http://www.thejc.com/feed/arts JC arts en http://www.thejc.com/arts/books/68116/viennese-comedy-puts-freud-couch <p>In Joseph Skibell’s new novel, Dr Jakob Sammelsohn, an impoverished ophthalmologist in Vienna with a non-existent sex life, falls in love with a woman he sees at the theatre. In the play’s interval, he engineers a conversation with her companion, who, it transpires, is Sigmund Freud. </p> <p>Sammelsohn soon discovers that his inamorata is Emma Eckstein, one of Freud’s earliest patients who suffered from hysteria. In his inept way, Sammelsohn pursues Emma, despite Freud’s admonitions that doing so would endanger her health. Skibell’s Freud is autocratic, wilful, more concerned for his scientific reputation than his patients, and ostentatiously — indeed implausbily — Jewish (he refers to his Saturday-night card games as “our little malavah malkahs”). </p> <p>Skibell depicts with gusto the intellectual excitement and crankiness of the early days of psychoanalysis. He is particularly brilliant when elucidating its religious nature. It was not merely the “Jewish Science” because its practitioners were Jewish. Psychoanalysis itself was a form of neurosis, the revenge of a minority that suffered from persistent antisemitism and the failure of emancipation to incorporate Jewry into the body politic. Freud showed the Germans that beneath their bourgeois complacency lurked torturous psychosexual traumas. </p> <p>The story takes a fantastical turn when it transpires that Emma’s hysteria may actually be demonic possession by the soul of Ita, Jakob’s dead wife, to whom Jakob had been married off in punishment for his interest in the Jewish Enlightenment. As Sammelsohn negotiates the hostage situation, Freud’s scientific disbelief in the existence of dybbuks begins to fray. </p> <p>This exhilarating episode ought to have been the core of this novel. But Sammelsohn, with the puppy-dog infatuation that he displays throughout the novel to vulnerable women and more intelligent men, pursues another master in the form of L L Zamenhof, the inventor of Esperanto. Like Freud, Zamenhof believed his discoveries would transform mankind. </p> <p>The drama in this section, however, relies entirely on whether the Esperanto movement will split over the adoption of reforms governing certain accents and diacritics — which is exactly as interesting as it sounds.<br /> As the novel inches painfully forward, Skibell’s stylistic flaws become harder to forgive. Everyone either booms or hyperventilates; little attempt is made to differentiate the voices; and Sammelsohn’s orotund narration veers to the monotonous. </p> <p>It is a shame that A Curable Romantic sags so drastically, because Skibell is a watchful writer and sprightly thinker. It is especially gratifying to encounter a book that is unabashedly literate in the Jewish tradition.<br /> One outstanding sequence involves Sammelsohn’s father, who refuses to speak in anything other than biblical verses and talmudic fragments, trying to explain the birds and the bees to his son.<br /> Unfortunately, like most 600-page novels, this one is too long by half. </p> Books Comedy 68116 story http://www.thejc.com/files/Skibell2.jpg Skibell&#039;s A Curable Romantic 59457 A Dangerous Method: Freud on film 51701 Goodnight Vienna: Brits bring down curtain on a thriller In Joseph Skibell’s new novel, Dr Jakob Sammelsohn, an impoverished ophthalmologist in Vienna with a non-existent sex life, falls in love with a woman he sees at the theatre. In the play’s interval, he engineers a conversation with her companion, who, it transpires, is Sigmund Freud. Sammelsohn soon discovers that his inamorata is Emma Eckstein, one of Freud’s earliest patients who suffered from hysteria. In his inept way, Sammelsohn pursues Emma, despite Freud’s admonitions that doing so would endanger her health. Skibell’s Freud is autocratic, wilful, more concerned for his scientific reputation than his patients, and ostentatiously — indeed implausbily — Jewish (he refers to his Saturday-night card games as “our little malavah malkahs”). Skibell depicts with gusto the intellectual excitement and crankiness of the early days of psychoanalysis. He is particularly brilliant when elucidating its religious nature. It was not merely the “Jewish Science” because its practitioners were Jewish. Psychoanalysis itself was a form of neurosis, the revenge of a minority that suffered from persistent antisemitism and the failure of emancipation to incorporate Jewry into the body politic. Freud showed the Germans that beneath their bourgeois complacency lurked torturous psychosexual traumas. The story takes a fantastical turn when it transpires that Emma’s hysteria may actually be demonic possession by the soul of Ita, Jakob’s dead wife, to whom Jakob had been married off in punishment for his interest in the Jewish Enlightenment. As Sammelsohn negotiates the hostage situation, Freud’s scientific disbelief in the existence of dybbuks begins to fray. This exhilarating episode ought to have been the core of this novel. But Sammelsohn, with the puppy-dog infatuation that he displays throughout the novel to vulnerable women and more intelligent men, pursues another master in the form of L L Zamenhof, the inventor of Esperanto. Like Freud, Zamenhof believed his discoveries would transform mankind. The drama in this section, however, relies entirely on whether the Esperanto movement will split over the adoption of reforms governing certain accents and diacritics — which is exactly as interesting as it sounds. As the novel inches painfully forward, Skibell’s stylistic flaws become harder to forgive. Everyone either booms or hyperventilates; little attempt is made to differentiate the voices; and Sammelsohn’s orotund narration veers to the monotonous. It is a shame that A Curable Romantic sags so drastically, because Skibell is a watchful writer and sprightly thinker. It is especially gratifying to encounter a book that is unabashedly literate in the Jewish tradition. One outstanding sequence involves Sammelsohn’s father, who refuses to speak in anything other than biblical verses and talmudic fragments, trying to explain the birds and the bees to his son. Unfortunately, like most 600-page novels, this one is too long by half. Fri, 25 May 2012 11:29:42 +0100 Jonathan Beckman 68116 at http://www.thejc.com http://www.thejc.com/arts/books/68115/chasidic-womans-flight-new-york-orthodox-life <p>Unorthodox is an account of Deborah Feldman’s Chasidic upbringing in New York, her unhappiness at what she sees as her oppression, and ultimately her escape into secular society. Inevitably, the Satmar community in which Feldman grew up has responded aggressively, accusing her of mistakes, omissions and outright lies. </p> <p>Most of these seem to be either very minor, or covered by Feldman’s disclaimer at the beginning of the book, in which she explains that she has changed certain details in order to protect the identity of others and maintain narrative flow. Judged on its own merits, the book is a mixed bag. </p> <p>Feldman, now 25, was always going to stand out in a conservative, conformist society. Her English-born mother ran off to live as a lesbian; her father was a person of limited capability. She was brought up by her paternal grandparents, elderly Holocaust survivors. Her other relatives, Feldman suggests, were embarrassed by the stain she imposed upon the family honour.</p> <p>Feldman resents her grandparents’ spartan lifestyle and the strictness of her religious girls’ school, but her main source of unhappiness is the limited education it gave her. She is a voracious — secret — reader of secular novels. At 17, she is married off to a man she has met only once. The marriage is hobbled from the beginning by Feldman’s vaginismus — a condition, most common in women who grow up in repressive religious environments, which makes sex painful or impossible. It takes a year for her to overcome this, and they have a son together, but she still cannot forgive her husband for briefly leaving her. Eventually, she puts on a pair of jeans, enrols in a secular college and leaves her old life behind.</p> <p>Feldman writes well, especially given her early education. The book’s strength is its raw emotion: her anger — and relief — are palpable.<br /> In a way, though, this is also the book’s weakness. Feldman lacks empathy for others who might be equally trapped, such as her husband, or for her loving grandparents. Everything to do with Satmar is bad. No doubt the society in which she grew up was spectacularly intolerant of difference and independent thinking. But her story is as much that of a child of a troubled, broken home as it is of a Chasidic rebel.</p> <p>She does occasionally acknowledge that other women throughout history have been trapped by circumstance and marriage. At her college, she understands that some of her all-American classmates are as frustrated with their lives as she was with hers. Escaping into general society is the beginning of the journey, not the end. And, cathartic as her flight may have been, more of that perspective would have been welcome.</p> Books Orthodox Women New York 68115 story One woman’s account of running away from her religious community http://www.thejc.com/files/Chasidic women.jpg 63251 Woman's memoir lifts lid on New York Chasidic life 66547 Religious feud arsonist sentenced in New York Unorthodox is an account of Deborah Feldman’s Chasidic upbringing in New York, her unhappiness at what she sees as her oppression, and ultimately her escape into secular society. Inevitably, the Satmar community in which Feldman grew up has responded aggressively, accusing her of mistakes, omissions and outright lies. Most of these seem to be either very minor, or covered by Feldman’s disclaimer at the beginning of the book, in which she explains that she has changed certain details in order to protect the identity of others and maintain narrative flow. Judged on its own merits, the book is a mixed bag. Feldman, now 25, was always going to stand out in a conservative, conformist society. Her English-born mother ran off to live as a lesbian; her father was a person of limited capability. She was brought up by her paternal grandparents, elderly Holocaust survivors. Her other relatives, Feldman suggests, were embarrassed by the stain she imposed upon the family honour. Feldman resents her grandparents’ spartan lifestyle and the strictness of her religious girls’ school, but her main source of unhappiness is the limited education it gave her. She is a voracious — secret — reader of secular novels. At 17, she is married off to a man she has met only once. The marriage is hobbled from the beginning by Feldman’s vaginismus — a condition, most common in women who grow up in repressive religious environments, which makes sex painful or impossible. It takes a year for her to overcome this, and they have a son together, but she still cannot forgive her husband for briefly leaving her. Eventually, she puts on a pair of jeans, enrols in a secular college and leaves her old life behind. Feldman writes well, especially given her early education. The book’s strength is its raw emotion: her anger — and relief — are palpable. In a way, though, this is also the book’s weakness. Feldman lacks empathy for others who might be equally trapped, such as her husband, or for her loving grandparents. Everything to do with Satmar is bad. No doubt the society in which she grew up was spectacularly intolerant of difference and independent thinking. But her story is as much that of a child of a troubled, broken home as it is of a Chasidic rebel. She does occasionally acknowledge that other women throughout history have been trapped by circumstance and marriage. At her college, she understands that some of her all-American classmates are as frustrated with their lives as she was with hers. Escaping into general society is the beginning of the journey, not the end. And, cathartic as her flight may have been, more of that perspective would have been welcome. Fri, 25 May 2012 10:39:55 +0100 Miriam Shaviv 68115 at http://www.thejc.com http://www.thejc.com/arts/books/67933/childrens-books-butterflies-cakes-and-horrid-henrys-jubilee-moment <p>Butterflies represent the souls of the dead, according to the ancient Greeks. And lepidopterous lore becomes a fascination for 12-year-old Becky in Butterfly Summer, by Anne-Marie Conway (Usborne, £5.99). Becky spends her days by the lake in the village butterfly garden, where she makes a new friend, Rosa May. While Rosa is obsessed with holding her breath under water, Becky has a horror of swimming and only the charm of local boy Mack can persuade her to learn. But what is the reason for Becky’s phobia? And why has her mum been hiding a photo of a baby? As the mystery develops, Becky is torn between the heady atmosphere of the butterfly enclosure and the modern swimming baths; bossy Rosa and patient Mack. Conway drops clues deftly into the water with hardly a ripple — re-read this gently nostalgic mystery and you will be astonished at what you missed the first time. Age 10 to 15.</p> <p>Apple and carrot muffins with sunshine lemon icing, green pea picnic-time tarts and rainbow sprinkle cookies. These and other goodies are on the menu when Florentine and Pig Have a Very Lovely Picnic (Bloomsbury. £10.99). Eva Katzler’s energetic text encourages the reader-aloud to savour every word — and youngsters can savour the cooking too, using the easy recipes (by Laura and Jess Tilli). Jess Mikhail’s illustrations combine drawing with a collage effect, with attention to the tiniest detail. Age up to five for the story; three to 11 for the recipes and accompanying craft ideas.</p> <p>What if you turn 18 and then discover you have been living Someone Else’s Life (Simon and Schuster, £6.99)? When Rosie’s mum dies of Huntingdon’s, she has to decide whether to be tested for the hereditary disease, with a 50 per cent chance of a positive result. But as she agonises, she is faced with another shocking discovery. Age 12 up.</p> <p>Francesca Simon’s schoolboy terror has a Jubilee moment in an early-reader version of Horrid Henry Meets the Queen (Orion, £4.99), when he asks the visiting monarch a very important question. What could it be? </p> Books 67933 story http://www.thejc.com/files/Horrid Henry two.jpg