One thing Philip Roth does so well, in his memoir, "Patrimony," is to make everyone a larger-than-life character:
*The father. Roth's unforgettable portrait of his own dad reaches a climax as the dad struggles to understand a diagnosis. Basically, the dad's life is over. There's a tumor wrapped around his optic nerve. The dad bravely spits out his questions for the doctor--he has written the questions on a paper, and there are misspellings, and all of the nouns are capitalized--and the doctor does not mince words.
Roth sits in awe of his stoic father, then Man and Son return home to have some soup. Roth cringes as his father berates his girlfriend: "You're not opening the soup properly! You hold the bottom! The bottom! Hold it now!" Accumulated pain spills out. The father goes on to say: "You're not heating this properly! Take it off the stove! It's too hot! Too hot!"
Roth then watches as his dad attempts to ladle (cold) soup into bowls, and because he is upset, and because he can't see, Roth, Sr. spills soup all over the kitchen. Overflowing from bowls, spilling off tables and counters. This is such a powerful scene: It captures the way we often displace intolerable emotions, and the way we try to ensure dignity for everyone even in the face of death, and the way misogyny can creep into a domestic scene. There's so much love and anger in the writing: Lorrie Moore has called the book one man's "icy valentine" to his own father. Harrowing.
*The psychotic neighbor. A Reagan supporter across the street from Herman Roth is delighted to learn that Herman Roth is newly "widower-ed." He calls to gloat--laughing maniacally into the phone every other minute.
Herman, to his son: "Oh, that's the jerk across the street. He hates me because I won't let him put up posters in support of Mr. Ray-gun." (Ray-gun is Reagan.)
The calls continue and continue, and finally Philip picks up the phone and threatens to tear out the psycho's colon and stuff it down his mouth. Roth writes with such ferocity, you feel the terror and grief and stupefaction of this moment, even though you're reading in 2019. (It's especially powerful since Philip, the character, is so restrained, in other moments.)
*Roth himself. An otherwise competent man finds himself inventing wrong turns, as he puts off the drive to his father's house. (It's a visit that will require Roth to tell a lie: "They found something in your brain. They're not sure how bad it is yet.") Roth, Jr. listening in wonder as a doctor says, "We'll just lift up a corner of your brain and wiggle the tumor out." Roth, stunned, examining his own past behaviors, thanking God for a small bit of foolishness, "if only because it gives me another chance to laugh at myself."
I wish that Roth had written other memoirs, though I realize several of his novels are disguised reports-from-actual-life. I continue to feel awe in the presence of Roth's intelligence, inventiveness, and emotional strength.
*The father. Roth's unforgettable portrait of his own dad reaches a climax as the dad struggles to understand a diagnosis. Basically, the dad's life is over. There's a tumor wrapped around his optic nerve. The dad bravely spits out his questions for the doctor--he has written the questions on a paper, and there are misspellings, and all of the nouns are capitalized--and the doctor does not mince words.
Roth sits in awe of his stoic father, then Man and Son return home to have some soup. Roth cringes as his father berates his girlfriend: "You're not opening the soup properly! You hold the bottom! The bottom! Hold it now!" Accumulated pain spills out. The father goes on to say: "You're not heating this properly! Take it off the stove! It's too hot! Too hot!"
Roth then watches as his dad attempts to ladle (cold) soup into bowls, and because he is upset, and because he can't see, Roth, Sr. spills soup all over the kitchen. Overflowing from bowls, spilling off tables and counters. This is such a powerful scene: It captures the way we often displace intolerable emotions, and the way we try to ensure dignity for everyone even in the face of death, and the way misogyny can creep into a domestic scene. There's so much love and anger in the writing: Lorrie Moore has called the book one man's "icy valentine" to his own father. Harrowing.
*The psychotic neighbor. A Reagan supporter across the street from Herman Roth is delighted to learn that Herman Roth is newly "widower-ed." He calls to gloat--laughing maniacally into the phone every other minute.
Herman, to his son: "Oh, that's the jerk across the street. He hates me because I won't let him put up posters in support of Mr. Ray-gun." (Ray-gun is Reagan.)
The calls continue and continue, and finally Philip picks up the phone and threatens to tear out the psycho's colon and stuff it down his mouth. Roth writes with such ferocity, you feel the terror and grief and stupefaction of this moment, even though you're reading in 2019. (It's especially powerful since Philip, the character, is so restrained, in other moments.)
*Roth himself. An otherwise competent man finds himself inventing wrong turns, as he puts off the drive to his father's house. (It's a visit that will require Roth to tell a lie: "They found something in your brain. They're not sure how bad it is yet.") Roth, Jr. listening in wonder as a doctor says, "We'll just lift up a corner of your brain and wiggle the tumor out." Roth, stunned, examining his own past behaviors, thanking God for a small bit of foolishness, "if only because it gives me another chance to laugh at myself."
I wish that Roth had written other memoirs, though I realize several of his novels are disguised reports-from-actual-life. I continue to feel awe in the presence of Roth's intelligence, inventiveness, and emotional strength.
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