Customer Reviews

My Life as a Man

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Philip Roth's sixth novel, "My Life as a Man," first appeared in 1974, after the author spent several years trying to use the material of his first marriage (to one Margaret Martinson) in a fictionalized setting. Readers of Roth's autobiography, "The Facts" (1988), know that his brief cohabitation and extensive legal battles with Martinson were harrowing enough to leave psychological wounds the author continued to lick for decades following her death in a car accident. "My Life as a Man," according to "The Facts," was a book that took an enormous toll, both artistic and emotional, on the author. But it's a good thing he was able to write it, because what we have is a tremendously gripping, chilling, bitter and often hilarious look at the dark side of "romantic" relationships.

The first section of the book, entitled "Useful Fictions," includes two stories "by Tarnopol" documenting his carefree childhood and eventual entanglement with the psychopathic "Lydia." Then the novel itself starts, under the title "My True Story." What follows is enough to make anyone feel fortunate for a) being single or b) having a stable relationship. Martinson, who was "Lydia" in the first section, is here renamed "Maureen," and is one of the most unforgettable women in American literature. Self-loathing, neurotic, violent, manic-depressive, grasping, hateful and literally insane, her relentless attempts to control and keep "Tarnopol" (Roth) are what gives these pages such intensity. Her hatred for Tarnopol and his hatred for her make this book unputdownable. Reading "The Facts," one learns that much, if not most, of what occurs here actually took place in real life. No wonder Roth has "women issues" (or so the critics always say).

This remains one of Roth's most intelligent, finely crafted books. His use of dialogue is virtually unparalleled in modern fiction, and his sentences are as chiselled and graceful as one would expect of an artist of his caliber. In short, "My Life as a Man," though not the most uplifting book of our time, is an extraordinary (and extraordinarily bleak) accomplishment.

Roth's considerable abilities are clearly in evidence here: narrative force; powerful intelligence; an unblinking examination of the human heart and mind; an unsparing honesty. But so too are his weaknesses: a truly obsessive concern with men-women relations; an unmistakably bitter tone when he speaks about women; a story that in the end succumbs to its obsessions and anger rather than transcends them, or even finds a feasible accomodation. The endless, fruitless, explorations of the protagonist's pysche finally become too much for the reader; the work begs to be shortened. Still,there are many fine, perceptive (and funny) moments in this book. Roth, even not at his very best, demands reading and consideration.

I would not recommend this book as a gift for newlyweds or those contemplating entering marriage. One might read this tale wondering why anybody would ever marry. The fact that this story is based on Roth's first marriage gave me a certain feeling of discomfort. And while I may gape at the terrible car wreck on the highway, I still do not feel a sense of bliss about it. In the same way, I have trouble taking pleasure in Roth's pain.

"My Life as a Man" is a unique work of fiction that begins as a work of fiction by the main character. It then evolves into the "real" events that inspired the character to write his story. Both stories show the main character trapped in a nightmarish marriage. In the "real" story, Peter Tarnopol's story is more unnerving. No reasonable means would cause his wife to agree to a divorce. At points, it causes Peter to evolve into the same frightening psychopath that his wife already was. Had Tarnopol not told us so early in the story, the reader can easily forsee the marriage only ending in death.

Although this may be a work of fiction, the knowledge that it is based on the real life experience of an author that I enjoy is a little disturbing. This may have something to do with why this is one of the few Roth novels that I have had trouble enjoying. Readers should not judge Philip Roth on this work. I would recommend Portnoy's Complaint and The Plot Against America.

This guy I was interested in had told me that this was one of his favorite books and better at describing his life as a Jewish man than Portnoy's Complaint. Now, I had read Portnoy's Complaint in college, thought it was funny, touching, but it definitely had moments of misogyny. My Life As A Man, however, seems mostly sad with more unrealistic portraits of women. Obviously, I don't know Philip Roth personally, so it's not for me to say if it's autobiographical or not, but there is a lot of pain that comes from male-female relationships gone wrong in this text. The women in the book are crazy, neurotic "shiksas" who go out of their way to drive Peter Tarnapol to a breakdown. On one hand, Peter has his lying, manipulative wife, and the other, his neurotic, needy girlfriend. I always feel that Roth's female characters do not represent real women, and although I dislike labels, I put this book down when done and thought "what a bunch of misogynistic crap." A good study of dysfunctional relationships, but I don't feel like Peter ever really reaches into his soul to figure out why he gets involved with the wrong women. Obviously not something to structure your life around, nevertheless, this book was a interesting read. Roth has an excellent command of the English language.

I don't know off hand how many Roth books I've read now, but I suspect it's easily in the two digits. I've also read more essays, reviews and entire books of criticism of Roth than any sane person should. A common criticism of his work is that he portrays women poorly, that he is in fact a misogynist.

Maybe it's because I didn't graduate from college and was therefore able to avoid any sort of Gender Studies class, but I never really had a problem with his portrayal of women. He typically has two extreme versions of women in his novels.

Woman 1 : Simple, easy to get along with. There to please. Lacking any sort of personality or sense of self.

Woman 2 : Bold, articulate, straight forward. Demanding and challenging.

In most of his stories, his protagonist will at some point have to decide between these two types of women. They always struggle to choose and the outcome is never the same. While I have considered that it would be nice if he'd occasionally write about a more balanced woman, I don't think that every book I read has to incorporate every type of person ever, so I mostly scoff and roll my eyes at the more feminist criticisms of his work.

Then, I read this book.

Stop the presses, it's true : Philip Roth hates women. Knowing as much as I do about his background, it is clear to me that this book was a direct attack on his first wife, who died well before the book was written. This novel is the story of their relationship, their downfall and her eventual death. It reads as a bitter, scathing, one-sided and completely unfair assessment of their relationship. The woman is a crazy person, he is perfect. All of their problems were her fault.

It was gossipy, hostile and downright unpleasant to read. I will not be reading this again and I'm hoping to soon forget it.

That said, the prose was beautiful. He wrote some interesting tidbits about Chicago and the first 1/4 of the book, before he got nasty, was intriguing enough.

In summation : Uh, don't read this unless you really, really hate women.

This book is well-known to be heavily autobiographical, but despite that or perhaps due to that, it is a very elucidating, entertaining psychological study of a Jewish intellectual - though, certainly applicable to any of us - contending with women and marriage. More specifically, it is the exploration of the disintegration of thirty-something Peter Tarnopol's life which at one time was so promising, but took a decidedly downward turn after marrying Maureen Johnson of Elmira, NY, and continuing with his long connection with Susan McCall after his separation from Maureen.

Peter is an unlikely candidate for failure of any sort having been adored and encouraged (a bit dominated) by his mother from childhood, graduated summa cum laude from college, written several successful short stories, and employed as a college literature instructor - all before age twenty-five. His attractiveness to nubile, sexually aggressive shiksas was taken in stride - superficial attachments only. However, being well versed in great literature, he found that his relatively easy life was insufficient, not serious enough. He needed to experience the full range of life, including a certain amount of pain and suffering. It is at this point that wounded, abused, though attractive, non-Jewish women enter his life.

Maureen ingeniously plays on Peter's sympathies by claiming abuse by previous husbands/boyfriends and poor treatment by many in her various artistic endeavors. The irrationality that seems to have taken over his life is best seen in his proposal for marriage despite being well aware of her pathological tendencies, including constant lying and violence. His suffering goes beyond anything he could have imagined. He cannot conduct classes because he fears his wife's screaming intrusions and is finally reduced to knocking on his older brother's door blubbering incoherently. A separation shortly follows - divorce being nearly impossible to obtain in NY, and then he begins a relationship with Susan, a young widow and a rather passive sort, who adores him. However, given his perfectionist inclinations, he has to remake her. He encourages her to overcome her fears of speaking and to re-enter college, but of greatest importance, both to him and then to her, is to literally work at waking her dormant sexual response.

The depth of Peter's psychological state is first seen in two recently written short stories, clearly meant to be commentary on his life, that he sends to his yuppyish, older sister in CA. The first, "Salad Days," describes his comfortable early life with only the annoyance of military service to contend with. His dealings with the daughter of the "Zipper King," Sharon Shatzky, a girl willing to please him in every way imaginable, is the high point of those "easeful days." Far more relevant to his current situation is "Courting Disaster," where he pursues the divorced Lydia Ketterer, a woman who survived the sexual abuse of her father and an emotional breakdown. It is just such neediness in women that grips Peter; despite her singular unattractiveness, the leading character, Nathan Zuckerman, in this story cannot escape her hold. Nathan even appeals to the reader, questioning the plausibility that he is in this predicament.

Most important to understanding the full range of Peter's mental torment, even ranging back to the possibility that his ideal childhood actually had cracks now having an impact, is his five-year-long association with psychoanalyst Dr. Spielvogel. The contradictions in his life are repeatedly discussed at length, revolving mostly around his attraction to flawed women, his inability to cut his losses and leave, and his fear that abandonment may cause irreparable harm. It is at times a contentious battle: Peter either rejecting or accepting the doctor's suggestions and analysis.

In some respects the book is repetitious, the two short stories covering similar ground to the main story, although there are some subtle differences. The multi-page letters written to and by Peter get a bit long, but overall the book is filled with sharp, emotional dialog that holds the interest. At times the book is almost comedic in the excesses of speech and actions. The book is very much male- and Peter-centric as it treats his desire for some sort of simplistic perfectionism and his subsequent torment when that does not occur sympathetically. Generally, the author, in this story, holds women to be useful as sexual objects and problematic beyond that. Yet counter points do slip in. Zuckerman recognizes many years down the road the "character, intelligence, and imagination in the bounteousness of [Sharon's] sexuality," and the "balance she managed to maintain between a bold and vivacious animality and a tender, compliant nature." "It was in that tension, rather than in the sexuality alone, that her appeal resided." In the end, it seems like Peter is the flawed soul, unable to fully grasp the sexual and intellectual complexity of the female persona.

This novel is in two parts: the first consists of two stories about Nathan Zuckerman, his loves and his marriage to Lydia, which ends with her suicide; the second is about Peter Tarnapol and his disastrous marriage to vampire-like Maureen. Both sections are "written" by Tarnapol (the first as "fiction" the second as "autobiography"), and part of what Roth is exploring in this novel is the boundary between an author's real life and his fictions. Can an author learn things about the life he's actually living from the fiction he creates? It seems in this case, at least, Tarnapol learns very little, probably because his fictions are too closely parallel to his reality. Tarnapol has entered into a relationship and then married Maureen thinking he is going to "save" her from her calamitous past (two destructive marriages) only to realize that he has become her victim. How many writers can be both venomous and hilarious at the same time the way Roth is? And he is at his best in this novel. With almost every novel since GOODBYE, COLUMBUS Roth had become better and better at his craft; MY LIFE AS A MAN was his best novel up to that point (1974). Excellent.

'I could be his Muse, if only he'd let me.'
- An entry from Maureen Tarnopol's diary

Peter Tarnopol has recently battled his way through a horrific marriage. As it stands, he still deals with his ex-wife, Maureen, as she fights for a greater amount of his weekly salary, of which she currently receives one hundred (1970s) American dollars from a total that is not much higher. Tarnopol, a writer who initially showed great promise but who, though he writes and writes and writes, seems unable to produce anything of any great quality, still suffers mentally from the three years he was married. He visits a psychiatrist, Dr Speilvogel, and has recently begun a new relationship with the astonishingly submissive Susan, who seems to exist purely to help Tarnopol through his rough times.

He has written something, however. Two short stories, both dealing with Nathan Zuckerman, a character who shares roughly the same biography with Tarnopol, who himself shares a remarkable similarity to the real author, Philip Roth. This novel is the first that directly examines the relationship an author has with their writing and, through the thin disguise of Tarnopol, allows Roth to dissect and lay bare the horror and tragedy of his first marriage, to Margaret Martinson.

Tarnopol's life parallels Roth's in ways that are so similar it is difficult to believe Roth's claim that he does not write about himself. Indeed, in other works it is clear that he has polished, altered, added to and changed the biography of himself from which he draws his fiction - as do many authors. But in this novel, the key elements of each man's life are too similar, too identical for this to be anything but a confession disguised as a, well, a confession.

Peter Tarnopol is a charming, intelligent, witty man who has had remarkably difficulty in escaping the clutches of his wife Maureen, for all that they are separated. Initially successful as an academic and then as an author, the reader is introduced to little scenes and examinations of Tarnopol's life before he fell under the sway of Maureen. In these Tarnopol was confident, clear in his path through life, and manifestly devoted to literature. We learn his daily schedule, his ideas on writing and reading, his hopes for a future that extends infinitely with repeated days that are very much the same as before. There is, of course, a rub: '...at twenty-five, for all my dedication to the art of fiction, for all the discipline and seriousness (and awe) with which I approached the Flaubertian vocation, I still wanted my life to be somewhat original, and if not violent, at least interesting, when the day's work was done.' And there is his downfall. Tarnopol's methodical, orderly life is shattered by the addition of someone who is not orderly, who will not allow themselves to become trapped into the compartmentalised structure that is Tarnpol's life.

And who can blame Maureen? It is of course important to remember, as it is with any story recounting a divorce, that the person telling the tale is somewhat biased. For all their good intentions - and it seems that Tarnopol does not have good intentions so much as he wants to rid himself of the difficulty of his late twenties life through the cleansing burn of cathartic revelation - the divorcee, the divorcee, the separated, the broken-hearted - their story is tainted by a desire to show themselves in a better light than the other person, whomever they may be. It is to the credit of Tarnopol, however, that in his confession he does not stray from revealing the negatives of his own personality, though one of course must wonder if this is what he did reveal, what behaviour did he leave to rot in the dark corners of the relationship?

There is a sense that what Tarnopol wants is not life but literature. Flaubert and Tolstoy are referred to most often, with plenty of other authors scattered throughout. Tarnopol is a writer in the sense that he cannot seem to allow himself fully into the world of the non-writers. He is bewildered, bemused, confused, destroyed, caught up in and thrown about by life, when all he wants to do - professes to do - is write. Then write, Tarnopol! Yet it is of course the inexorable pull of 'reality', the 'real life' that everyone else seems to have, that draws him from this shell of literature-as-everything to life-as-something, even if his life turns out wrong.

It goes without saying that if the character of Tarnopol is not liked, then the novel will not be enjoyable. Indeed, there is nothing to this novel without Tarnopol. This novel is Tarnopol, in every sense of the term. This is the greatest strength of the work if Tarnopol's charm is received well, but if the reader finds him insufferable, then the novel fails. The plot is slim, and is written with a jumping back and forth style that sometimes comes across as overly complicated. As is often the case with Roth's work, if the story was told in a strictly chronological order it would be a) Not a Roth novel and b) Not particularly interesting.

As mentioned, Roth's own life parallels - or more accurately, Tarnopol's created life parallels Roth - the difficulties experienced within the novel. Both Maureen Tarnopol and Margaret Martinson purchased urine from a pregnant black woman to trick their partner into staying with them by faking a pregnancy test. Both Maureen and Margaret died in car accidents. Is this important to the enjoyment of the novel? No, it is not. But it is important in the sense that from great tragedy a writer - in every sense of the Flaubertian term - can emerge. Roth - and, we presume, Tarnopol - managed to rise from the ashes of a disastrous relationship to continue the pursuit of literature. Lucky for us.

Much of Roth's later obsession with the boundaries between fiction and fact are evident in this book. FIrst we read two short stories--one funny, one more bitter, but both dark. Then we learn the two short stories are those of a struggling author who has fallen into the depths of depression after a difficult relationship. OF course the narrator pulls no punches--he is a hater of women, though I'm not sure that we are meant to take his view of the world as a given. Clearly he is messed up--even his psychologist thinks so, though the books also bashes the idea that a psychoanalyst is an impartial judge. This is fascinating, at times disturbing stuff, but well worth it. And I still love my wife.

Philip Roth is a great comic writer. At his best he is one of the funniest writers who has ever written. This work too has many wonderful passages, and brilliant dialogues. It is filled with 'good parts' which seem at the highest level of comic writing. But Roth is also obsessed by his own obsessions and this book tells the same story three times.The opening story is to my mind the best telling of all. And the book as I read it became especially repetitive in its last long account of Tarnapol's imprisoning marriage.
Roth does a lot of post- modern trickery in this work, with one fictional writer writing about another, and with characters from Salinger giving us Salingerlike prose in their opinions of Tarnapol's work. I somehow find all these tricks irrelevant and useless.
The book is structurally flawed and its redemption is not in all its games of perspective, but rather in that lively language which makes Roth when he is good the best comic writer of all.