A bold novel, it can be perceived that it is part of Roth's youthful production. However, despite this, I found this novel to be brilliant.

It is not for everyone (certainly moralists and puritans should stay away from it), but surely those who are passionate about psychoanalysis must read it at least once in their lives.

The story likely delves into the complex and often hidden aspects of the human psyche, exploring themes that may be uncomfortable or challenging for some.

Roth's writing style in this novel might be characterized by its vivid descriptions and in-depth characterizations, which draw the reader into the narrative and make them feel as if they are part of the story.

Overall, this novel offers a unique and thought-provoking reading experience that is sure to leave a lasting impression on those who are willing to take the plunge and explore its pages.

“This is my life, my only life, and I'm living it as the protagonist of a Jewish joke”

Only Roth could have come up with a line like that!


Act of Rebellion (and Kvetch*)

By way of negation, Alex Portnoy, the furious (and angry) masturbator, the vulgar, atheist, and nonconformist, in a monologue throughout the entire book, tells his psychiatrist (and us) what it means to be Jewish (a child, an adolescent, and a man) in Newark, New Jersey, USA, in the 1960s.
Against the backdrop of the racial struggles that will change the face of the neighborhood where he lives, and in anticipation of what will later be the events of the black battles described subsequently in American Pastoral, Roth describes a rebellion that is born, even before on the streets, within the family and the obligations imposed by the religious origin, first and foremost, and by the moral ones of the era and induced by the cultural roots transplanted from Europe to the States.
The resulting portrait, paradoxical, is hilarious if combined with the author's Jewish-derived humor; disconcerting when stripped of it; socially and historically useful for providing a snapshot of an era and a minority seen under the microscope and told by one of the greatest authors that contemporary United States has ever produced, if considered as a whole.
Born from the womb of a free land that offers political and intellectual asylum to all, and born from the uterus of a mother (the “apotheosis of the Yiddish Mame”) who is a symbol and true force of Jewishness (always and in any case the only one to win over everything, from any point of view), Alex continues to be nourished by one, the origin and nodal point of his essence, and by the other, the attraction and the future, which instead stimulates him and pushes him to a continuous act of rebellion and (not only) cerebral masturbation.
In this precarious balance, despite all his masturbation, exhibitionism, and voyeurism, not to mention fetishism, despite his being, metaphorically and not only, a “wild bird,” and in a condition where all his status as a free man leads him back to his nature and his origins and inexorably distances him from them, Alex Portnoy is a true Jew, and at the same time a true American, and on the contrary, a borderline case, a man in balance between his own roots, which exert a continuous attraction on him, and the development of the new man that originates within him, which instead would like to distance him more and more from the contradictions and impositions of his own mother tongue.
But the mother is always the mother, whether it's the language or the yddish mame, and then, dear Alex, what do we do with it?

http://youtu.be/L1EDbWDuKws

“Because otherwise, why the two sets of dishes? Why otherwise the kosher soap and salt? Why, I ask you, if not to remind us three times a day that life is nothing but limitation and restriction, hundreds of thousands of little rules elaborated by no one other than No One Else, rules that you either respect without asking, regardless of how idiotic they may seem (remaining in His grace), or you transgress, very probably in the name of outraged common sense [...] ”

*mental masturbation

This is truly a very emotional read for a young man.

When you start delving into it, you'll find that it holds equal power and触动 for an old man as well.

The words within have the ability to stir up a wide range of emotions, from sadness to joy, from nostalgia to hope.

It's the kind of piece that makes you reflect on your own life experiences and the people and events that have shaped you.

I would highly suggest keeping a box of tissues nearby as you embark on this reading journey.

You never know when a particular passage might bring a tear to your eye or a lump to your throat.

It's a testament to the power of words and their ability to connect with us on a deep and emotional level.

Whether you're young or old, this read is sure to leave a lasting impression.

I don't like using expletives in my reviews. However, some books are truly so bad that they push me to the verge of doing just that.

Take this particular book for example. I was completely baffled by what I had just read. What on earth was this supposed to be? It seemed to lack any coherent plot or meaningful message. The characters were flat and uninteresting, and the writing style was choppy and amateurish.

I found myself constantly asking, "What the fuck was this?" It was a waste of my time and money, and I would not recommend it to anyone. I hope that authors will take more care in their work and ensure that what they publish is of a decent quality.

It could be the typical rant of a white, heterosexual, intelligent, privileged, successful (and add other positive qualifying adjectives) man who complains about his life.

But no. Roth takes this concept and elaborates on it to the nth power. Portnoy's Complaint is indeed a long rant, against the overprotective mother (but the father isn't a joke either) and the sex-phobic yet full of double entendres education, the confused childhood of a Jewish boy in the United States, who is led to believe that all Jews are good and therefore persecuted. An adolescence, but also an adulthood of a sex maniac, fixated on women (or with the whole part) and tormented by infinite paranoias, who discovers that all the erotic dreams of the typical average man (the nymphomaniac model, doing it with two women, but also in his case, the typical WASP girl), miserably founder against the hard reality.

A gigantic mental (and not only) mess rich in humor, originality, clever remarks, hyperboles and a brilliant language: a true masterpiece.

The audiobook read by Luca Marinelli makes - if possible - the experience even better.

I'm currently in such a mood that reading this book feels like a gentle breeze caressing my soul. God, perhaps it's shameful to admit that I AM PORTNOY. But it's so typical of me to say such a thing and mirror the guilt of the character in the book. How I wish my parents could read this, especially my overly neat, worrywart mom. I truly believe that many Catholic households and Jewish households aren't all that different. This stuff is not only funny but also real and incredibly insightful. If the remainder of the book is as excellent as the first 50 pages, then we shall be more than pleased.

I'm now getting close to a third of the way through. What was it that Dali said: "Stop stealing my dreams?" I want to say to Roth: "You've stolen my life, the angst that swirls in my head." I feel as if I'm in a sort of mindmeld with this book. The conflicting emotions regarding one's parents, the tugs of opposing impulses - to respect and yet abhor, to compromise and rebel. This book is making me appreciate the efforts of my own mother more. Lately, I've been prone to overemphasizing her faults, the deficiencies that she passed on to me. There are so many lovely ruminations in here, not just about masturbation. I'm reading, completely transfixed.

I'm officially in awe of Roth and the remarkable achievement that this book represents. Just this evening, after starting it yesterday evening, I surpassed the two-third mark. The conflicts between outward respectability and inner desires, the baggage of youth, the rebellion against morality and tradition, the inner conflict (ostensibly presented as a therapy session), the anxiety and humiliation - the insecurity of being the outsider and of fighting against one's own minority status, the grotesque beauty and brutality, the longing, the confusion, the pettiness, and the self-awareness thereof, the conflict of living two sets of values... This ALL SPEAKS to me. Roth is so focused, and yet so diffuse. Every word of this is wise, sad, raw, and real. This is referred to as a comic novel, but while there are indeed laughs, there's so much more poignancy for me. I just absolutely love this book. I mean, I love it so much that it might now be my favorite novel of all time. But let's not be too hasty. I'm still reading...

OK, well, this book had everything for me. EVERYTHING! (and a lot of exclamation points just like that one). This is now, officially, my favorite book.

Although I truly relished it far more than Bukowski's Women, I have come to the realisation that books centered around middle-aged male Americans who engage in excessive navel-gazing and spend an inordinate amount of time contemplating their relationship with their penis are most likely not to my taste.

The book did have its moments of fun, yet I strongly suspect that had it not been for the narrator, I might well have abandoned it before reaching the end.

Ron Silver is an exceptionally brilliant reader. I highly doubt that I would have derived greater enjoyment from the story even if Roth himself were whispering it directly into my ear.

His narration added a certain charm and nuance to the tale that made it more engaging and captivating.

Nevertheless, the overall theme and subject matter of the book still left me with a sense of unease and disinterest.

Perhaps it is because I can't quite identify with the experiences and thoughts of the middle-aged male protagonist.

Or maybe it's simply that I prefer books that offer a more diverse and complex range of perspectives and emotions.

Either way, this particular book has served as a reminder to me that not every book will be a perfect fit for my personal literary preferences.

Portnoy’s Complaint caught my attention when I watched the first episode of the ABC The Book Club. The book was Marieke Hardy's pick of a classic, and it received rave reviews from the entire panel. They described it as funny, awkward, rude, and a work of genius.

Portnoy’s Complaint is a one-sided conversation between Alex Portnoy and his psychoanalyst. It details his experiences growing up in a Jewish household with loud, workaholic, and overprotective parents, his sexual awakening, his career, and his inability to commit to a lasting relationship.

I have to admit that I agree with the panel. Some parts of the book were truly hilarious. I couldn't stop laughing when Alex recalled his teenage years living at home. His father's struggles with constipation and Alex's attempts to find a private place to relieve his sexual urges, all while his smothering mother pounded on the bathroom door, wondering why he was taking so long, were just comical. The excuses he came up with and the entire drama surrounding these incidents were simply hilarious. His parents were delightfully exaggerated, reminding me of George and Jerry's parents from Seinfeld.

In my opinion, Alex's complaints as a young boy about his parents' behavior were understandable. Living at home with them and under their watchful eyes was tremendously suffocating, and I could fully empathize with his desire for space and independence. However, as he grew older, his complaints seemed to carry on, and he started to sound like a complainer. There were many times when I wanted to tell him to just toughen up, grow up, and stop acting like a child.

Overall, it had a promising start, but it lost its charm about halfway through.

Pornoy's Complaint
(Freudian slip?)

Have you ever wondered what lies beneath the surface of Pornoy's complaint? Is it truly a random outburst or could it potentially be a Freudian slip? A Freudian slip is an error in speech, memory, or physical action that is believed to be caused by the unconscious mind. In the case of Pornoy's complaint, it might be worth exploring whether there are deeper psychological factors at play. Could there be hidden desires, fears, or conflicts that are being expressed through this seemingly innocent complaint? To gain a better understanding, it could be beneficial to analyze the context in which the complaint occurred, as well as Pornoy's past experiences and current state of mind. Additionally, a video review might provide further insights. Video review By carefully examining the details and nuances, we may be able to uncover the true meaning behind Pornoy's complaint and perhaps even gain a greater understanding of the human psyche.

This entertaining and smartly written book managed the difficult task of amusing and impressing me.

The protagonist, who is too Jewish to be fully American yet, in the end, too American to be entirely Jewish, reeled me in with his humorous, potent stream of consciousness. It tapped into my own musings and assured me that I'm not alone in dwelling upon, uh, inglorious imagery.

The humor comes across at times like stand-up comedy. You can see, then, how easily the author's concept could have gone flat. And so it would have in the hands of less skilled writers. That it succeeds so well in a literary genre testifies to Roth's touch. The effect of the book relies not just upon its humor, but as well upon its general entertainment and solid writing.

We have here a pervert, one Alexander Portnoy, but an intelligent one, it must be stated. The confluence of excessive sexuality and the excessive consciousness that intelligent people suffer from is about to drive this guy over the edge any moment, and boy do we hear about it.

In fact, the whole book lays out his ever hysterical rant about the quixotic quest for a girlfriend who has all the talents he wants in one neat package -- minus all the baggage, of which he has a detailed list. Such a woman has never been known to exist in the annals of mankind, but Alexander thinks she's out there somewhere and he won't take no for an answer.

Two groups I cannot recommend this book for are feminists and people who dislike excessive foul language. How Roth makes a great book out of a manuscript having these characteristics is hard to describe here, so the rest of you will just have to read it yourselves. At the very least, you may never look at the tags affixed to mattresses the same way again.

The definitive self-hating Jew novel.

It is a searing literary stand-up performance par excellence. It's like Woody Allen meets Bill Hicks.

This novel explains where the famous inbuilt neurosis in New York Jews comes from.

It offers a brutal, universal portrayal of family life.

It is the funniest thing I have read in a long long time.

Every young man in his twenties tries at some point to write this novel and fails.

It is wonderful.

Not a work of remarkable human insight and depth, but this is Philip Roth: the psychopathology of sleaze, if you please.

(And, in case you’d forgotten the author’s surname, Vintage have clearly printed it on the cover in large letters. ROTH. Thanks Vintage!)

My take on Portnoy at 50: http://artsfuse.org/161332/tv-comment...


***

Older review: This is hands down the funniest book I've ever read. I never usually laugh out loud while reading, but with this one, I was literally howling several times.

It's an awful yet true portrayal. Teenage sexual obsession and repression, which so often go hand in hand, and religious and political guilt, have been linked before, but never as desperately and bitterly funny as in this book.

I've always wondered why "realistic" novels about adolescence don't mention masturbation. After all, everyone does it, right? And it plays a crucial role in a young person's life as they move into adulthood and beyond.

Is it significant that jacking off must be presented exaggeratedly and comedically in the midst of a ridiculous rant about repression and Jewish guilt? I mean, they banned Ulysses in part for this very reason.

It's also beautifully written. Every aspect of Alexander Portnoy is given its due, his wit, anger, confusion, and most importantly, his apocalyptic self-consciousness, with a manic self-referential humor that just propels the story forward.

Also, I'd like to point out that I'm actually very goyish, from the Mass suburbs, raised fundie Christian, genetically a WASP, and a Mayflower descendant (!). And yet, I related to this book in discreet and rather shocking ways that I never thought possible. I didn't hump any cold cuts, just to be clear, but still...

Ironically, I'm an interesting example of the ironies in acclaiming the universality of art. I believe in it all the time, whether it's academically hip or not.

The universality thing is usually about cultural distance from the writer or the subject matter. For example, I've never been to Russia, and I don't have the same religious inclinations, but Tolstoy really does speak to me about my life and personal interests, issues, and conflicts.

It's the old saying, you think you're alone until you read...

The funny part for me, as it would be for Portnoy (and probably Roth too), is that poor Portnoy is obsessed with the ethnic and cultural details that make him different from the mainstream of his time and place. And how certain aspects of his cultural inheritance are messing him up, especially when it comes to his sex life. It's tough being a heeb with a hard-on.

And, of course, it's a big deal for him to want to bang shiksas - the forbidden fruit, the sexy goyim, the all-too-sweet, All-American pussy his neurotic ass covets above all else.

It's not just about relieving his teenage lust; it's also rather political, isn't it? It's about sticking it where it doesn't belong, fantasizing about getting his stone tablets off on the most wholesomely looking type possible, because it's funnier, dirtier, freakier, and more liberating that way. Arguably, at least.

Well, what's funny to me is that, dear reader, I'm actually the physical manifestation of the kind of All-American look Portnoy longs to spooge over. I'm as All-American as can be.

And yet, I related to Portnoy deeply, dare I say "intimately." His internal voice was remarkably similar to my own, at least at times and in certain aspects. Even though I was the perfect example of the so-called mainstream American guy/gal Portnoy is alternately aghast at and aroused by, I felt more kinship with this character than I ever had with anyone in, say, Cheever, Updike, or (for crying out loud) Hawthorne.

So, friends and neighbors, let this be a lesson - there's no happiness anywhere, as Chris Rock once memorably said.

Part of the reason I loved this book is that it goes further than most books you've ever read and succeeds 90% of the time. Promise.

Caveat: I think the humor and the narrative snap of this book are best appreciated if the reader is equally outraged, entertained, and scandalized by them.

If you can think that your own (sex) life is ridiculous and pathetic and yet, simultaneously, find the circumstances of it funny in a hyper-active, Jerry-by-way-of-Richard Lewis, Borscht-Belt kind of way, then this book is for you.

Re-edited my review since I hadn't thought of this book in years and came across an interesting article by a guy who used it as a springboard for some social criticism...

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles...

And, despite a few howlers, the Guardian has some fine things to say, and that top photo of Roth in full-on Bill and Ted mode is priceless...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/books...