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tzielson82 's review for:
My Name Is Asher Lev
by Chaim Potok
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.