From Publishers Weekly
In Israeli avant-garde novelist Hoffmann's startling minimalist collage, 50-ish, grief-numbed widower Bernhard Stein, transplanted from Berlin to Palestine, ruminates on his wife's death, on history and on the universe against a background of Hitler's rampage across Europe. A postmodernist kaleidoscope unfolding in 172 loosely interconnected vignettes, most of them a page in length or shorter, this experimental novel echoes Hoffmann's more conventional double-novella American debut, The Book of Joseph and Katschen. Bernhard, whose feverish ruminations hop from Spinoza to El Greco to Trotsky, is a man unhinged. His best friend, a plumber named Gustav, and Elvira Neuwirth, the cultured Viennese widow with whom he flirts, seem almost as unreal as his fictive alter ego, Moscow-born dermatologist D.S. Gregory, whose father lost a leg fighting in the American Revolution. Within these flights of fancy lies a searing meditation on loss of faith, the tragedy of modern history and life's apparent meaninglessness. Hoffmann's semantic riffs, historical excursions and self-referential metaphysical noodlings can be wearying. Yet he adds ballast to this tale by loading it with dark parables and dreams; Jewish ritual and lore; German, Yiddish and Arabic phrases (translated in the margins); and snatches of songs, childhood memories and sexual fantasies. His hypnotic prose fuses everyday events and surreal imagery with the lyrical intensity of a Chagall painting. Rights: Harris/Elon Agency.
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From Kirkus Reviews
Emotional intensity and a powerful sense of the fragility and impermanence of both the physical body and the social fabric are the distinguishing features of this 1991 novel by the Israeli author (Katschen & The Book of Joseph, not reviewed). A collage of brief vignettes presents the experiences and ruminations of Bernhard Stein, a middle-aged German Jew who, in the 1930s, has fled Berlin for Palestine, where he mourns the death of his beloved wife Paula and endures visionary glimpses of the exterior world's collapse as an objective correlative to the fragmentation of his own psyche (``When the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor, the ships anchored in Bernhard's head go up in flames''). The novel's structure emphasizes the insistent onward momentum of Bernhard's chaotically busy mind: the 172 brief chapters overlap, the ending of one becoming the start of the opening sentence of the next. Redundancy and monotony arent entirely avoided, but Hoffmann does assemble a vividly individual character in his solipsistic protagonist's cleverly linked memories and fantasies. Bernhard's keenly felt longing for his late wife stimulates not only an unresolved relationship with an attractive widow but contrary intimations of the aroused body's imminent decay. News of Hitler's devastation of Europe and the war's ``progress'' on several fronts intensifies Bernhard's increasingly frequent withdrawals into the life he imagines for his invented alter ego ``D.S. Gregory,'' a dermatologist whose Russian father was a casualty of the American Revolutionary War. And the dreamer's hopeful recourse to the consolation implicit in poetry, biblical wisdom, and the philosophies of Descartes and Spinoza is rudely shaken by such implacable phenomena as the Palestinian government's decision to disallow ``ram's horns, whose sound resembles the sound of an air-raid siren, to be blown in the synagogues,'' and by the inability of his own arthritic fingers to form the sign ``V-Day.'' Not an easy read, but a further persuasive illustration of the genius of one of Israel's finest contemporary writers. --
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