The Istoriaphile’s Corner

Picking up a new book is like setting off on an unknown road: you never know where it will take you.  In the late 1970’s, I was reading every non-fiction book I could find about Judaism.  The religion fascinated me, a lot of my college friends were Jewish and I was deciding if I should convert.  Of course, I would not leave the delights of fiction, no matter what faith I followed, so I added several novels by Jewish authors thinking this would add dimension to my non-fiction studies.  One novel proved I have literary ADD; after I read My Name is Asher Lev, I put books on Judaism aside and became obsessed with art. Even now I envy the reader who has not yet picked up Asher Lev because they haven’t heard his mesmerizing voice spilling through that opening sentence: My name is Asher Lev, the Asher Lev, about whom you have read in newspapers and magazines, about whom you talk so much at your dinner affairs and cocktail parties, the notorious and legendary Lev of the Brooklyn Crucifixion. That beginning  has all of the power and immediacy of the opening paragraphs in  All the Kings Men or Rebecca.  …