Three quick reviews

Here are some quick reviews of other books that I’ve had waiting on my finished-but-not-blogged-about pile. All three are enjoyable, and I’d recommend hunting them out – though only one of them is particularly easy to get hold of, I’ll admit.

The Seven Good Years eBook : Keret, Etgar, Silverston, Sondra, Shlesinger,  Miriam, Cohen, Jessica, Berris, Anthony: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

The Seven Good Years (2015) by Etgar Keret

I really loved Etgar Keret’s short stories in Suddenly, a Knock on the Door, and wanted to try something else by him – and so I was delighted when my friend Clare got me a copy of his memoir The Seven Good Years for my birthday last year. Published in 2015, I’m a bit confused about what language it was written in. His stories are usually translated from Hebrew, and the title page of The Seven Good Years lists Sondra Silverston, Miriam Shlesinger, Jessica Cohen, and Anthony Berris as translators – but the introduction also says ‘I have decided not to publish this book in my mother tongue (Hebrew) or in the place where I live (Israel), but to share it only with strangers’. So did he write it in Hebrew but never publish it? Who knows.

The reason he wants to keep it only available at a certain distance from himself is that this is much more personal than his surreal stories. The seven good years are the seven years between the birth of his son and the death of his father – the time during which there were three generations. And these figures certainly recur in the memoir, but it is not really a book about them. The incidents he highlights are more likely than the events of his short stories, but told with the same disjointed surreality. He is the master of arresting, register-hopping sentences – my favourite being ‘The period when my sister was discovering religion was just about the most depressing time in the history of Israeli pop’. It is a personal book, but odd and spiky, rather than straight-forwardly revealing. It has confirmed my affection for Keret as a writer.

Spring Always Comes (1938) by Elizabeth Cambridge

I was desperate to read this ever since reading Barb’s 10/10 review, and had an alert out for its availability for years – so snapped it up as soon as it became available. Like Cambridge’s best-known novel, Hostages to Fortune, it’s about a middle/upper-middle-class family living in the countryside – but here they are shocked into independence by the death of the patriarch. He leaves behind him a family down on their luck financially, and he also leaves a literary legacy.

The novel is about how the surviving family copes – there are four children moving in different circles, including as a literary assistant, one up at Oxford, another about to become a teacher and so forth. The most interesting and successful, to my mind, was the daughter working as the literary assistant who writes her own novel. It becomes very successful, though is taken as a satire – when she meant it seriously. Cambridge writes expertly about the tensions between success and self-esteem.

I really enjoyed Spring Almost Comes, but the only drawback for me is that Cambridge spreads herself a bit too thin over all the characters. A couple of them seem to dominate, but I’m not sure if that was deliberate. By the time we get back around to the widow, I felt we’d forgotten her. But Cambridge writes well and insightfully, and any of her books are worth reading.

The Patience of a Saint (1958) by G.B. Stern

This is exactly the sort of novel I love and hunt out. St Cedric was martyred a thousand years earlier, and there is a legend that he will return on that anniversary – firmly believed by Lady Eileen Francis, who patiently waits at the ruins of Abbey where St Cedric once served. Seeing an opportunity for money (which, for slightly complicated reasons, he needs for a friend – I suppose to make him more sympathetic to the reader), Ceddie Conway decides to impersonate him. At which point he is called upon to do the miraculous healings that St Cedric is famed for – and it works!

Only it turns out that Ceddie-the-impostor is being helped from the sidelines – by the genuine St Cedric, who has come back to life after all. Stern has created a lovable character in both Cedric and Ceddie, and this slim book plays out the conceit just long enough to keep it entertaining and tense.

Suddenly, A Knock on the Door by Etgar Keret

Suddenly, a Knock on the Door: Amazon.co.uk: Etgar Keret: 9780701186678:  BooksI think I got sent Suddenly, a Knock on the Door (2010) as a review copy in 2012, when it was translated from Hebrew into English – by Miriam Shlesinger, Sondra Silverston and Nathan Englander. It’s a collection of short stories, which is perhaps why there are three translators. I certainly couldn’t detect which story was translated by whom, which suggests that they all did a good job of letting Keret’s distinctive approach come through.

2012 was probably the heyday of review books arriving chez moi, and quite a lot of them ended up at charity shops because I couldn’t keep up – but something about Suddenly, a Knock on the Door made me keep it on the shelf. And I’m so glad I did, because it is really rather brilliant – and has made me keen to seek out more by Keret.

The stories are mostly set in Israel, where Keret is among the most prominent modern writers, though a lot of them are in a slightly surreal version of Israel. Sometimes that means an element of the bizarre is incorporated, in a magical realist way that means the characters aren’t surprised by this disruption of the normal. In ‘Unzipping’, for instance, Ella is cut on her lip when kissing Tsiki.

They didn’t kiss for a few days after that, because of her cut. Lips are a very sensitive part of the body. And later when they could, they had to be very careful. She could tell he was hiding something. And sure enough, one night, taking advantage of the fact that he slept with his mouth open, she gently slipper her finger under his tongue—and found it. It was a zip. A teensy zip. But when she pulled at it, her whole Tsiki opened up like an oyster, and inside was Jurgen. Unlike Tsiki, Jurgen had a goatee, meticulously shaped sideburns and an uncircumcised penis. Ella watched him in his sleep. Very, very quietly she folded up the Tsiki wrapping and hid it in the kitchen cupboard behind the rubbish bin, where they kept the bin bags.

In another story, a character finds himself in ‘Lieland’, peopled by all the lies he has made up as alibis to excuse lateness or forgotten homework. In one of my favourite stories, ‘What, of this Goldfish, Would You Wish?’, a low-budget filmmaker is going door-to-door to ask people what they’d ask for if a goldfish granted them wishes – and stumbles across a man who has such a goldfish, with unexpected results.

Many, perhaps most, of the stories don’t have anything supernatural in them – but there is still a surreal element, offset by the plain and matter-of-fact way in which the stories are written. In the title story, a man is held at gunpoint and told to make up a story. In ‘Healthy Start’, a lonely man pretends to be any stranger that someone is expecting to meet in a café. A very short story called ‘Joseph’ is tangentially about a suicide bomber, but in such a quiet way that it seems incidental.

Keret’s mind is clearly overflowing with creativity. Most of the stories are very short – the exception is ‘Surprise Party’, about a man who goes missing on the day that his partner has invited everyone in his phone contacts to a surprise party, and only three turn up. Because they stories are so short, there are an awful lot of curious and clever ideas needed for a collection. None of the ideas are given time to burn out, though Keret often deploys the anti-climax or gentle petering out of a story in a way that is more effective than a denouement. He has so many ideas that ‘Creative Writing’ even flings out some gems that would make fascinating novels, just as throwaway examples:

The first story Maya wrote was about a world in which people split themselves in two instead of reproducing. In that world, every person could, at any given moment, turn into two beings, each one half his/her age. Some chose to do this when they were young; for instance, an eighteen-year-old might split into two nine-year-olds. Others would wait until they’d established themselves professionally and financially and go for it only in middle age.

The heroine of Maya’s story was splitless. She had reached the age of eighty and, despite constant social pressure, insisted on not splitting. At the end of the story, she died.

I’m so glad I kept this collection on my shelves. The sort of topics and ideas Keret uses could so easily have become self-consciously quirky, but there is something in the subdued naturalism with which they’re told that balances out the wackiness, and makes them piercing insights into human relationships. Suddenly, a Knock at the Door is excellent and quite unlike anything else I’ve read before – or, rather, a much better version of the sort of thing I’ve seen attempted a number of times.

And now, of course, I face the age-old dilemma – clearing one book off the shelf, only to now want to seek out as much of Keret’s backlist as I can.