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4.2 AVERAGE
4.2 AVERAGE
emotional
reflective
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
My Name is Asher Lev is about, at its heart, "the unspeakable mystery that brings good fathers and sons into the world and lets a mother watch them tear at each other's throats." It depicts that unspeakable mystery in all its painful humanity, and as a consequence the book is moving and disturbing. Asher Lev is a Hasidic Jew who has a gift for painting, a "foolishness" his father cannot understand. Potok could have turned Asher's father into a villain; instead he makes him human and sympathetic. Asher ends up painting crucifixions "because there was no aesthetic mold in his own religious tradition into which he could pour a painting of ultimate anguish and torment." It's a book about what it means to be an artist, what it means not to betray yourself, and what it means to be a part of the Master of the Universe's "suffering world," which we "do not comprehend." There are so many rich themes packed into this book, that they form layers upon layers. It was a very powerful book, although there were slow moments; there were times when I felt like saying, "I get the picture. He can't stop himself from painting. His father doesn't understand. I get it already." There was quite a bit of thematic redundancy, which was at times literary and necessary, but at times tedious. Overall, however, it was an excellent book, and I intend to read The Gift of Asher Lev in the future.
I really admire Chaim Potok's ability to make the reader feel the emotions of his characters. Tone and mood are the champions of the book. They bring you into the mindset of Asher Lev. So much so that you'll find that by the end of this review, I am not so much reviewing the book as I am venting my untethered feelings about a character I got too connected to. Anyways, the characters are well-rounded: Rivkeh, Aryeh, the Rebbe, Yudel Krinsky, Jacob Kahn. The imagery diving into form, shape, texture, colors is on brand and helped realize the world Asher sees.
I consider myself somewhat of an artist. I've held a paintbrush. I've conveyed thoughts and feelings through art. But, rarely have I been able to emotionally connect to the art of others. Yet, when Asher gets the inspiration for his masterpiece, I felt as if his feelings were flowing through himself, through me, and out into his hand-stretched canvas. Never before had I understood a piece of art so clearly. Never before have I felt so actively included in the emotions of a character. It was beautiful. And then Mr. Potok decided to dial it up a notch in the 11 o'clock number.
Yes, you could say by the end of this book that MY name was Asher Lev. He stood in the crowded exhibition hall and yet it was my palms sweating. My heart pounding... I suppose this is getting into spoiler territory but I must continue so as to not leave my work unfinished... my stomach clenched when he was greeted with such genuine kindness by Yudel Krinsky before the show. Ah! Asher Lev! How could you expose yourself so deeply, knowing the pain it would cause you and your family, your community? Is living authentically truly so important? How terrible could it really be to leave work unfinished? Why is it that these questions, inspired by a plot that centers around a Brooklyn Hasidic Jewish art prodigy, are the same questions that I have been asking myself?
I am both gutted and inspired by the masterpiece within a masterpiece.
I consider myself somewhat of an artist. I've held a paintbrush. I've conveyed thoughts and feelings through art. But, rarely have I been able to emotionally connect to the art of others. Yet, when Asher gets the inspiration for his masterpiece, I felt as if his feelings were flowing through himself, through me, and out into his hand-stretched canvas. Never before had I understood a piece of art so clearly. Never before have I felt so actively included in the emotions of a character. It was beautiful. And then Mr. Potok decided to dial it up a notch in the 11 o'clock number.
Yes, you could say by the end of this book that MY name was Asher Lev. He stood in the crowded exhibition hall and yet it was my palms sweating. My heart pounding... I suppose this is getting into spoiler territory but I must continue so as to not leave my work unfinished... my stomach clenched when he was greeted with such genuine kindness by Yudel Krinsky before the show. Ah! Asher Lev! How could you expose yourself so deeply, knowing the pain it would cause you and your family, your community? Is living authentically truly so important? How terrible could it really be to leave work unfinished? Why is it that these questions, inspired by a plot that centers around a Brooklyn Hasidic Jewish art prodigy, are the same questions that I have been asking myself?
I am both gutted and inspired by the masterpiece within a masterpiece.
I come back a day later after writing this review to add that I'm still thinking about what this book gave me while I was reading it. Excited to continue to explore the literary world of Chaim Potok.
This book has been a source of immense emotion for me. The themes are rich with subtlety, allowing the reader to place themselves inside of a world experience they likely would never inhabit. This speaks to the fact that so many of our life experiences, while unique, also share many similarities and allow us to share in the grief and joy that is to be alive.
Religion is all over this book, but this isn't really about doubt of faith, it's about doubt of this world being an optimistic place. The main character's very existence causes him strife, as what is inside of him doesn't match with the world he's been given. No matter how hard he tries to deny who he is, he cannot, because that would mean he could no longer exist in this world without living as a betrayal to himself. His agony of whether his true self is from the devil speaks to how so many of us believe we are born broken, bad, selfish, and how that is only true if we narrow the definition of what it means to be good in this world.
There is no right and wrong in this book. There aren't good and bad people. There is multidimension in all aspects, and this touches a special place in my heart for there not being a good answer to everything. Asher's parents aren't monsters for not understanding their son; his father tries and fails to see beyond the literal not because he doesn't want to but because he can't. Religion is both life giving and life taking, it feeds and sucks.
I guess in some ways this book is another sad/depressing adult fiction book. But the difference I see is that there aren't plot points set up to make the reader feel that yet again this randomly bad thing just had to happen because the world is bad- that doesn't feel like real life. This book uses darkness as a tool instead of a plot point; it paints the devastation that is being alive while at the same time showing us why it all matters so much.
I have a new perspective and appreciation for the world of art, and feel excited to see the world in a new way filled with shapes and curves and emotion. I also yearn for a gift like music or painting or writing that would allow me to try to explain the depths of what it means to be human.
I saw the crucifixion and it's symbolism in a whole new way through the eyes of an observant jew. Where once I was unable to look past the literalism, I now see the symbol of pain so clearly and why people feel connected to it, as well as why it was painted and sculpted so many times.
-"I was an observant jew, yet that block of stone moved through me like a cry, like the call of seagulls over morning surf, like the echoing blasts of the shofar sounded by the Rebbe... My frames of reference have been formed by the life I have lived... I was only able to relate it to elements in my own lived past."
It is hard to pick out my favorite quotes, because there weren't necessarily brilliant lines, but just waves of beautiful writing that swept me to places I haven't been in the literary world in a long time:
“Art is whether or not there is a scream in him wanting to get out in a special way.”
“It's not a pretty world, Papa.'
'I've noticed,' my father said softly.”
“For all the pain you suffered, my mama. For all the torment of your past and future years, my mama. For all the anguish this picture of pain will cause you. For the unspeakable mystery that brings good fathers and sons into the world and lets a mother watch them tear at each other’s throats. For the Master of the Universe, whose suffering world I do not comprehend. For dreams of horror, for nights of waiting, for memories of death, for the love I have for you, for all the things I remember, and for all the things I should remember but have forgotten, for all these I created this painting—an observant Jew working on a crucifixion because there was no aesthetic mold in his own religious tradition into which he could pour a painting of ultimate anguish and torment.”
“It's not a pretty world, Papa.'
'I've noticed,' my father said softly.”
“For all the pain you suffered, my mama. For all the torment of your past and future years, my mama. For all the anguish this picture of pain will cause you. For the unspeakable mystery that brings good fathers and sons into the world and lets a mother watch them tear at each other’s throats. For the Master of the Universe, whose suffering world I do not comprehend. For dreams of horror, for nights of waiting, for memories of death, for the love I have for you, for all the things I remember, and for all the things I should remember but have forgotten, for all these I created this painting—an observant Jew working on a crucifixion because there was no aesthetic mold in his own religious tradition into which he could pour a painting of ultimate anguish and torment.”
“I looked at my right hand, the hand with which I painted. There was power in that hand. Power to create and destroy. Power to bring pleasure and pain. Power to amuse and horrify. There was in that hand the demonic and the divine at one and the same time. The demonic and the divine were two aspects of the same force. Creation was demonic and divine. Creativity was demonic and divine. I was demonic and divine.”
“My name is Asher Lev... I am a traitor, an apostate, a self-hater, an inflictor of shame upon my family, my friends, my people; also, I am a mocker of ideas sacred to Christians, a blasphemous manipulator of modes and forms revered by Gentiles for two thousand years.”
“Those mornings, the beach was my synagogue and the waves and gulls were audience to my prayers. I stood on the beach and felt wind-blown sprays of ocean on my face, and I prayed. And sometimes the words seemed more appropriate to this beach than to the synagogue on my street.”
“… every great artist is a man who has freed himself from his family, his nation, his race. Every man who has shown the world the way to beauty, to true culture, has been a rebel, a “universal” without patriotism, without home, who has found his people everywhere.”
“I do not sculpt and paint to make the world sacred. I sculpt and paint to give permanence to my feelings about how terrible the world truly is. Nothing is real to me except my own feelings; nothing is true except my own feelings as I see them all around me in my sculptures and paintings. I know these feelings are true, because if they were not true they would make art that is as terrible as the world.”
This book has been a source of immense emotion for me. The themes are rich with subtlety, allowing the reader to place themselves inside of a world experience they likely would never inhabit. This speaks to the fact that so many of our life experiences, while unique, also share many similarities and allow us to share in the grief and joy that is to be alive.
Religion is all over this book, but this isn't really about doubt of faith, it's about doubt of this world being an optimistic place. The main character's very existence causes him strife, as what is inside of him doesn't match with the world he's been given. No matter how hard he tries to deny who he is, he cannot, because that would mean he could no longer exist in this world without living as a betrayal to himself. His agony of whether his true self is from the devil speaks to how so many of us believe we are born broken, bad, selfish, and how that is only true if we narrow the definition of what it means to be good in this world.
There is no right and wrong in this book. There aren't good and bad people. There is multidimension in all aspects, and this touches a special place in my heart for there not being a good answer to everything. Asher's parents aren't monsters for not understanding their son; his father tries and fails to see beyond the literal not because he doesn't want to but because he can't. Religion is both life giving and life taking, it feeds and sucks.
I guess in some ways this book is another sad/depressing adult fiction book. But the difference I see is that there aren't plot points set up to make the reader feel that yet again this randomly bad thing just had to happen because the world is bad- that doesn't feel like real life. This book uses darkness as a tool instead of a plot point; it paints the devastation that is being alive while at the same time showing us why it all matters so much.
I have a new perspective and appreciation for the world of art, and feel excited to see the world in a new way filled with shapes and curves and emotion. I also yearn for a gift like music or painting or writing that would allow me to try to explain the depths of what it means to be human.
I saw the crucifixion and it's symbolism in a whole new way through the eyes of an observant jew. Where once I was unable to look past the literalism, I now see the symbol of pain so clearly and why people feel connected to it, as well as why it was painted and sculpted so many times.
-"I was an observant jew, yet that block of stone moved through me like a cry, like the call of seagulls over morning surf, like the echoing blasts of the shofar sounded by the Rebbe... My frames of reference have been formed by the life I have lived... I was only able to relate it to elements in my own lived past."
It is hard to pick out my favorite quotes, because there weren't necessarily brilliant lines, but just waves of beautiful writing that swept me to places I haven't been in the literary world in a long time:
“Art is whether or not there is a scream in him wanting to get out in a special way.”
“It's not a pretty world, Papa.'
'I've noticed,' my father said softly.”
“For all the pain you suffered, my mama. For all the torment of your past and future years, my mama. For all the anguish this picture of pain will cause you. For the unspeakable mystery that brings good fathers and sons into the world and lets a mother watch them tear at each other’s throats. For the Master of the Universe, whose suffering world I do not comprehend. For dreams of horror, for nights of waiting, for memories of death, for the love I have for you, for all the things I remember, and for all the things I should remember but have forgotten, for all these I created this painting—an observant Jew working on a crucifixion because there was no aesthetic mold in his own religious tradition into which he could pour a painting of ultimate anguish and torment.”
“It's not a pretty world, Papa.'
'I've noticed,' my father said softly.”
“For all the pain you suffered, my mama. For all the torment of your past and future years, my mama. For all the anguish this picture of pain will cause you. For the unspeakable mystery that brings good fathers and sons into the world and lets a mother watch them tear at each other’s throats. For the Master of the Universe, whose suffering world I do not comprehend. For dreams of horror, for nights of waiting, for memories of death, for the love I have for you, for all the things I remember, and for all the things I should remember but have forgotten, for all these I created this painting—an observant Jew working on a crucifixion because there was no aesthetic mold in his own religious tradition into which he could pour a painting of ultimate anguish and torment.”
“I looked at my right hand, the hand with which I painted. There was power in that hand. Power to create and destroy. Power to bring pleasure and pain. Power to amuse and horrify. There was in that hand the demonic and the divine at one and the same time. The demonic and the divine were two aspects of the same force. Creation was demonic and divine. Creativity was demonic and divine. I was demonic and divine.”
“My name is Asher Lev... I am a traitor, an apostate, a self-hater, an inflictor of shame upon my family, my friends, my people; also, I am a mocker of ideas sacred to Christians, a blasphemous manipulator of modes and forms revered by Gentiles for two thousand years.”
“Those mornings, the beach was my synagogue and the waves and gulls were audience to my prayers. I stood on the beach and felt wind-blown sprays of ocean on my face, and I prayed. And sometimes the words seemed more appropriate to this beach than to the synagogue on my street.”
“… every great artist is a man who has freed himself from his family, his nation, his race. Every man who has shown the world the way to beauty, to true culture, has been a rebel, a “universal” without patriotism, without home, who has found his people everywhere.”
“I do not sculpt and paint to make the world sacred. I sculpt and paint to give permanence to my feelings about how terrible the world truly is. Nothing is real to me except my own feelings; nothing is true except my own feelings as I see them all around me in my sculptures and paintings. I know these feelings are true, because if they were not true they would make art that is as terrible as the world.”
I’m rating it a 3.5 but rounding up to 4.
This is a tough one for me, the first 340 pages were tedious, monotonous, repetitive, and overall just not that enjoyable to read. Obviously there were some parts that drew me in and kept me going and I had heard that the ending was worth it so I plugged away.
But man, the ending is worth it! It was heartbreaking to the point of making me ache for Asher and his parents. I feel like I read the last 30 pages in about 5 minutes I just couldn’t stop. And not only was it heartbreaking, it felt like the perfect culmination of who Asher is and what he worked towards (spoilers below).
Asher worked his whole life, endured bullying, was ostracized from his religion, broke ties with his dad that felt like they would never be built again all for the sake of art. Finally, while away in Paris, he paints his magnum opus, a painting of his childhood home, with his mom being crucified in front of the window with Asher and his dad watching. It encapsulated so much of the pain and loneliness that he felt as a kid but also the torment and agony that he understands his mom to have felt. This painting crushes not only his family but his community as well, his teachers and mentors from his childhood. In the end he is asked to move back to Paris to leave the Ladover Jews where he grew up.
I’m realizing now how important the 340 boring pages are in building this story. You see what Asher went through to get to the point of creating “perfect art”. You understand why drawing something so blasphemous was the only possible way for him to express what needed to be expressed. You feel a sense of pride and joy in what he’s created. I think the story mirrors the life of an artist. Tormented by struggle, knowing there’s depth in the monotony and struggle and finally breaking through only to realize fully the deep deep pain that comes with complete and utter vulnerability. I’ve also never taken more than like 30 minutes on a doodle so I could be wrong lol.
Overall it’s a good book, the ending makes it worth it but gosh the first 9/10ths of the book just drag. I originally rated it a 3 but I think a 4 is warranted, it would be a hard book to recommend though.
“My name is Asher Lev, the Asher Lev, about whom you have read in newspapers and magazines, about whom you talk so much at your dinner affairs and cocktail parties, the notorious and legendary Lev of the Brooklyn Crucifixion.”
- Chaim Potok; My Name Is Asher Lev
This is a tough one for me, the first 340 pages were tedious, monotonous, repetitive, and overall just not that enjoyable to read. Obviously there were some parts that drew me in and kept me going and I had heard that the ending was worth it so I plugged away.
But man, the ending is worth it! It was heartbreaking to the point of making me ache for Asher and his parents. I feel like I read the last 30 pages in about 5 minutes I just couldn’t stop. And not only was it heartbreaking, it felt like the perfect culmination of who Asher is and what he worked towards (spoilers below).
Asher worked his whole life, endured bullying, was ostracized from his religion, broke ties with his dad that felt like they would never be built again all for the sake of art. Finally, while away in Paris, he paints his magnum opus, a painting of his childhood home, with his mom being crucified in front of the window with Asher and his dad watching. It encapsulated so much of the pain and loneliness that he felt as a kid but also the torment and agony that he understands his mom to have felt. This painting crushes not only his family but his community as well, his teachers and mentors from his childhood. In the end he is asked to move back to Paris to leave the Ladover Jews where he grew up.
I’m realizing now how important the 340 boring pages are in building this story. You see what Asher went through to get to the point of creating “perfect art”. You understand why drawing something so blasphemous was the only possible way for him to express what needed to be expressed. You feel a sense of pride and joy in what he’s created. I think the story mirrors the life of an artist. Tormented by struggle, knowing there’s depth in the monotony and struggle and finally breaking through only to realize fully the deep deep pain that comes with complete and utter vulnerability. I’ve also never taken more than like 30 minutes on a doodle so I could be wrong lol.
Overall it’s a good book, the ending makes it worth it but gosh the first 9/10ths of the book just drag. I originally rated it a 3 but I think a 4 is warranted, it would be a hard book to recommend though.
“My name is Asher Lev, the Asher Lev, about whom you have read in newspapers and magazines, about whom you talk so much at your dinner affairs and cocktail parties, the notorious and legendary Lev of the Brooklyn Crucifixion.”
- Chaim Potok; My Name Is Asher Lev
I read this for school and even though it's something I wouldn't pick up on my own, it wasn't by any means bad. Chaim Potok's writing is excruciatingly descriptive which helped me care about the characters towards the end, but was really hard to get into at first. The plot seemed unevenly paced but I was still invested by the end. So it's not what I would've chosen, but definitely wasn't a waste of my time. 3 stars.
This book takes place in post World War II Brooklyn in a Hasidic Jewish community. Asher is the son of a prominent and devout member of the community. He was born with the gift to paint. This is in conflict with the beliefs of his father who feels that painting is “foolishness”. Asher is forced to straddle two different worlds as he pursues his art while also trying to stay true to his faith.
This was a beautiful, sensual novel that taught me about a community I knew nothing about as well as an immersion into the world of art and painting. I really loved this book.
This was a beautiful, sensual novel that taught me about a community I knew nothing about as well as an immersion into the world of art and painting. I really loved this book.
Not my cup of tea. But a good story about how religion and culture and generational family beliefs all collide.
This book. I don't have the words. This is a book I will ALWAYS carry within me. I finished it yesterday and now there is a huge emptiness in me, because I'm no longer in Asher's world.