Philip Roth’s fiction shares many qualities with effective psychotherapy. Both require a big leap
of faith, both are self-absorbed, unconstrained by reality, seemingly
unorganized, undirected, and ultimately very revealing.
I’ve read most of his fiction, and he remains one of my
literary heroes. Somehow I missed The Ghost Writer (the first in the Zuckerman
trilogy), and if you can place yourself on that couch, be open to his unconscious
as well as your own, it’s a great read.
Who else would consider the quandary in which Anne Frank would find
herself had she lived to see the publication of her diary? Who else has so much to say on being Jewish
in 20th-century America? Who
else so effectively and simultaneously looks back to his narrow past and
forward to a wholly different future?
Who else so carefully considers (obsesses about) the writer, his role, his obligations
and responsibilities, his shortcomings and limitations? Who else can do this in
such a short book and in such a creative way?
I’m the first to admit that Roth is not everyone’s cup of
tea, but neither is Pamuk, or Yan, or Naipaul.
And Roth has serious academic credentials and literary street cred. Can we get political correctness out of the
way and just give him the Nobel already? Please.
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