Hebrew Literature

The hilarious second novel from actress and bestselling novelist Alona Kimhi holds up a comically warped mirror to contemporary Israel, as well as the very notion of "chick lit." Inhabiting a dark fairy-tale version of modern life, drawing equal inspiration from Angela Carter and the iconography of the classic horror movie, this is the story of Lily, our proudly overweight and romantically unlucky protagonist, who discovers a wild freedom in part through her friendship with a Russian prostitute, Ninush. This is a world of cellulite-dissolving panties, sex change as an outlet for self-expression, and the final triumph of the titular tigress; where metamorphosis is the rule, and where the waking world has become a funhouse prowled by our wildest desires.

The protagonist has Egyptian roots going back many generations: on her father's side, to the expulsion of the Jews of Spain in 1492, when seven brothers of the Kastil family (from Castilla) landed on the Gaza coast after many trials and tribulations. Her mother's side goes back even further, to the only family that Jewish history has ignored: the ones who said "No" to Moses and stayed in Egypt. After migrating to Israel in the 1950s and settling on a kibbutz-from which they were soon expelled for Stalinism-this storied clan moved to Tel Aviv. In this unconventional family saga, Orly Castel-Bloom blends fact with fiction, history with legend, reimagining the lives of her forebears in unforgettable prose.

A whirlwind of art, music, and lust, Life on Sandpaper is Yoram Kaniuk's overwhelming autobiographical novel detailing his years as a young painter in the New York of the '50s. Wounded and alienated, a war veteran at the age of nineteen, Kaniuk arrives in Greenwich Village at its peak period of artistic creativity, and finds his way among such giants as Charlie Parker, Billie Holiday, Willem de Kooning, and Frank Sinatra. In terse prose, inspired by the associative and breathless drive of bebop, Kaniuk's memories race between the ecstatic devotion of his beloved Harlem jazz clubs, through the ideological spats of the dying Yiddish world of the Lower East Side, to the volcanic gush of passion, pain, art, dance, alcohol, and drugs that was Greenwich Village. Kaniuk's stories roll and tumble here with hypnotic urgency, as if this were his last opportunity to remember, and tell, before all is obliterated.

When her archeologist father died, Loya Kaplan left Israel seemingly for good, severing all ties to her past. Twenty-five years later, she's a flight attendant without friends or family, happiest in the temporary and artificial world of airports. Sleepwalking through life, Loya is summoned back to Israel following the death of David-her father's friend, or rival, or lover, or nemesis?-who has named Loya as his heir. Returning now to a country that has become alien to her, and the house where she was raised, filled with relics not only of her own past but of her family and even ancient history, Loya's story splits, deliriously, in two: the life she once led in an improvised neighborhood, filled with concentration- camp refugees and secrets, colliding with the antiseptic, well-fed present day.

"Dolly City-a city without a base, without a past, without an infrastructure. The most demented city in the world." In the midst of a futuristic-primitive metropolis, the accumulation of all our urban nightmares, Doctor Dolly (certified by the University of Katmandu) finds a newborn baby in a black plastic bag, and decides to become a mother. Overcome by unfamiliar maternal urges, Dolly dispenses with her private lab of rare diseases and turns all her surgical passion onto her son. Ceaselessly cutting and sewing, Dolly is the scalpel-wielding version of the all-too-familiar Jewish Mother archetype, forever operating upon her son with destructive, invasive love. In this grotesque satire of war and the defensive measures taken to survive it, Orly Castel-Bloom, one of Israel's most provocative and original writers, turns her own scalpel upon that most holy of institutions, the myth of motherhood-and its implications in the life of a nation.

The "plot" of Dror Burstein's dazzling meditation consists of nothing more than the author's lying on a bench, looking up at the night sky. What results from this simple action is, however, a monologue whose scope is both personal and cosmic, with Burstein's thoughts ricocheting between stories from his past and visions of the origin and end of the universe. The result is a fascinating blend of reminiscence, fiction, and amateur science, seeking to convey not only a personal story but the big picture in which the saga of life on Earth and of the stars that surround it have the same status as anecdotes about one's aunts and uncles. With a tip of the hat to W. G. Sebald and Yoel Hoffmann, Netanya seeks to transform human history into an intimate family story, and demonstrates how the mind at play can bring a little warmth into a cold universe.

The Death of Lysanda collects two macabre novellas by one of Israel's greatest poets. In the title piece, we meet Naphtali Noi, a recently divorced proofreader, critic, and "creative" taxidermist, given to hallucinations and soon perhaps to add murder to his hobbies. Ants tells the story of a married couple, Jacob and Rachel, who discover that an army of the titular insects is threatening to destroy their rooftop apartment-but Rachel seems to be on their side rather than her husband's. In fragmented prose halfway between the Old Testament and the playful experiments of Julio Cortázar, these tales take to pieces the psyches of two men-and a nation-at war with themselves.

Emil, the unwanted child of two young parents, is adopted by Yoel and Leah, a childless couple. Yet, as the years pass, it becomes clear that Emil doesn't bear much resemblance to the parents who've loved and raised him. Is his name the only thing his real parents have left him? Kin traces the movements of Emil and his four parents as they walk through the same city, nearby but apart, searching for each other in the faces of passersby; until Yoel, now old, becomes determined to do the impossible: return his grown son-a lonely man approaching middle age-to his birth parents. In prose that is both minimal and subtly off kilter, acclaimed Israeli novelist Dror Burstein introduces us to an Israel that is as peculiar, and poignant, as Donald Barthelme's America: ranging from an apocalyptic future to the petty annoyances of daily life, from shifting continents to tiny heartbreaks.

An unassuming, unambitious man named Motti, who owns a dog named Laika, has a good friend named Menachem. Motti and Menachem drink beer together every week, and Motti spends the rest of his time daydreaming an imaginary love story for himself and his neighbor, Ariella. Motti is the very picture of inertia, until, one night, a drunk Menachem, driving home from a bar with Motti, runs over a woman and kills her. Menachem has a wife and children, so without any fuss, Motti-who has nothing-decides to take the blame, going to prison instead of his friend ... and finding that his life there isn't too different from his life outside. "Oh dear," says the narrator, wondering how to tell us anything about such empty lives, "look at them, at all the people in this novel ... if someone would really hug them, if someone would hold them tightly, they would fall to pieces."