Customer Reviews

Sabbath's Theater

5 star:		(35)
4 star:		(10)
3 star:		(6)
2 star:		(9)
1 star:		(6)

 

 

The incredible Philip Roth, who gets stronger and stronger as the years go by, plunges further down into the sewer than he's ever gone before to give us Mickey Sabbath, an anti-hero if ever there was one. Think of him as Falstaff and Milton's Satan mixed with some Marquis de Sade....a personality so large and so outrageous that the more adventurous readers may find themselves shelving their morality for a little while in order to more gleefully bask in the filth. Sabbath is a 65-year-old man living in the quaint New England town of Madamaska Falls. He is a retired puppeteer (a dirty puppeteer, of course, until arthritis sidelined him), and now he lives off of a wife who is a recovering alcoholic, and spends all his free time and energy chasing the outermost boundaries of sexuality with Drenka, the inn-keeper's wife, who is more than willing to follow him to those boundaries and even lead him past them. A string of tragedies sends Mickey into a whirlwind and brings back a flood of memories from his troubled but colorful past. The narrative intermingling of past and present is on full display and will be familiar to readers of Roth. Also, this is one of the rare Roth books that doesn't have a first-person narrator, but an omniscient voice (of course, Roth's voice). Sabbath, however, is such an overwhelming presence that he often hijacks the narrative and runs off with it, particularly at those times when he seems to be coming apart at the seams. Those who are quick to always correlate the man Roth with his main characters should ask themselves how he can be so adept at switching points-of-view so quickly and without warning, and without risk of confusion. The answer is, because he's a master. Sabbath makes like Poldy in "Ulysses" and goes into stream-of-consciousness mode, and if you can get past the filth, you'll be privy to a character with a very disturbed internal life, but with a very strict code of conduct--"for a pure sense of being tumultuously alive, you can't beat the nasty side of existence." But a lot of filth there is, and this book could definitely alienate more sensitive readers. It would be an understatement to say that this is the dirtiest book Philip Roth has ever written. It's probably closer to home to say that Roth in this book makes Henry Miller look like Jane Austen. A cosmos of depravity peppers the pages, climaxing (sorry) at the end of the novel in a flashback with Mickey and Drenka which will leave you yellow. Of Roth's more recent novels, this one moves at the surest pace, and finds the most nerve-racking balance between low comedy and high tragedy. Only "Operation Shylock", I think, gives it a run for its money, though I'm very much looking forward to his new one in October, "The Plot Against America."

There is profundity in the darkest, seediest corner and Mickey Sabbath desperately wants to grab hold of it. And Philip Roth lets you ride along for the fun at a safe distance.

In Sabbath's Theater, Philip Roth finally showed us he could write a book in which neither Philip Roth nor his thinly-veiled stand-in, Nathan Zuckerman, made an appearance.

The theme of Sabbath's Theater has been done before: a lecherous, unconventional man railing at the ravages of time and the dwindling of the sexual potency by which he has defined his very existence. Most of the time, however, this theme is poorly written, the characters trite and cliched. Roth, not surprisingly, invests this novel with more lyrical energy, more sexual frankness, sharper comedy and deeper seriousness than has any writer before.

Although Roth does make use of both flashback and association, the plot of Sabbath's Theater is brisk. Mickey Sabbath, who went off to sea at the age of eighteen just so he could visit the world's brothels, is a loathsome character. His abiding philosophy of life is simply to do whatever he pleases and never to worry about pleasing anyone else. Nothing phases him, in fact, he seems to take pleasure in his uncanny ability to antagonize others. Their outrage seems to be only a reflection of his own self-worth. Mickey Sabbath manages to hurt, deceive, betray, offend, insult and abuse just about everyone with whom he comes into contact.

A true degenerate, Mickey Sabbath may seem to lack any sense of moral conscience. Although anyone meeting such a character would deny it, Sabbath actually spent an idyllic childhood on the Jersey shore; a childhood that was shattered by a traumatic dual loss. In an effort to deal with his loss and the resultant pain, to stamp out the brutality of life, and, to affirm his own sense of aliveness, Sabbath turns to carnal pleasures with a vengeance, indulging each and every sexual impulse.

Even as Sabbath indulges his crasser nature, however, and casts a satirical eye on those who deny their sensual impulses, he still endeavors to understand himself and the workings of the universe. In fact, much of the novel's comic pathos is derived from the tension that exists between Sabbath's base nature and his lechery and his seemingly incomprehensible yearning for cosmic illumination.

There is a lot of graphic sex in Sabbath's Theater and most readers will probably find it simply too perverse. I did not enjoy reading this book, and, although I think I understand Mickey Sabbath, I have to admit that I hated him. He suffers, that cannot be denied, but he is simply so perverse, and his behavior so amoral, that I really didn't care.

To be fair, I do have to admit that the perversity in this book did enhance and advance my understanding of Mickey Sabbath and the conflicts in which he is embroiled. And Philip Roth is certainly better at creating degenerate, or at least morally ambivalent characters, than he is at creating the lofty or the solemn. His "good" characters are simply too good to be true, while Sabbath, much as we may despise him, is completely credible. He may be despicable and perverted, but at least he knows it.

The writing in Sabbath's Theater is absolutely first-rate; it is pure Philip Roth and it crackles with more energy and exuberance than Portnoys' Complaint. The characters are more complex, the narrative more sophisticated and the tonal range wider than many of Roth's other works. The ending of the book virtually drips with irony. This is a multi-layered novel and one that is brilliantly original. It also contains some of the funniest writing to be found anywhere in American fiction today. Sabbath's Theater is, at its heart, a darkly comic masterpiece of complexity from one of America's finest authors. But it is simply too perverse for most readers to enjoy.

It pains me to see so many reviewers either entirely miss, or disregard, the key note of this book. That is, quite ironically, loss; the story uses an unconventional, intentionally confrontational approach to depict a sad struggle with spiritual and physical decay. Sabbath's lifelong inability to empathize with anyone (incuding himself) is his downfall and is NOT something Roth celebrates. Disgust with the scatology of this book comes from a reductionist reading; we can harbor some disgust only while taking up the challenge of feeling pity for the repulsive puppeteer, particularly in the masterful and heartbreaking encounters with Uncle Fish, his parents' graves, and all things past. An inspiring book, written in Roth's trademark lyric American vernacular, to be read and re-read.

It is hard to know what to say about Sabbath's Theater. The 'hero', Mickey Sabbath is not a likeable or easily understood character. His approach to the other figures in the novel seems consistently hostile and predatory, yet we understand that such a facade masks a deep torment and an increasing fear of death. His preoccupation with sex (not unusual for a Roth character) is a way of affirming life in the face of his own aging and infirm existence.

The story is slight and the real thrust of the 'plot', after an intitial setup, is the question of whether Sabbath will chose to live or take his own life. However ugly Mickey's behavior and words are, Roth gives us something wonderful in each paragraph. We might not love Mickey, but it is hard to read this book and not be moved, impressed, and generally wowed by Roth's abilities as a writer. Wonderful reading.

A long time ago Alexander Portnoy (in an early Roth novel, Portnoy's Complaint) entreated someone, anyone, to put the id back in Yid.

Mickey Sabbath, the dirty old man who is the central character in Sabbath's Theater, does just that, and more. Sabbath acts on every instinctive urge that comes his way, never stopping to imagine consequences. And those urges push him to sexual and other behavior that is always bizarre, and often downright shocking. At times I could not believe what I was reading.

Yet at least a part of Sabbath's complicated motivation stems from his fear -- utter revulsion, really -- of death and all it entails. Death prevents Sabbath from seeing the need to ever conform to societal norms. And that blindness makes him a terribly tragic, yet very funny guy.

There are portions of this book that blew me away, like Roth's/Sabbath's (sometimes it's hard to determine who's doing the talking) observations about marriage, infidelity, sex, death, art, academia, etc.

Sabbath is ultimately a revolting character, and evokes little sympathy for his horrible plight. Yet he's one of the most fascinating characters in literature I've ever come across.

This book is incredible and very worth reading. But be warned, it's not for the squeamish. If you haven't read Roth, start with Portnoy and imagine what he might have become if everything in his life went wrong.

I first read Sabbath's Theater--my first encounter with Roth, for that matter--when it was initially published in the late 90s. I thought that it was the funniest book that I had ever encountered. I laughed so much that my girlfriend could not wait for me to finish it and went to buy her own copy. I was at that age when I had life by the tail. I was just finishing my MA, I was entirely comfortable with my subject, I was in love with a girl to whom I would eventually become wed, the gym, my bicycle, Nietzsche, Foucault: hell, life in general. In short, in spite of having had a brain tumor and thus possessing an understanding of the precarity (if I may employ a neologism) of life, or perhaps precisely because of that fact, I felt as if nothing in the world could slow me down. I was the illusory master of my universe. In Roth, and to the extent that Mickey Sabbath appeared to me to be so entirely himself I simply found confirmation that such mastery was indeed possible. For there is no doubt that ST is a text of absolute unmitigated brilliance; and, it was so incredibly, side-splitting funny.

Alas, having been thoroughly dethroned, Cronos having faced the Zeus that is life with all of its contingencies, I decided that I needed something a bit less morose than Iris Murdoch. Thus, I approached ST for the second time with a sense of great anticipation; I really needed something to lighten the load. In was during this encounter that I discovered what effect a true piece of art can impose upon its consumer. (I employ this term in the sense of taking into oneself and making a part of oneself, not in the sense of one who purchases things in a willy-nilly search for authenticity.) Indeed, 10 years, a proliferation of physical problems resulting from the earlier tumor, a divorce, and a 15 hour separation from my young child later, I discovered the "truth" of ST; it is one of the saddest works of fiction that I have ever encountered. Suddenly, Mikey Sabbath was a pitiful old man, thoroughly beaten by life. What I formerly perceived as his brilliant sense of humor was transformed into nothing more than a pervasive cynicism, which was absolutely necessary for him to hold on to, as it was his final impotent way in which to believe himself to exercise some control over the vicissitudes of life.

In short, re-reading ST, in an entirely different situation elicited an entirely different, indeed, diametrically opposed, reaction from me. Rather than despair, however, I suddenly understood that I was in possession of a truly sublime work of art. I could not recommend this book any more forcefully. It should be mandatory reading for any educated person, as should the rest of Roth's considerable oeuvre.

Having read several of Roth's novels ("Zuckerman Unbound", "Operation Shylock", "Portnoy's Complaint", etc.), I can say that "Sabbath's Theater" ranks among his best - and among the best american fiction in recent years.

This is a book that, right from the first sentence, grabs the reader by the collar, makes him scream, laugh and cry. It's like a roller coaster for the soul, with scenes of brilliant humor joining others of intense pathos. I tell you, I even wept reading some pages, and that does not happen often when I read a book - specially if such pages describe people remembering how they made oral sex and urinated on each other.

But don't get me wrong. Far from being a book about odd sexual relations, this is a serious reflection on the passing of time, frustration and loss, and about the inevitable destiny of us all. As Prospero says in the quotation that opens the book: "Every third thought shall be my grave". So is Mickey Sabbath's, and so will be the reader's after finishing this magnificent book.

The main character of this book, Mickey Sabbath, envisions his own epitaph as reading: "Morris Sabbath - `Mickey' - Beloved Whoremonger, Seducer, Sodomist, Abuser of Women, Destroyer of Morals, Ensnarer of Youth, Uxoricide, Suicide - 1929-1994." As a final self-assessment of this character's life, it is not far from the truth. Objectively speaking, there is little in Sabbath's behavior to qualify him as a role model or inspiration for others. And yet, somehow, Roth turns this seemingly despicable character into an undisputed hero. Do we love Sabbath because of his overpowering humanness? His brutal honesty? His perseverance? Is it because he celebrates in himself the dark elements of human sexuality that we, as individuals, must suppress in ourselves? Or is it because Philip Roth is the most eloquent and insightful portrayer of the human soul alive today?

It would be easy to dismiss Sabbath as an immoral pervert, a man driven by his sexual urges with little regard for societal norms or the feelings of others. And as such, it is also easy to reject the notion that he is anything like you and me. He is a man who takes pride in having slept with prostitutes on more than one continent. He is remarkably unfaithful to his wife. He engages in bizarre sex acts with his lover. He rummages through the drawers of a 19-year-old girl, the daughter of an old friend, looking for naked Polaroids, and finding none, settles for swiping a pair of her underwear. And then there is the scene at his lover's grave that is too bizarre to recount here, a scene that would be nothing short of obscene and disgusting in any other author's hands, but that Roth somehow renders as a powerful expression of love and grief. So go ahead, feel free to say that Sabbath is nothing like you, if it makes you feel better.

But when you are finished condemning him, look deeper at who he is and what he represents. Sabbath is a grieving man. He is grieving not only for the death of his free-spirited, erotic mistress, who dies a tragic death in the early pages of the novel. He is also grieving for his own lost life as he begins to accept his own mortality. And he is persistently haunted by the ghost of his mother and the memory of his brother. Yes, he is a social and sexual deviant, but he is also incredibly human. We cannot blame him for the desires and emotions that he unapologetically displays for the world to see, for they are the same desires and emotions that live in each of us. So how can we blame him for the brutal honesty with which he lives his life and faces his demons? It is because there is a little bit of Mickey Sabbath in each of us that makes this novel painful, at times, to read. But that is also what makes it so exquisite and, ultimately, so true.

The epigraph to Roth's novel quotes Prospero, in Shakespeare's the Tempest, saying "Every third thought is my grave." The novel shows us graphically, again and again, what the other two thoughts might be. The human predicament--that everything of us, noble or ignoble, is going to wind up buried in the muck or as ashes sunk in water somewhere--is actually confronted with all the force Mickey Sabbath can marshal against it. And he brings the only force we have, the life force, to the battle.Crudely, rampageously, outrageously, ragingly and in a perverse way joyfully, he and his goddess-lover Drenka stick sex in the eye of death as often, as long, as much, as they possibly can. Never mind great art or centuries-enduring music, or monumental architecture. Those are only artifacts. Our LIFE is what we most want to keep, our love, our human love, is what it grieves us most to lose. And like Mickey, when we have lost it all, we can't help standing up to our ankles in the mud and the rain, unable to really want to die, because 'everything he hated was here.' A moving and beautiful and ultimate statement of the human condition.

Given the degree of raunchiness depicted in this novel it is not surprising that Roth engenders either 5 star reviews or 1 stars. I have read nearly all of his novels, and this ranks as one of the best (along with The Human Stain and American Pastoral). He has portrayed in Sabbath one of the truly great anti-establishment, amoral, rebellious characters of all time. Hurray for authors like Roth and Mailer and Paul Theroux who are able to deliver superlative literature with a dead aim at the hypocritical morals and values of our culture.