzards and extreme cold is quite another matter. And to make matters even more extraordinary, Drenka's other lover also shows up and masturbates there!!! It is Roth's writing, a lush and voluptuous prose that is well-suited for a book primarily dealing with carnal pursuits, that enables us to overlook and even enjoy such exaggerations. Roth's greatness truly shines through in the dialogues. Whether it's a discussion of the pitfalls of monogamy, Sabbath's recollection of an old obscenity trial he had to face, which he subverts by deliberately replacing a female witness's name with the name of his host's daughter, the writing crackles with verve, chutzpah, and a high-pitched tone that perfectly matches the libido-driven character of Sabbath and indeed the theme of the book. And Roth can alter the tone as needed, as seen in the letters written by his father-in-law to Sabbath's wife and Sabbath's brother's letter to his family, which are not testosterone-driven writings.

Roth has been accused of being a'misogynist', and one can understand why this label is attached to him in this novel. To say that the female characters are not treated well would be an understatement. Sabbath's first wife is a neurotic who is more comfortable on a theater stage enacting different characters than confronting her true self. His second wife is a recovering alcoholic in therapy. Drenka, for her part, is sex-crazed, a fitting match for Sabbath in this regard and perhaps the only one who receives a modicum of detailing from Roth. In fact, other than Sabbath, there are no other characters (even male) worthy of mention, and this is probably the way Roth intends it to be (again, a typical Roth template). Sabbath is a gargantuan sexual behemoth who looms large over everyone else. Gargantuan not only in size (at 64, he is but a withered old man) but also in his mentality. Whether it's lusting after other women (as young as 20), engaging in all manner of sexual debasement, abusing his host's trust, or generally being a jerk to everyone else, everything he does is on a grand scale in the great Roth tradition of male characters. Yes, the entire book is indeed Sabbath's theater of indecency and immorality, and Sabbath is the lead actor, director, and lord of all that he surveys from the stage.

To be fair to Roth, however, he does not shy away from indicting Sabbath for all his indiscretions. Yes, Sabbath abuses his host Norman, who lodges him in his daughter's room, by masturbating with her underclothes and even makes a pass at Norman's wife, but it is never justified. He acknowledges that he is a purveyor of immorality. So while the misogynist label may be a bit unfair, the fact remains that this is a text written by a male with a predominantly male perspective, and considering this along with the general treatment of female characters in his other works, one must admit that he may indeed have a deep-rooted bias against women.

As loathsome as Sabbath may be and as depraved as his actions are, when he writes his own epitaph as he does:

\\"Beloved Whoremonger, Seducer, Sodomist, Abuser of Women, Destroyer of Morals, Ensnarer of Youth, Uxoricide, Suicide\\"

it is difficult not to like at least a little something about this unapologetically antagonistic old man who, at the age of 64, is still capable of becoming indignant when monogamy is proposed and who is refreshingly honest about his predilections. It doesn't make him a paragon of virtues, but neither does it make him a completely hateful character, which would cause the entire book to collapse. The key in books like this, where the main character is a voice against conventional morality, is that while there should be no disingenuous justification for his acts, the reader should not be completely repulsed by him, and Roth achieves this here. You sense that all the carousing and antagonizing of others is just a sham, a play that Sabbath is enacting for himself alone, and that at the core, there is a young kid who never recovered from his brother's death in war and his mother's complete breakdown after that. But then you also wonder if perhaps even that is feigned and Sabbath is using the events of the past to somehow rationalize his debauched lifestyle. At the end, when Sabbath is left in no man's land (a mental purgatory for him) in his pursuit of suicide, which he began shortly after Drenka's death, you are left wondering whether to be glad that he is alive or to put him out of his misery.

If you can look beyond the hysterical exaggeration, the high-pitched narrative that pervades most of the novel, if you can tolerate the sexual deviancy and the treatment of the female characters, then this novel is for you, and the glory of Roth's writing awaits your savoring. This holds true not just for this novel but for all his works.

This year, there has been a novel that not only is among the top five of the books I have read and liked the most, but also one that I believe will surely be on the "favorites" list even after many years. That novel is Sabbath's Theater. Roth also said that this work is his best novel. Since I haven't read all of his novels, I don't know this yet, but it is definitely a book that has given me the motivation to read all of his novels.

It is written without a future. Truly incredibly impactful.

I highly recommend it without a doubt.

Some have written that "Sabbath's Theater" is the greatest novel that Philip Roth has ever written. Well, maybe. Surely it is a novel that doesn't start very well, at least for the unprepared reader's stomach.

And to say that the themes at first glance are more or less the usual ones: the difficult relationship with aging, the end of sexuality, the way of dealing with approaching death. The point is that this time Philip Roth uses his usual themes to build the character of Mickey Sabbath, that is, the most repulsive and boorish little man that has ever populated my readings. We are talking about a perverse womanizer, a red-hating man who enjoys destroying and soiling the lives of others, a seducer who does not hesitate to use his charm for his personal pleasure if this does not cause harm to those around him. On the one hand, the figure of the protagonist underlines Roth's great talent as a character creator (because in the hands of anyone else such a man would have become a sort of bad wolf in the comics, and instead Sabbath manages to arouse in the reader a feeling of repulsion), on the other hand, as the story progresses, it raises interesting questions about how human evil is born, about how even the blackest soul can continue to look in the mirror thinking it is in the right.

The problem is, always and anyway, the inevitability of death. Sabbath suffers a serious family loss when he is young that he cannot process emotionally: all his sexual perversions are only a sign of the fierce hyper-vitality that he imposes on himself to exorcise death; all his hatred and the anxiety of destroying the happiness of others are only the desperate attempt to rationalize his loss. His sufferings, the destruction of his childhood are explained by the fact that in the world only destruction exists, and the happiness of the orderly lives of the people around him is only a lie that he takes the trouble to揭穿.

There is something Freudian in a character like Mickey Sabbath: he seems to be a sort of primordial man, an id unleashed in the world in an increasingly perverse and unrestrained sexual activity, motivated by an anxiety of domination and possession that seems not to know the limits imposed by the rational and civilized ego. Moreover, to counterbalance such a meanly primitive but precisely for this reason so transparent man, there is contemporary American society, composed essentially of masks, of equally repulsive duplicity, of moral constraints that confer respectability but that in reality are chains, are the carpet under which the dust is hidden.

Evil, perversion exist in each of us, we know it well. We must give in to them since in the world nothing makes sense as Sabbath does, or we must, lying to ourselves and to others, hide them by denying their existence and proclaiming ourselves perfect (as the perfect New Yorker Norman Cowan does?). It is the question of the whole novel, the question that a disgusting but truly successful character poses to us.

It is instead annoying that in a novel anyway very well written (even if really too long) and that manages to dissect such a central theme, the relationship with female sexuality is reduced to pure pornography. The old man from Newark really doesn't care at all about the theme of women, and about how they live in their own way the relationship with sex and with death, a way that men cannot understand. When the women in "Sabbath's Theater" give themselves to sex, they do so not being themselves but as a man usually dreams they do, which of course does not correspond to reality. Pornography, indeed. From an erotic novel one expects more.

Mickey Sabbath represents the most primitive, abject but true extreme of the man's relationship with evil and with death. The zenith that corresponds to this nadir, the triumph of the Freudian ego over the id, is the abandonment of every form of vitality in the name of moral and social perfection. It is Seymour Irving Levov.

Everything is ready for "American Pastoral".

In my reading life, there are books that simply touch you gently, like a soft breeze on a warm day.

And then there are those rare gems that invade you, seeping into your very soul and leaving an indelible mark. Philip Roth's "Sabbath's Theater" undoubtedly falls into the latter, more profound category.

It is a piece of literature so raw and unfiltered, so profound in its exploration of the human condition, that it forces you to come to terms with the deeper, darker aspects of humanity and the inescapable transience of life.

This, for me, was an unequivocal 5-star read.

"Sabbath's Theater" introduces us to the outrageously defiant Mickey Sabbath, an aging, unemployed puppeteer who indulges in hedonistic excesses with an almost nihilistic abandon.

This novel is a bold and unflinching exploration of a man's confrontation with his own mortality, loneliness, lust, and despair.

Sabbath is a character of immense complexity and contradiction, capable of evoking equal measures of revulsion and empathy within the reader.

Roth's masterful handling of the narrative is on full display in this novel.

The non-linear structure, combined with the raw, first-person narration, creates an immersive reading experience that draws you in and refuses to let go.

The narrative dives deep into Sabbath's past, unearthing memories of love, loss, and debauchery that have shaped him into the man he is today.

The seamless transitions between past and present, reality and fantasy, are a testament to Roth's storytelling genius.

However, it must be noted that this book is not for the faint-hearted.

The explicit sexual content, the amoral protagonist, and the often bleak outlook can make it a challenging read for some.

Yet, the beauty of "Sabbath's Theater" lies precisely in Roth's refusal to shy away from these uncomfortable truths.

The prose is unabashedly raw, almost visceral in its depiction of Sabbath's internal landscape.

Each sentence, each word, is drenched with an unyielding honesty that strikes a chord deep within the reader.

"Sabbath's Theater" is also notable for its exploration of existential themes.

It forces readers to confront the chaos and absurdity of life, the inevitability of death, and the eternal struggle for meaning in a world that often seems devoid of it.

In doing so, Roth deftly weaves a narrative that is at once deeply personal and universally resonant.

In conclusion, "Sabbath's Theater" is a magnificent piece of literature, a testament to Roth's extraordinary ability to delve into the darkest recesses of the human psyche.

It is a work that challenges, provokes, and ultimately forces readers to reflect on their own lives and the nature of existence.

If you're ready for a deep, intense, and unapologetically honest journey into the human condition, then this is a must-read. Five stars, without a doubt.

In my opinion, this is the finest work of American fiction in the last 25 years.

Mickey Sabbath, the protagonist, goes further than any other of Roth's characters. Each time Roth reaches an intersection in this novel, each time he has to make a decision whether to stop, slow down or accelerate, he chooses to go faster.

This novel is truly a work of genius. Perhaps it is the only novel of Roth's - from cover to cover - about which such a claim can be made.

The best novels are those that engage readers on multiple levels and upon multiple readings. I have read Sabbath's Theater twice. The first time, I was shocked by its unrelenting sexual content. However, the second time, I discovered far more themes related to death than sex.

This novel incorporates some of the best elements from Roth's other works. The portrayal of Sabbath's love for his brother in childhood is even superior to the family's trip to Washington DC in The Plot Against America (and that trip is the only redeeming feature of that otherwise dreadful novel).

The sexual introspection that Sabbath exhibits - as brutal and meticulous as it is - presents Portnoy all grown up after 25 years of reading and reflecting.

Moreover, Mickey Sabbath is a more profound thinker than both David Kepesh and Nathan Zuckerman.

My advice to future readers is as follows: Read the first sentence and determine if this novel might be suitable for you. Sabbath's Theater does not hold back or relent after that; if the first sentence is too intense, do not proceed further.

But if you do dare to venture further, you will encounter contemporary American literature at its most powerful.

Non-stop, rebarbative descriptions of the sex act in a graveyard. It's truly an awful slog. For me, Roth is one of those authors who can either be extremely engaging or leave me completely cold. This particular work left me stone cold. Hey, if you're in search of masturbatory fodder, then this might be the novel for you. However, I happen not to be in that category.

As an alternative, I would highly recommend any of the following: American Pastoral, The Counterlife, Operation Shylock, The Ghost Writer or The Human Stain. Certainly, the first three among these are absolute masterpieces that展现了 Roth's卓越的文学才华和深刻的洞察力. They offer rich and complex stories that explore various aspects of human nature, society, and history.

Okay, now I truly understand. Now I fully grasp the entire Philip Roth phenomenon—book prize judges resigning in protest over him, the overwhelming volume of those both praising and condemning him, and even what I’ve previously referred to as “absurd”—the suggestion that Roth is a self-hating Jew. (I still firmly believe that such labeling applied to anyone is completely absurd.) I now understand all the commotion surrounding him.

Take that recent incident where Roth told a young writer to give up because the writing life is pure hell. A group of us, including Elizabeth Gilbert of “Eat, Pray, Love” (oy vey), called him out on this ridiculous claim because, hey, our writing life is great! We write books! Roth should stop his silly complaining and moaning about his privileges.

I also understand all the fuss about this.

But here’s the thing: if you’re Philip Roth, the writing life might very well be hell. You might end up dying doing it. It could truly kill you. Even if you “retire” and stop writing fiction, it might be a terminal situation. You could die an ugly death.

Philip Roth, I will mourn you. I will mourn your passing.

Now, I feel like I really get it. I read “Sabbath’s Theater,” which is only my second Roth book, and my mind is in a whirl.

This book, in short, is an outrage!

Let me just share some of my wild, unfiltered thoughts.

The book is—make no mistake—pornographic. I’m not a fan of graphically描写 sex. First of all, I think it’s silly. Second, it’s still silly. Third, it remains silly. Fourth, I think it’s often—but not always—unnecessary. Sometimes it works. I’m not overly prudish when it comes to writing. However, this book really grossed me out. In fact, when I told my somewhat perverted husband that the book was a bit too much for me and he asked to see it—more like he made a grab for it—I quickly snatched it away. I needed to protect his delicate perverted ears, and I’ll be darned if he gets any strange ideas. I don’t care how well we’re getting along, we are not peeing on each other. And—I hate to break it to you, my beloved—we’re not even bringing home some young girl. Nope. Not going to happen. Don’t call me Drenka. Not now. Not ever.

The book is gross.

That being said, it’s also brilliant.

So how should you read it? Or should you read it at all?

I’m going to have to be a bit elitist here and say something a bit snooty. It’s not for everyone. It’s not for my mom. It’s not for many of my friends. It’s definitely not for my kids.

I don’t know if it’s for you; you’ll have to make that decision. Here are some random thoughts on this amazing book.

The book is called “comedic” in countless places. I’m wondering who these strange people are who think it’s funny. This book is tragic. It’s tragic in an epic way. It’s probably one of the best portrayals of humanity truly abandoned by God. The existentialist man, alone. What does a man without a god really look like? I’m not sure what to make of this comedic aspect. This is a deeply sad picture of a human with no meaning in his life whatsoever. It’s painful to watch Mickey Sabbath, the puppeteer for the Indecent Theater (notice all those ironies?), attempt suicide and try to get murdered. Dear God.

Sexual depravity really isn’t my thing—I’m depraved in other ways—but I think Roth reveals depravity with a kind of truth that, well, I’ve never encountered before. I have to be honest: this is why I will highly recommend this book. Roth writes better about the heart of man than any other author I’ve ever read. Let me tell you this, and you can take it or leave it: I started drooling when my Love Slave was described as “wincingly candid.” Oh, I love wincing candor! I blushed! I flushed! Okay, I beamed with excitement!

But Roth? That man takes wincing candor to new heights. I can’t compare to him.

In short, Roth exposes the heart of human darkness with breathtaking candor, and you might want to read it. Although I think you should start with “American Pastoral,” which I actually liked better—and it’s not sexually explicit at all.

I have other thoughts too:

It occurred to me, after I finished, that I used to be one of those stupid girls who liked “bad boys”—but those girls are full of it. Those girls have no idea what real bad boys are like. Roth has written about the real bad boy, and trust me, none of us silly girls would want anything to do with him. We’re just talking. Roth is smarter than us. You want to see what a real bad boy is like? Read this. It’s not fun. Real bad boys are gross.

There’s a part of me that thinks that anyone capable of writing this is probably a vile human being. Of course, I thought that when I first read Nabokov too. I don’t think that anymore. What I do think, however, is that it’s valid for Roth to suggest that the writing life is brutal. For anyone to delve so deeply into this kind of depravity, suffering is not far behind. I do not doubt Roth’s genuine sorrow. A privileged life of sorrow?

You know, this book—interestingly enough—is similar to my all-time favorite book in the world, “The Catcher in the Rye.” Both books are about protagonists with dead brothers. These deaths are intertwined with their beings—intrinsic to their experiences in the world, coloring everything. What a fascinating contrast to make: Holden Caulfield and Mickey Sabbath!

Most importantly—let’s be clear—this book is about man without God.

On his life as an artist: “The main thing is to do what you want. His cockiness, his self-exalted egoism, the menacing charm of a potentially villainous artist were insufferable to a lot of people and he made enemies easily, including a number of theater professionals who believed that his was an unseemly, brilliantly disgusting talent that had yet to discover a suitably seemly means of ‘disciplined’ expression.”

Doing what you want. Where does it lead, after all? Like “American Pastoral,” this book ends perfectly. I won’t give it away, but it’s true. It’s right.

How can one read Philip Roth without being influenced? One can’t. So there are other questions. How will you be influenced? Is it worth it? For what purpose?

For myself, the answer lies in the wincing candor. I’d like to be a student of wincing candor. He gets so close to the soul, so very close indeed.

UN GROSSO !!!!

Grazie G.

"Per la pura sensazione di sentirsi tumultuosamente vivi, non c'è niente di meglio che il lato canagliesco dell'esistenza," said Michey Sabbath. This statement seems to suggest that there is something special and exciting about the more unrefined and chaotic aspects of life. It implies that in the midst of the roughness and disorder, one can experience a vivid and intense sense of being alive.

Perhaps Michey Sabbath is highlighting the idea that sometimes, the most memorable and fulfilling moments come from embracing the raw and unfiltered side of existence. It could be that the chaos and tumult bring out a different kind of energy and passion within us.

However, it's important to note that this doesn't mean we should completely abandon all notions of order and refinement. There is still value in balance and moderation. We can appreciate the canagliesco side of life while also maintaining a sense of decency and respect.

In conclusion, Michey Sabbath's words offer an interesting perspective on the human experience. They encourage us to look beyond the surface and embrace the full spectrum of life, including its more unruly and unpredictable elements.

Sabbath, or Chaos

After Portnoy, there is Sabbath. It is an evolution of the old Alexander, stripped of comedy and clothed in a grotesqueness that at times becomes strange for the reader. This is the story of a man who tries every way to self-destruct, who seems to despise life but cannot die. There is “no one who can kill him except himself.”

In reality, Sabbath is deeply attached to life. He wallows in memories, in the never overcome grief for the lost people (his brother Morty and then his mother, lost even when she was still alive), and in Drenka. His companion of mainly sexual affinity, for whom he harbors a veneration that does not fade even after the woman leaves this world. A woman with an excessive sensual charge, the incarnation of carnality and at the same time fragile, attentive to the needs of her “canonical” family and eager to be accepted by a country that disturbs and disorients her, and of which her lover Mickey Sabbath is the most representative simulacrum. And in becoming Sabbath, she lets America - and all that it brings with it - into herself.

Sabbath (the Sabbath, the Jewish day of rest, of detachment from common life, but also a reminder of the Sabbat, of something distorted and demonic like his arthritic fingers) is naturally Jewish. His childhood is different from that of Portnoy: fewer lamentations, more moments to recall with nostalgia. A mother's ghost that is then a ghost similar to that of Hamlet, which hovers over the heir's shoulders and seems to direct him towards a certain end. And in Mickey I have seen a new Hamlet (the second part of the book is called exactly To Be or Not to Be), a man beyond common morality, beyond the philosophy that knows few “things in heaven and on earth.”

And we come to the theater. Sabbath is a puppeteer, and he pulls the strings that weave around the people who surround him (Drenka, the killed or disappeared wife Nikki - even the last act of Othello comes on stage! - Norman Coway and the ambiguous wife Michell, Kathy Goldsbee, the second wife Roseanne, an ex-alcoholic and tied to him by a thread that she cannot break. In short, this man's life is a theatrical work, whose last act is slow to arrive. A work of the lowest level if we want, which leads to the total degradation of a soul that cannot die, whose last failure is the impossibility of suicide.

And how many other considerations could be made (what a wonder the “shot” at the Japanese!) about the lucid madness of Sabbath, about the devastating - and above all self-destructive - power of grief, about American phallocentrism, about the castrating Jewish morality of the time, about marriages based on appearance. With these ingredients, Roth gifts us another masterpiece, an evolution of Portnoy, a nihilist who cannot succeed in life, however, in renouncing with the extreme gesture. Who does not want freedom, like Cato of Dante, but who is attached to the things he hates like an infernal soul, deeply linked to the earth even when he buys his own tomb, writes his own epitaph (this is the theater of the absurd!), raves obscenely on the tomb of his lover. And yet, here too Death only touches him, as if his punishment is to stay alive as long as possible, tormenting himself in grief and perversion that is now difficult to satisfy. Even as a suicide, Sabbath is only a fake. An anti-hero of our time.

What can be said about the style? This Roth of obsession, of the politically incorrect, of the ills that corrode the foundations of American society, of grotesque, anti-heroic characters I love to madness. The style allows excursions towards the highest peaks as well as towards the lowest vulgarity, and fully expresses the contradictions of the man of our time, without injecting useless certainties. The desperate monologues of Sabbath, his reflections, the pathos with which the rhythm rises and falls, manages never to tire in 460 and more pages (I cannot say the same, for example, of American Pastoral, which is much less to my taste). American literature, with this Roth here, has, for me, a different flavor.

This is a review of a piece of work. The author describes the writer as fantastic and the style as excellently done. He claims that the work has exposed Mikija Sabata to the core.

However, he gives it a rating of 3+ out of 4 - due to the excessiveness in perversions and the drawn-out nature of the plot on multiple occasions, which has even bored him. Personally, he believes that the American pastoral is far superior to this work.

It seems that while the reviewer acknowledges the literary merit of the piece in some aspects, the flaws in the content and pacing have detracted from his overall enjoyment. He may have been looking for a more engaging and less excessive narrative.

Perhaps the author of the work could take these criticisms into account and consider making some adjustments in future works to better appeal to a wider range of readers.