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A review by rbruehlman
Leaving Eastern Parkway by Matthew Daub
4.0
Hm. I didn't enjoy reading this book particularly. But I think my rating system is predicated heavily on not just enjoyment, but "will I think about this book again?", and I will think about this book again for sure. It's strange how a book can be not fun to read in the moment, but also give you somewhat satisfying meat to chew on. It's a weird spot to be in.
For context, Leaving Eastern Parkway explores the tragic circumstances that lead to Zevi Altshul's departure from his insular Hasidic community, and his subsequent coming-of-age as an ex-Hasidic self-described loner Jew in a world where he has no permanent anchor to anyone or anything, aside from the sport of handball.
Firstly, I'll put my grievances with my book upfront: this book has a twist at the end. I don't actually usually like it when I know a book or movie has a twist because then the entire time I'm just waiting ... but in this case, I actually think it would have been better had I known. A major theme of the book is Shmuel Resnick, who takes an instant disliking to Zevi in the wake of his parents' death and continues to inexplicably harass him for years afterward. His intense dislike of Zevi in the beginning of the book was a bit ... hard to believe and unrealistic, and, being honest, I dismissed it as bad writing. Shmuel shows up again and again, without really a satisfactory answer of why he hates Zevi so much. It really impacted my enjoyment of the book--he just seemed like such a shoe-horned-in two-dimensional villain, and I couldn't help but internally roll my eyes whenever he showed up. The end of the book eventually explains why Shmuel had an issue with Zevi, but it just felt a little "too late"? I dunno. The suspension of belief I was forced to uphold for so long regarding Shmuel made it hard to get invested in other parts of the story.
I also felt like Zevi's life was a string of tragedy, over and over; in particular, I wish one character had not died, and Daub had instead found another way to tell the remainder of the story. I think the book could have ended similarly without this event, but more believably. So many people die or otherwise bad events happen that it feels a little unrealistic--what next? In some ways, it feels like Daub can only advance the plot or characters if a tragedy happens.
This particuar point isn't a demerit of the book in terms of "badly written," but in terms of "enjoying" in the moment: Zevi, the narrator, is a taciturn, staid boy. I get why he was written the way he was and it's absolutely part of his character. But you know the sobering documentary that isn't fun, even if it makes you think? That's Zevi. Zevi is not fun. He's not light. He's a very emotionally stoic character. You may feel emotions as you read, but chances are Zevi will not outwardly share those emotions on the page.
Where this book shone and where I'll be thinking later is the characters.
Firstly, I loved Frida, and I actually kind of wish the story had been about her! I usually don't relate very much to female characters in any medium; I don't relate to damsel-in-distress characters at all and never have. But I've also never liked the modern reaction to that stereotype, the strong don't-no-need-no-man woman. Frida is neither. She's fiercely independent and free-thinking--she broke away from an insular community!--but she is also flawed, weak, unsure of herself, unhappy. She says herself--it's easy to know what you don't want, but not what you do. I really relate to that. I didn't always agree with the decisions she made, but why she made them always made total sense to me. She was wonderfully complex. I love characters who are headstrong and outwardly confident and know what they definitely don't want and actively reject that, even if that means not fitting into society ... but yet don't actually know what they do want and how to achieve it... because that's me. Others see it as confidence, and perhaps in some ways, it is, but in other ways, it is anything but. It was refreshing to see that reflected.
Zev was an interesting character. As mentioned earlier, he's kind of like that intense documentary that isn't very fun to watch. Zev is not a fun character. I wouldn't be drawn to Zev as a friend. He's painfully awkward and stilted; he shares little with others around him, even when it would really behoove him to do so. Zev keeps almost everyone at arm's length, and even admits he's a loner. In some ways, Zev is not that dissimilar from his sister, though; while he never actively rejects Hasidism, he goes by the beat of his own drummer. Zev followed Hasidism because it was what he knew, and had Zev never left the community, he would have remained a Hasid. But he was a loner who didn't quite follow certain rules in that community, and he was the same in the "American" community too. There was no world in which Zev would have fit in, but Zev, to his credit, never really cares. He is nominally interested in fitting in, but he also sort of isn't. He sort of wants friends, but he sort of doesn't. Zev does what suits Zev. He's a hard character to relate to because he doesn't really try to relate to others--he actively pushes a lot of well-intentioned people away--but it also makes him interesting and complex? I can't recall the last time I read a book with such an indifferent character as Zev.
Zev's relationship with Joe was satisfying. I liked Joe, and I genuinely felt for him. He, like Frida, is both broken and believable, and it was not hard to see how Zev and Joe's relationship blossomed. I just wish his relationship with Zev had ended differently.
I guess ultimately you could say this book is about the characters and the relationships between them. I picked up a book thinking I would read about what it is like to leave the Hasidic community, and, yeah, it did cover that, but I felt like it wasn't the forefront focus. Leaving Hasidism allowed Zev to be a stranger within his own country, to be without a community, to find his own unique way as a marcher-of-his-own-drum.. which is really what the story is about.
For context, Leaving Eastern Parkway explores the tragic circumstances that lead to Zevi Altshul's departure from his insular Hasidic community, and his subsequent coming-of-age as an ex-Hasidic self-described loner Jew in a world where he has no permanent anchor to anyone or anything, aside from the sport of handball.
Firstly, I'll put my grievances with my book upfront: this book has a twist at the end. I don't actually usually like it when I know a book or movie has a twist because then the entire time I'm just waiting ... but in this case, I actually think it would have been better had I known. A major theme of the book is Shmuel Resnick, who takes an instant disliking to Zevi in the wake of his parents' death and continues to inexplicably harass him for years afterward. His intense dislike of Zevi in the beginning of the book was a bit ... hard to believe and unrealistic, and, being honest, I dismissed it as bad writing. Shmuel shows up again and again, without really a satisfactory answer of why he hates Zevi so much. It really impacted my enjoyment of the book--he just seemed like such a shoe-horned-in two-dimensional villain, and I couldn't help but internally roll my eyes whenever he showed up. The end of the book eventually explains why Shmuel had an issue with Zevi, but it just felt a little "too late"? I dunno. The suspension of belief I was forced to uphold for so long regarding Shmuel made it hard to get invested in other parts of the story.
I also felt like Zevi's life was a string of tragedy, over and over; in particular, I wish one character had not died, and Daub had instead found another way to tell the remainder of the story. I think the book could have ended similarly without this event, but more believably. So many people die or otherwise bad events happen that it feels a little unrealistic--what next? In some ways, it feels like Daub can only advance the plot or characters if a tragedy happens.
This particuar point isn't a demerit of the book in terms of "badly written," but in terms of "enjoying" in the moment: Zevi, the narrator, is a taciturn, staid boy. I get why he was written the way he was and it's absolutely part of his character. But you know the sobering documentary that isn't fun, even if it makes you think? That's Zevi. Zevi is not fun. He's not light. He's a very emotionally stoic character. You may feel emotions as you read, but chances are Zevi will not outwardly share those emotions on the page.
Where this book shone and where I'll be thinking later is the characters.
Firstly, I loved Frida, and I actually kind of wish the story had been about her! I usually don't relate very much to female characters in any medium; I don't relate to damsel-in-distress characters at all and never have. But I've also never liked the modern reaction to that stereotype, the strong don't-no-need-no-man woman. Frida is neither. She's fiercely independent and free-thinking--she broke away from an insular community!--but she is also flawed, weak, unsure of herself, unhappy. She says herself--it's easy to know what you don't want, but not what you do. I really relate to that. I didn't always agree with the decisions she made, but why she made them always made total sense to me. She was wonderfully complex. I love characters who are headstrong and outwardly confident and know what they definitely don't want and actively reject that, even if that means not fitting into society ... but yet don't actually know what they do want and how to achieve it... because that's me. Others see it as confidence, and perhaps in some ways, it is, but in other ways, it is anything but. It was refreshing to see that reflected.
Zev was an interesting character. As mentioned earlier, he's kind of like that intense documentary that isn't very fun to watch. Zev is not a fun character. I wouldn't be drawn to Zev as a friend. He's painfully awkward and stilted; he shares little with others around him, even when it would really behoove him to do so. Zev keeps almost everyone at arm's length, and even admits he's a loner. In some ways, Zev is not that dissimilar from his sister, though; while he never actively rejects Hasidism, he goes by the beat of his own drummer. Zev followed Hasidism because it was what he knew, and had Zev never left the community, he would have remained a Hasid. But he was a loner who didn't quite follow certain rules in that community, and he was the same in the "American" community too. There was no world in which Zev would have fit in, but Zev, to his credit, never really cares. He is nominally interested in fitting in, but he also sort of isn't. He sort of wants friends, but he sort of doesn't. Zev does what suits Zev. He's a hard character to relate to because he doesn't really try to relate to others--he actively pushes a lot of well-intentioned people away--but it also makes him interesting and complex? I can't recall the last time I read a book with such an indifferent character as Zev.
Zev's relationship with Joe was satisfying. I liked Joe, and I genuinely felt for him. He, like Frida, is both broken and believable, and it was not hard to see how Zev and Joe's relationship blossomed. I just wish his relationship with Zev had ended differently.
I guess ultimately you could say this book is about the characters and the relationships between them. I picked up a book thinking I would read about what it is like to leave the Hasidic community, and, yeah, it did cover that, but I felt like it wasn't the forefront focus. Leaving Hasidism allowed Zev to be a stranger within his own country, to be without a community, to find his own unique way as a marcher-of-his-own-drum.. which is really what the story is about.