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A review by sarinarm
My Name Is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok
5.0
Before reading this book, nothing in my natural world stood out with any significance. Things were only what they were in a basic way. A tree looked like the definition of a tree. A street, nothing but concrete.
When Potok let me slip into the mind of a young artist, my own street began to take color. I started to notice the world around me. My fingers started itching for surfaces to carve images into.
A few close friends told me this book would be good. I trusted their recommendation. I believe this book follows in the tradition of a living word. A text that evolves and changes as you remember and reread it. I hope to come back to it in several years and meet Asher Lev again, to let him meld into my own artist self, and recreate me when I grow weary of creating.
When Potok let me slip into the mind of a young artist, my own street began to take color. I started to notice the world around me. My fingers started itching for surfaces to carve images into.
A few close friends told me this book would be good. I trusted their recommendation. I believe this book follows in the tradition of a living word. A text that evolves and changes as you remember and reread it. I hope to come back to it in several years and meet Asher Lev again, to let him meld into my own artist self, and recreate me when I grow weary of creating.