Categories
Books

What’s the Job of an Author?

I’m reading a 720-page book by an author I didn’t know: Ann-Marie MacDonald. It’s one of the few books I saved from the large pile I gave away before moving, and I’m so glad I did. The book is called

The Way the Crow Flies

One of the things I love about this book is the way the author comes up with thoughts that make me think

Wow, I never thought of it that way before!

or

Wow, that’s so true!

So far, I’ve only read up to page 187 and this author has managed to do this to me several times. But this time, on page 187, I had to stop reading for some extra reflection.

It’s 1962 on an air force base in Canada, and Jack, one of the main characters has just realised that one of his neighbours, who comes from Germany, is Jewish. In fact, from his eight-year-old daughter, although he hasn’t revealed to her the meaning of the tattoo on his arm, he knows that the neighbour was in a concentration camp.

Jack finds himself replaying conversations with Henry Froelich. Einstein is a Jew. It had sounded anti-Semitic from Froelich’s lips last summer. Of course there is nothing wrong with the word “Jew” – especially if you are one – but there is something about the single syllable, it sounds less polite than “Jewish”. Perhaps the noun sounds anti-Semitic because Jack has rarely heard it pronounced by people other than anti-Semites.

It’s so true. It was true in 1962, and in 2003 when the book was first published, and it’s just as true now. But I’ve never thought about it before. It makes me think of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, but that was written a long time ago and many words have had their meanings changed since then:

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?

Coming back to Ann-Marie MacDonald, I think this is an important job of authors: to point out truths that readers have glossed over and not considered properly before. Of course, not all novels do this, nor do they have to, but I love it when they do.

It’s taken me a long time to reach page 187. I hope I can find more time for this book and the rest goes more quickly. It’s so well-written.

Categories
Books short stories The writing process

From Dull to Bright

I do enjoy creating a max. 500-word story each month for the Furious Fiction competition from the Australian Writers’ Centre. I warm to the themes and criteria they choose, and look forward to spending what I can of the weekend (because that’s all they allow) being as imaginative as I can.

Here were the rules for this month:

  • Each story had to strongly feature a relationship between TWO characters. 
  • Each story had to include someone whispering.
  • Each story had to include the words JAR, UNIFORM, NEEDLE and EDGE. (Certain variations were allowed)

I decided to take a dull story and polish it to a shine. I did that by adding something new to the ending and greatly exaggerating something in the middle, but otherwise only by the way I wrote it.

My story wasn’t featured, but the fact that it was longlisted is, I think, a testament to the fact that a lot of what makes a story stand out lies simply in the writing. I could probably have improved my story, and maybe it could have been featured.

Here it is:

A Bedtime If Story

If this were pure fantasy, you’d say the numbers were unrealistic. But it’s true; their relationship lasted for fifty years, from age twenty to age seventy.

If this were pure fantasy, you’d say it needs more conflict. But it’s true; there really wasn’t much, or at least nothing worth mentioning.

If this were pure fantasy, you’d say it needs detail. I can provide that. I can talk of raising children, of delightful trips to near and far places, of long walks in various natural and unnatural settings, of together visits to museums, castles, plays, musicals, concerts, weddings, friends. I can mention how he fixed things in the house while she sewed buttons on his uniform and other clothes. How, in later years, it became increasingly difficult to thread the needle, a fact she never mentioned. How they quickly learned to avoid friction by avoiding topics because staying together was much more important, and maybe that’s why no significant conflict appears in this story.

If this were pure fantasy, you’d say the relationship is still too smooth, even though cracks are starting to appear. You’d say it jars with anything you’ve ever heard. That if you’d been sitting on the edge of your seat, waiting for the climax, you’d have fallen off it by now as sleep conquered your senses.

If this were pure fantasy, you’d have given up on the story by now. You’d have expected the end to be an accident in which they died together holding hands. Or a long, drawn-out illness, one partner caring for the other with love and tenderness. In reality, long and drawn-out was expected. Both feared that outcome. He didn’t relish the prospect of becoming gradually incapacitated; she wondered about her caring abilities, in particular about whether she possessed any. Pure fantasy would have put those fears to the test. Reality followed a shorter and easier trajectory. He fell and hit his head. No one knew why he fell.

While you suppress another yawn, I’ll leave you with a fact to dwell on. If I let you into a secret and whispered their names, tossing and turning would be the outcome. In fact, even if I didn’t…

Categories
Extraordinary events Israel

Same Siren, New Place

Holocaust Remembrance Day started off fittingly dark.

This year we remember the Holocaust in the aftermath of the 7th October massacre, the worst tragedy that has befallen the Jewish people since the Holocaust. There are some who want to call that day another Holocaust, but most disagree. During those awful years, while a few brave individuals risked their lives to save others, most Jews had nowhere to turn. Today, we have a state and an army.

In recent years, when the siren went off, I’ve stood on the balcony facing Jerusalem’s Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum. This year, in Tel Aviv, I took a short walk ending at Jerusalem Beach.

There I stood on the raised platform, watching the movement around me. On one side, the waves constantly rose and fell on this windy day. On the other side, people walked or ran past and traffic came in waves, often halting at the traffic light. In the distance, four young men kicked and headed a ball to each other.

At ten o’clock, the siren went off and everything stopped. Traffic came to a standstill, walkers and runners stood still, the young men let the ball roll to a stop as they, too, stood still. Only the waves continued to roll, oblivious to the occasion. Two minutes later the siren stopped, traffic started up, people continued their activities and I walked home.

I’m thinking of the six million who died in the Holocaust. I’m thinking of the one thousand two hundred who died on 7th October. I’m thinking of all the hostages still in Gaza after seven months, who didn’t hear the siren and probably don’t know that today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. I’m thinking please, bring them home.

Categories
Books Israel memoir Reviews

Places We Left Behind by Jennifer Lang: Book Review

“A memoir-in-miniature” says the front cover, the words hovering over a cardboard box, its flaps raised, inviting me to unpack it. Written on the side of the box is the author’s name, leaving me in no doubt about the contents within.

But I’m wrong, not about the overall goal of this book but about the way it’s presented. The chapters are short, flash-fiction style, and all the words have been chosen with care and precision, clearly requiring several rewrites. And not only that. The formatting is also special. There are words crossed out, tables and diagrams, short lines, indented lines, framed lines, columns, blank spaces.

I have to admit that, as a person who struggles with visual clues, I don’t always understand the reasons for all these unusual formats. But I’m certain there are reasons as I read the book, and even more so at the end when I read the book-club-type questions. “What do you think is the difference between her [Jennifer’s] use of strikethroughs vs parentheses?” For me, the answer doesn’t matter; what’s important is that reasons exist, proving that everything in this book was carefully thought out.

And yet, none of this interfered with my enjoyment of the memoir, my wish to discover how the story would continue and end. I wasn’t disappointed.

Rereading my review of a few days ago, I notice I didn’t even mention the love story the memoir tells, the differences of opinion between the two players in the story, caused by their different backgrounds and attitudes towards religion. It made me keep thinking: surely this is the part when they agree to separate.

Although the love story formed the whole plot, it was the telling of it that made this book special.

Places We Left Behind

For anyone who has ever loved deeply and been willing to take risks for the sake of love.” Rachel Barenbaum author of Atomic Anna

When American-born Jennifer falls in love with French-born Philippe during the First Intifada in Israel, she understands their relationship isn’t perfect.

Both 23, both Jewish, they lead very different lives: she’s a secular tourist, he’s an observant immigrant. Despite their opposing outlooks on two fundamental issues—country and religion—they are determined to make it work. For the next 20 years, they root and uproot their growing family, each longing for a singular place to call home.

In Places We Left Behind, Jennifer puts her marriage under a microscope, examining commitment and compromise, faith and family while moving between prose and poetry, playing with language and form, daring the reader to read between the lines.

Jennifer Lang

American-French-Israeli hybrid; obsessed with identity, language, home, belonging

1995-today: Stories in BabyCenter, Parenting, Parents, Natural Solutions, Woman’s Day, Real Simple, Baltimore Review, Under the Sun, Barren Magazine, Quarter After Eight, Citron Review and on NPR

MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts; an Assistant Editor at Brevity Journal

Yogini, practicing since 1995, teaching since 2003

IG: jenlangwrites
FB: jenlangwrites

AWARDS for Places We Left Behind:
*Finalist in Multicultural Nonfiction in American Book Fest’s 20th Annual Best Book Awards
*Finalist in Multicultural Nonfiction in the IAN Book of the Year Awards 2024
*Gold Book Award Winner of Literary Titan

Categories
Books memories The writing process

The Eleventh of April

Last week, on the 11th April, I attended a wonderful workshop facilitated by Judy Lev. At the beginning of the workshop, we had to write a first draft about anything we wanted. Then we learned how to work on our drafts. Then we tried to put the tips into practice. I ended up with this:

Today, I commemorate the eleventh of April, the day of my marriage to David nearly five decades ago. This is the first year I celebrate that date alone.

Yes, celebrate. Because no one can take away the memories of forty-five sunny years, and reflecting on them makes me happy. Now, I live in a new place, I see my family often, the sun still shines and I can be happy in other ways.

When I post memories with David on social media, people say, “I see it’s hard for you.” But I don’t feel that way; the memories make me smile. When I explain that, they shake their heads in disbelief. But it’s true, honestly.

No doubt, the piece could be improved further, but it’ll do for now.

Following on from my previous post, I have created a new Facebook account, which is only for friend friends. When I’ve created an author page, I’ll post the link here.

And Tel Aviv is amazing…

Categories
Books Israel

Life Without FB

What does FB stand for?

I can think of several options that I’d better not repeat here. But the event that brought about this post is that I was thrown off Facebook, with no reason given or any route to appeal the decision.

I have been on Facebook since 2009, if not earlier. (I have no way of knowing any more.) All my history, memories, friendships, groups, photos have vanished in one fell swoop. That’s a huge part of my life.

But, you know, it’s not the end of the world. I can think of many things that could have happened to me that are much worse than this. I could have:

  • suffered an accident and been rendered unable to walk or dance
  • suffered a robbery
  • suffered a loss* (That happened six months ago; I certainly wouldn’t want a repeat.)
  • suffered many other events I don’t want to dwell on

The worst thing I can think of at the moment is that I could have been kidnapped by terrorists and held for over five months (so far), suffering hunger, torture, rape and more.

One happier piece of news is that I’m moving from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. I’ll have to change the tagline of this blog. I will post more about this after the move.

* On the subject of loss, I have an essay in this new anthology of poems, stories and essays:

The author Joan Livingston called my contibution a “Great piece of writing!”

The anthology can be purchased from here.

Categories
Books

Ocelots on Sale

Or rather, books by Ocelots are on sale, this weekend.

And when I say “Ocelots”, I mean the authors who are members of Ocelot Press, of which I am one.

My two are here:

…along with two others. Here are the four links:

Below are the other books participating in the sale:

Happy reading!

Categories
Everyday life Extraordinary events Israel

Another Side of Israel

Here’s a shout-out for Lisa’s wonderful and informative blog, in which she describes nature trails and historic ruins, gorgeous birds and flowers. If you want to see a beautiful side of Israel, one that you won’t see on the news, this is the place to go. We’ve all been through hell, but Lisa’s hell began long before 7th October. It’s lovely to see her back.


Over the past two months, I’ve watched many more videos, seen more pictures, and read more comments than is good for me. Some of them I saved to refer back to and maybe share later. Like this one:

He was released in a prisoner exchange: 1027 prisoners for one Israeli soldier.

I think that shows so much about Israel. For instance:

  • We value life.
  • We look after prisoners.
  • Our doctors treat all patients equally.

What it shows about Hamas is obvious.

And that’s why there is no comparison and can never be one between Israel and Hamas.

We have heard, but generally not watched (because it’s too harrowing) what they did on 7th October. We’re only starting to hear how they mistreated the people they kidnapped. And that’s from those they chose to release. Who knows what they’re doing to the ones still being held?

Israelis don’t always see eye to eye. But when disaster strikes, that’s when we’re the most united. While the world continues to chant meaningless slogans and repeat lies, we’ll get on with the war we didn’t choose and don’t want. Why? I think Golda Meir, prime minister of Israel from 1969 to 1974, explained it well:

Categories
Rhymes

I Want to Go Back

I haven’t written a poem for a long time, but this one suddenly turned up in my mind. I was listening to the song Days of Binyamina – ימי בנימינה, in which a man looks back fondly at his carefree childhood. The chorus begins: אני רוצה לחזור אל הימים הכי יפים שלי. I didn’t like the translations I found and wrote my own: I want to go back to the good old days. A more correct translation might have been: I want to go back to my good old days, but that doesn’t sound right in English. You know what? On second thoughts, why not?

I want to go back

I want to go back to my good old days
When the love of my life was alive,
When we walked and talked and toured the world,
And returned to our beautiful hive.

I want to go back to my good old days
When we lived in a bubble of bliss,
When the baddies stayed outside the fence
And rockets went to space.

I want to go back but I know I can’t.
So I’ll stay in present. At least I still dance.

I know the “good old days” are a delusion that never existed. Everything is relative.

Categories
Books That's Not Me

Meeting Yourself in Fiction

I’ve given this post a different title, but in a way it’s part of That’s Not Me! Yes, I think it can include the banner.

In a recent guest post, Ritu Bhathal wrote about the problem of not identifying with the protagonists of the stories she read. That was what led her to write her own stories about British Asian characters.

I found myself identifying with what she had to say. The stories I’ve read have not often included Jewish characters, and almost never British Jews.

“Does that matter?” you might ask. I’m sure it does, especially for a child, growing up and trying to make sense of her world.

The characters in the novels I read as a child never struggled to fit in due to being Jewish. They never worried if they were saying the “correct” thing, whether to non-Jews or to other Jews. They never had to forgo an activity because it didn’t chime with their religion. They seemed to live such uncomplicated lives.

When I did read a book about Jews, I devoured it, even when it was set in the twelfth century (The Star and the Sword by Pamela Melnikoff). Even when it was a thousand pages long, like The Source by James A. Michener. Even when the Jews mostly weren’t British, as in Exodus by Leon Uris, as well as The Source.

In my case, the lack of Jewish characters in fiction didn’t cause me to start writing them. It took me several decades to even attempt to write my own stories. No. In my case, the rare books with Jewish characters, especially Exodus, influenced my decision to live in Israel. Because before and after the twelfth century and up to five years before I was born, Jews had nowhere to go where they felt protected. And now, we had our own country and I wanted to be part of it.

I have to say that, considering what’s going on in the world now and the way Jews are being treated, I’m gladder than ever that I made the decision to move. Israel is the only place where I’m never afraid to say who I am. It’s also the only place where I feel the authorities have my back. I know mistakes were made recently that enabled an enormous massacre to take place, but I don’t think that will happen again.


In contrast, the absence of a different group of characters from novels did influence my decision to write. I saw no characters with social anxiety, no characters who struggled to join in a conversation or to put themselves into the limelight, and there are still very few such fictional characters. I wondered if that was because they’re hard to write. If a character doesn’t say much, they could be considered uninteresting and therefore a bad template for a protagonist. But I decided to have a go, anyway, and I believe I succeeded. Even if a character doesn’t talk a lot, they can have an interesting variety of thoughts, and the people around them can have plenty to say. My uplit novel, Cultivating a Fuji, has two characters who have developed social anxiety. My Jerusalem Murder Mystery series (book 2 to come soon) has one.

It turns out it’s possible to write a character with social anxiety, and I expect the reason why authors don’t do it, despite the very large number of people who live with the condition, is that the topic doesn’t interest them. I would argue that it should interest them, because even if they don’t have first-hand experience of it, they probably know someone who does.


How about you? Did/do you see yourself in books? Do you think it’s important to see yourself in books? Have you written stories with characters like you?