I know it is not scholarly, but I’ve begun rating art by the effect it leaves on me. Books, movies, music, visual arts – whatever the genre – if it stays with me and hangs in the air surrounding me afterward, it’s good and worth telling someone else.
I just finished a book by Chaim Potok, The Chosen. It haunted me.
The Chosen contains neither action nor adventure. Instead, it is the beautiful story of relationships between two Jewish-American fathers and their teenage sons and the friendship of these same boys during WWII. Love, hate, and faith emerge from the eyes of one of the boys, Reuven, and the reader is entirely drawn into his world.
Although Potok uses language well, the symbolism and the relationships that occur within the context of the Jewish faith are what linger near me. One father refuses to talk to his brilliant son other than during Talmud lesson, and his son is deeply affected. The other father tenderly cares and trains his son, and this boy is also deeply affected. Add to this a peculiarly intentional friendship between the two teenage boys and the imagery of blindness and seeing. It is a laudable tale, one that is difficult to forget.
Even though I finished the book early last evening, I could not bring myself to pick up another book. To do so would have felt like a great sacrilege. To let it haunt me the rest of the night felt like the greatest homage I could pay this book that so enriched my humanity.
The Chosen
Wednesday, November 30th, 2005I know it is not scholarly, but I’ve begun rating art by the effect it leaves on me. Books, movies, music, visual arts – whatever the genre – if it stays with me and hangs in the air surrounding me afterward, it’s good and worth telling someone else.
I just finished a book by Chaim Potok, The Chosen. It haunted me.
The Chosen contains neither action nor adventure. Instead, it is the beautiful story of relationships between two Jewish-American fathers and their teenage sons and the friendship of these same boys during WWII. Love, hate, and faith emerge from the eyes of one of the boys, Reuven, and the reader is entirely drawn into his world.
Although Potok uses language well, the symbolism and the relationships that occur within the context of the Jewish faith are what linger near me. One father refuses to talk to his brilliant son other than during Talmud lesson, and his son is deeply affected. The other father tenderly cares and trains his son, and this boy is also deeply affected. Add to this a peculiarly intentional friendship between the two teenage boys and the imagery of blindness and seeing. It is a laudable tale, one that is difficult to forget.
Even though I finished the book early last evening, I could not bring myself to pick up another book. To do so would have felt like a great sacrilege. To let it haunt me the rest of the night felt like the greatest homage I could pay this book that so enriched my humanity.
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