\\"Is it Christianity that I smell, or just the dog?\\"

3.5 stars for the story, and the other half for the beloved Roth, this protagonist, the heretic, the bisexual, the intelligent, the perverse - where everything revolves around sex and everything is sex, with a Freudian type of symbolism and primacy.

The psychoanalytic work \\"Portnoy's Complaint\\" is a sarcastic monologue - initially self-sarcastic - that starts from the individual Alexander Portnoy and expands to the Jewish Portnoy, spreads to the male Portnoy and covers all of humanity from each Portnoy that we all have, more or less, inside us.

Every unuttered thought, every distortion, every hidden desire, every complaint about our mother, every wrong prototype from our father, everything we asked for as children and tragically reproduce and that determines our life and destroys our life.

With the terrible discovery of confession to his psychoanalyst, he justifies every tampon he flings and every dark confession that shocks and every politically incorrectness that should not be said in public.

I admire Roth for this characteristic of his: To throw the real person in your face, with all his imperfections and neuroses, to throw yourself in your face and tell you, that's how you are, accept your dark corners.

I also admire him because he writes with the naturalness that breathes, without hiding and without rationalizing the slightest of his thoughts - all, with a characteristic of Tourette's Syndrome almost, are reproduced as they are. Indifferent to the light.

Roth is THE lost Nobel Prize in Literature, I will not stop saying it, when the Swedes went to play it cool progressive and gave it to Bob Dylan for his song lyrics - and Dylan didn't even go to the award ceremony -

He may have readers who bore him, who fight him, who call him a sexist, a sex maniac, an obsessive - but all these to reveal them, and to give them in SUCH A WAY of high literature on paper and in the public eye and in the world - that characterizes a pioneering artist.

And some criteria of art are objective. And Roth meets them all.

\\"Fortunately, my anger was so great that it left me speechless. How was it possible to feel hurt in a place where I wasn't even vulnerable? Two things in the world interested Kay and me the least: first, money. second, religion. Our beloved philosopher was Bertrand Russell. Our religion was the religion of Dylan Thomas, Truth, Joy! Our children would be atheists.\\"

Culpa, tu culpa, mi culpa.... Alexander Portnoy and his guilt, his exacerbated sexuality, his intense lamentations, the fierce blaming of his parents and the subsequent guilt for each and every one of the previous ones.

Although Roth's criticism, made with pitiless sarcasm, may seem to be directed towards "the Jewish", I believe it is directed towards Society, towards the feeling of "superiority" for being white, black, man, woman (that is, things for which no effort has been made and to which no effort can change), towards resentment and envy towards one's own and contempt towards others. In short, towards the brutal dissatisfaction that enveloped Society at that time and which has not changed much in the present.

The novel is a long and tormented monologue, apparently spun in therapy in front of his psychiatrist, which justifies the story full of jumps in time and memories that bring other memories, along with the justifications or free associations of the protagonist. Portnoy seeks in the review of his life to find the origins of his current horrible desperation, from that little boy who passed, confusedly, from despised to adored in the blink of an eye, to the adolescent who feels that the only truly "his" thing is his virile member (and boy does he make it known to the member in question...).

For some it may seem a bit vulgar (if the filthy descriptions bother, abstain, there are plenty). I believe that Roth knew very well how to go beyond the stereotypes to build a great novel, difficult to forget.

Upon finishing this book, I found myself blurting out aloud (without any prior notice): "that sucked."

There is indeed a great deal to recommend Roth as a writer. I truly believe he has a full command of what he is doing. However, I just wish he were engaged in doing something else. This book consists of a 300-page monologue by a character who simply irritated the living daylights out of me.

Regardless of whatever fabulous and edgy points Roth might have been attempting to make regarding the self-aggrandizement and self-congratulatory pseudolessons of psychotherapy, or whatever incisive criticisms he may have been leveling at Jewish-American culture's propensity to induce neurosis, and whatever legitimately funny jokes he may have interwoven within the text,

Roth, quite frankly, I just don't care. You have buried all of it beneath 300 pages of narration that is bloated with pointless rants. I understand that the pointlessness was perhaps the intended point. But I'm simply stating that you could have achieved the same effect by writing a short story instead.

It's truly a miracle that I've managed to finish this thing, this book. At first, I thought I'd just read to the end as a commenter had noted it was a shaggy dog story, which made me curious about what the punch-line could be. But as I delved into the description of this woman he called "the monkey," I was filled with fury at how he wrote about her with such intense hatred. This led me to want to know more about their relationship, causing me to go back another section, and then another, until finally I'd been compelled to read the entire darn book.

And while initially, upon learning of Roth's attitude towards the Monkey, I was certain I'd write something scathing about him, I was so outraged that I even foamed at the mouth and planned to pen a detailed summation of the evidence proving Portnoy's homosexuality. However, since then, I haven't changed my mind about Portnoy, but have come to see some humor in certain events he relates. So, I can say that it was worth reading this book, if only for the passages on the perfect child and pianist Ronald Nimkin (p. 96), which allowed me to find laughter in the midst of a suicide, of all tragedies. And also for the passage where the Monkey accuses Portnoy of making her a lesbian by fulfilling their mutual fantasy of sleeping with another woman. For these two wonderful moments, I award Portnoy two stars.

But then again, I don't agree that all this book had to offer was a shaggy dog ending. As a shaggy dog story, this one was rather lackluster. What I truly would have loved is if it could have been told from the Monkey's perspective. She is the real star of this tale. She is the one whose adventures and neuroses I渴望 to follow. But considering Roth's great antipathy towards womankind, I could never expect him to pull this off successfully.

****************************************************************

(done at page 64) OK, I'm sick and tired of Portnoy. I couldn't care less about his testicles, where and how he masturbates, whom he thinks of to get off, whether he believes in god or not, or what will happen to his nagging mother, weak father, and pleading sister. I don't wish them any harm: I simply have no interest in them. May they rest in peace. Don't worry, I own the book. Maybe one day, when I'm absolutely desperate to consider Roth's endless merits, I'll pick up where I left off and annoy myself some more.

Regular readers will recall that I am currently engaged in a long-term literary project. I aim to read all eleven novels that comprise Philip Roth's autobiographical "Zuckerman cycle" to gain a better understanding of the Postmodernist Era it explores, from its inception (around the time of Kennedy's assassination) to its conclusion (9/11). However, since many of the early novels in the series directly concern Roth's first major mainstream success, the filthy and humorous 1969 novel "Portnoy's Complaint," I thought it would be enlightening to read that as well, in order to better understand how Roth's life was transformed by it.

For those unfamiliar, after an early start as a traditional, academic-style Late Modernist writer who was published in "The New Yorker" in the early '60s, this hilarious examination of the sexual dysfunctions inherent in the New York Jewish lifestyle and its clashes with the prevailing "let it all hang out" countercultural mood was precisely what mainstream America needed at that moment, similar to what Woody Allen was offering in cinemas simultaneously. Not only was it a hit with the typical intellectual crowd, but it also broke through to become a massive general success, eventually a Hollywood film, and even a tittering codeword in the broader culture, just as his fellow young "New Yorker" author John Updike was achieving with his saucy novel "Couples" (the first mainstream book to address the topic of suburban wife-swapping after obscenity laws in the US were relaxed a few years earlier).

To be fair, this is still an extremely dirty book. It's easy to understand why simply carrying a copy around back then was enough to signal to others that you "got it." Much like Woody Allen, it takes the image of the nebbish, self-deprecating Jewish city boy and almost accidentally turns it into a new type of nerdy sex symbol. As we follow poor Portnoy's adventures, first as an onanistic teen and then as a goy-obsessed young man, flailing in the high-minded hippie atmosphere around him yet still managing to have crazy sex regularly. It's also easy to see why so many older Jews were upset by this book. Not only does it expose many of the quiet, dysfunctional moments within the Jewish community to a large Christian audience, a direct predecessor to "Seinfeld" that I've discussed in more detail in my Zuckerman write-ups, but a great deal of its humor explicitly stems from all the neurotic hangups created among Roth's generation by their uptight, appearance-obsessed, Holocaust-surviving parents. This makes it not just a funny sex comedy but also an astute look at the first generation of Jews to grow up after World War Two and the clashes that occurred when they came of age in the countercultural '60s. I'm sure this made it an even more essential read among the young hipsters of the time. It's a great, moving, blush-inducing novel that still holds up extremely well today. Read it to understand what was making your parents squirm in the years when they were having you.

(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)

Elbette bir şeyler yazarım gibi..

I always feel as if I am going to write something..

Birkaç bileni ve daha iyi okuduğuna inandıklarımı dinleyip bu yarım bırakılmış satırlara devam edeceğim.

I will listen to those who know a few things and believe that they read better, and continue with these half-finished lines.

Sanırım..

I think..

Maybe I will come up with something truly remarkable. Maybe these words will turn into a beautiful story or a profound thought. I just have to keep going, keep writing, and see where this journey takes me.

Sometimes, the act of writing itself is a form of exploration. It allows me to discover new ideas, new perspectives, and new parts of myself.

So, here I am, ready to continue this writing adventure, one word at a time.

Portnoy's Complaint might be the most unfiltered and sincere novel I have ever read. The novel is Philip Roth's rebellion against his parents, his family's strict rules, beliefs, roots, Jewish identity, and internalized racism, as well as social pressures and norms, and taboos.

The book, a monologue written in the stream-of-consciousness technique, begins with the narrator's account of his childhood while undergoing psychotherapy. He first describes his strict and overly protective mother, who he feels responsible towards because she immigrated to the US as a Jew and tried to provide for the family, and his father, who he both respects and resents because he refuses to question his beliefs and views and doesn't allow the narrator to think differently. As a result, the narrator begins to explore his sexuality as a private and personal space within the family. As he grows older and his relationship with his family evolves, so do their mutual expectations and, consequently, the pressures. Now, as a young adult, we witness his sexual life. When he describes his first girlfriends, we see the conflicts he experiences with his identity as he compares himself and his family to Americans from white Protestant and middle-class families, and the battles he wages against the expectations of his family and society regarding marriage and having children. Throughout all stages of his life, he continues to struggle between conforming to social norms and hating them, feeling connected to his roots and wanting to break free from them, and adhering to certain rules and rebelling against all taboos and following his instincts uncontrollably.

In addition to being the novel that made Philip Roth famous, I think it is also a key novel for understanding the author's world because it contains autobiographical elements very clearly, and at the same time, it is possible to see his fundamental concerns and the themes he loves to dwell on in one place, neatly and comprehensively. Roth reflects all his specific concerns in this novel, including being Jewish, whether being born and raised in American society as a Jew or being raised by a Jewish family with certain beliefs and then adopting a different belief and worldview, sexuality as a taboo, and the mother-son relationship, as well as a political and sociological analysis of American society in the background.

In fact, Philip Roth is describing a family and social pressure that we also encounter in our culture, and I think every reader will be somewhat familiar with it. Moreover, he does this with a very sincere, unfiltered, and witty sense of humor, in a comical text. I think you should read about the 'neighbor's child' syndrome and the pressure of 'all your peers have gotten married' from Roth. I really, really liked Portnoy's Complaint.

When you don't know which book to choose from the pile of new and reprinted ones that publishers pour over us, pick a Philip Roth from the shelf and read.

I'm delighted to return to "Portnoy's Complaint" and I would throw this book at anyone who has ever been where the races sing, along with Delia and my genital friend. It's brilliant, pardon me!

The book is a head-to-toe blasphemy, so it's by no means made for sensitive souls. When reading Portnoy's tribulations, you don't cry like at Cilka or Aleksievici. You laugh Homerically and, perhaps, even get a bit literary - now and then.

The translation - although it's a performance in itself - irritated me at times. The translator sometimes seems to be trying too hard (more than Roth!) to come across as amusing, cool, and laid-back. At other times, you would say that he stumbles parallel to the text, in a heavy and unbearable (for me) Bucharestian-mythical argot.

In my opinion, it's rather dubious to make a Newark or New Yorker speak with a "Romanian accent" from the south (especially Bucharest), but - I'm also understanding - what other options does a translator have?

I have a really big complaint.

All that I can vividly remember about this particular book is that the character used to take a piece of liver into the bathroom. And his mother would constantly knock on the door and ask, "What are you doing in there?"

So, what exactly am I griping about? Well, I'm complaining that a book should offer a person a far better and more meaningful memory than just this rather strange and unremarkable incident.

I never bothered to read another book by the same author. Recently, I had a conversation with an ex-in-law. She mentioned that he was one of her favorite authors, along with Richard Russo. I chose to remain silent and we simply changed the topic of conversation.

I then brought up the fact that Puerto Rico was without electricity, and how much I adored the people there after visiting in May. However, she insisted that the people in Puerto Rico all had electricity after the hurricane in 2017. It became quite a childish exchange: I said they didn't; she said, "Yes, they do." "No, they don't." "Yes, they do."

As you can see, I seem to have other things to complain about as well.

I closed the readings of 2016 with this book and I couldn't be more satisfied.

There's nothing to be done: everything this man writes is pure literature - or at least that's the feeling I've had every time I've finished reading one of his works.

The 220 pages of Lament of Portnoy are the outburst, in the form of a soliloquy, of a young man who rails against the convictions that religion implants in a society - in this case it's the Jewish one, but the concept can be extended to all others - and the consequences they have on the life of a child, then an adolescent, then a man.

Alexander Portnoy, on the couch of his analyst, gives free rein to everything that passes through his mind and his elucubrations, which come to life from memories and the most disparate anecdotes using temporal leaps that would make the bravest readers pale, are in total harmony with each other. This is the peculiarity of Roth: every one of his novels is an architecture, every joint is where it should be and the feeling that reading one of his works gives is comparable to a literary orgasm.

Speaking of orgasm: sex is the obsession of Alexander Portnoy, the cross and delight of his existence. The figure of the mother is omnipresent: a Jewish mother who has something vaguely tyrannical that he tries to free himself from. And then there's the father, afflicted with chronic constipation, the victim of his wife. In this long book-long lament, Alex mainly takes issue with the Jewish religion that has tried to shape him and maybe to some extent succeeded, because all he wants is to shake off certain ideas that he has carried within himself since childhood.

And this tumultuous outburst drags the reader into moments of pure hilarity that amuse and make the reading an extraordinary experience, as only Roth knows how to do.

"Dr. Spielvogel, it's no relief at all to give in to blame - blame is suffering in itself, obviously - nevertheless, what did these Jewish parents have, what, to be able to convince us other little Jewish boys that on the one hand we were princes, as rare as unicorns, geniuses, brilliant and beautiful like no one in the history of childhood... redeemers and absolute perfection on the one hand, and on the other hand annoying, incompetent, unprincipled, spineless, selfish, treacherous, ungrateful sons of bitches!"

It can be difficult to be Jewish, I thought, once I realized that I was writing a review. I'm afraid it's not the first book on this topic (and I've read), and I'm a bit tired of this topic, which is rather uninteresting to me. Even Judaism as a form of frustration, although this belongs to the more interesting ones, the ethnicity can be interchanged in the sentence, and on this planet every ethnicity as an ethnicity is frustrated. In fact, Alex Portnoy's frustrations would have been extremely boring, and I read it with regard to Philip Roth's frustrations, violating the rules of good faith reading.

It also occurred to me as I started writing now that my first sentence also tells the reader of the review that I'm not Jewish. When I phrase it like this, I start to suspect myself, why do I phrase it like this, why don't I leave the reader in doubt as to whether I'm Jewish or not, since the question has no significance for me - perhaps that's why the topic doesn't interest me either - but this is the case, it's confronting, and I come to the conclusion that I feel threatened, so I state it - not a specific threat, but a so-called general one, man is an animal, etc. (And I immediately ask for forgiveness from my animal readers.)

As for the novel. It's a matter of role-playing, of course there's a lot of Roth in this Portnoy, but this role-playing didn't appeal to me now. Just like freedom, I don't look for it, it could have been a scandalous book back then, and it somehow seemed damaged. It's clear that Roth "can write", he's smart and intelligent. It would have been four stars if it weren't for the last great scene, well, that one disappointed, and then it occurred to me that I didn't have much to do with the description of his previous relationships, I didn't know these women, of course because they're not interesting to me, but the last one, namely the one who appears in the last scene, I really did, this scene is a very successful conclusion in every respect - this in itself is such a value that it was worth reading for. (That is, here, as Proust says, the reader - I - read himself: this was lacking everywhere else here.)

But will I read anything else by Philip Roth...? Fifteen or twenty years ago I borrowed a book from Ignác Romsics, which they taught at the university, and I last saw the word "Jewish" described so many times in it. (I seriously considered whether Portnoy could be classified as therapeutic writing. And I say it can: this is an exceptional case where the therapeutic nature did not go at the expense of aesthetics or poetics.) Dezső Szabó doesn't describe our pages so many times as "Hungarian", and that's a lot even when Roth spices up the text with irony.

Yahudi family structure's oppressive stance is a magnificent monologue that mocks psychoanalysis and social moral rules.

At the age of 33, a Jewish lawyer who seems quite successful and happy from the outside starts to reveal his inner world during a psychoanalysis session, detailing it extremely vividly from his childhood to the present day. Growing up in an extremely conservative Jewish family, he is troubled by his Jewish identity. However, every time he tries to get rid of it, all the fables he fabricated in his mother's consciousness resurface, and all this feeling of constriction shows itself with a libido that never decreases. Portnoy is definitely disturbing, and that's the very purpose of its creation. I don't think I've read a sexual exploration story that is this explicit before. However, in Portnoy's narration, it creates a comic atmosphere rather than being disturbing. I really liked it.

This work delves deep into the complex psyche of the protagonist, exploring themes such as identity, sexuality, and family. The use of a monologue format allows for an intimate and in-depth look at the character's thoughts and feelings. The combination of disturbing and comic elements adds an interesting layer to the story, making it both thought-provoking and entertaining. Overall, it's a unique and engaging read that offers a fresh perspective on these important issues.