I am reading all comments, and yes, I relate, you are a master and of service to us all, HOWEVER the strongest pull in me is to whisper, pack Shira, Lev, and a small bag and come over here for a while. This endurance race is at least a couple of generations long, going forward. Even only witnessing and capturing constantly, without the ongoing internal narrative war, is not sustainable.
Thank you for this story Etgar. The other day I met a friend of a friend for the first time, and we briefly talked about writing and reading, and she asked me about who I was reading that inspired hope.
I'm currently reading a lot of historical fiction: Shalamov's "Kolyma Stories", Victor Klemperer's diaries, "I Shall Bear Witness", I'm also reading Morgan Talty's collection of short stories, among other things—and there is something in all of these that inspires hope for me...maybe it's the underlying impulse for human connection that is in any great work of fiction.
But, when she asked me, I said your name first. And I'll be honest, I struggled to explain why, but then/now you share this story.
The effect it had on me reminded me of a comment I wrote a while back on another story you shared, about something you said in a conversation with George Saunders in 2008:
"I always wanted my work to have some moral implication, but I couldn’t tell the difference between being moral and being moralistic. Then I discovered Kafka and Kurt Vonnegut, two writers who break the force of nature, so to speak—or the force of habit, which, for me, is the most dominant force in life. I think that we do many of the horrible things we do simply because we’re not sharing the minute. We’re going through the motions. A good story—a good Kafka story, say—can disorient you, and wake you up to your life. A good story is like a slap. It makes you think, “Where am I? What’s happening?” I don’t want to write stories that will tell people, “Be good,” or, “Don’t be bad.” I want to write a story that will make people say, “Huh?” And then maybe look around and see things a little differently."
This story was a beautiful slap. And I find tremendous hope in your desire and ability to break that "most dominant force in life" and to help us possibly better share "the minute." Thank you.
Thank you Etgar. For reminding me about that weird double whammy when someone dies who you don't like. For describing a meaness so mean it makes me laugh, like the wedding anniversary being sadder than Holocaust Day because the Holocaust is over. For writing about what is happening now. For being a sane voice of insanity, or a kind voice of cruelty or whatever the hell you and your voice are, I always feel lucky to read it
"She told him he had the worst body odor in the world and that his mouth reeked like a mass grave of rabid dogs. He called her a cunt and said their wedding anniversary was the saddest day of the year, even sadder than Holocaust Day, because at least the Holocaust was over. It was bonkers. Like listening to the trashiest reality show ever made."
This story reminds me of a short story titled The Scubblething by John B Keane. It takes place in a small town in Ireland where an old couple get into an escalating argument every Christmas Eve that the young folks hide in the yard all around the house to listen. Every other day this couple is loving, kind & very generous to their neighbors. It seems to be a cleansing ritual.
Just a bit of personal information: My husband and I have been married for 60.5 years. We're both 82 years old. While we have never had arguments like those of the redhead and prickface (by the way, I love you're drawing, Etgar), whenever my husband admonishes me for the slightest transgression, I reply as follows: You just spent 2 minutes of the time we have left on this earth admonishing me. Does that really seem like the best use of your time? He smiles and replies, "What can I say to that?" It works every time.
I am not kidding. I'm not exaggerating. In very few words, you manage to convey the full depth of paradoxical human emotions. Something that deeply impressed me in the great novels of Olga Tokarczuk (Nobel Prize 2018). I hope she has been translated into Hebrew.
They haven’t invented the emoji yet that describes the feeling of reading/absorbing/holding onto with all my might such devastating art. A “💟” is a too creepy emoji than I would want to convey. Toda. Stay safe and whole.
tragical ....
A perfect story that makes me feel guilty for liking it, and laughing at the absurdities. And it is of course heartbreaking. Thank you!
I am reading all comments, and yes, I relate, you are a master and of service to us all, HOWEVER the strongest pull in me is to whisper, pack Shira, Lev, and a small bag and come over here for a while. This endurance race is at least a couple of generations long, going forward. Even only witnessing and capturing constantly, without the ongoing internal narrative war, is not sustainable.
I wish you pockets of inner and outer peace.
Thank you for this story Etgar. The other day I met a friend of a friend for the first time, and we briefly talked about writing and reading, and she asked me about who I was reading that inspired hope.
I'm currently reading a lot of historical fiction: Shalamov's "Kolyma Stories", Victor Klemperer's diaries, "I Shall Bear Witness", I'm also reading Morgan Talty's collection of short stories, among other things—and there is something in all of these that inspires hope for me...maybe it's the underlying impulse for human connection that is in any great work of fiction.
But, when she asked me, I said your name first. And I'll be honest, I struggled to explain why, but then/now you share this story.
The effect it had on me reminded me of a comment I wrote a while back on another story you shared, about something you said in a conversation with George Saunders in 2008:
"I always wanted my work to have some moral implication, but I couldn’t tell the difference between being moral and being moralistic. Then I discovered Kafka and Kurt Vonnegut, two writers who break the force of nature, so to speak—or the force of habit, which, for me, is the most dominant force in life. I think that we do many of the horrible things we do simply because we’re not sharing the minute. We’re going through the motions. A good story—a good Kafka story, say—can disorient you, and wake you up to your life. A good story is like a slap. It makes you think, “Where am I? What’s happening?” I don’t want to write stories that will tell people, “Be good,” or, “Don’t be bad.” I want to write a story that will make people say, “Huh?” And then maybe look around and see things a little differently."
This story was a beautiful slap. And I find tremendous hope in your desire and ability to break that "most dominant force in life" and to help us possibly better share "the minute." Thank you.
Beautifully put David!
A 1st among the scores of equals in yr output. A real crackr!,
Thank you Etgar. For reminding me about that weird double whammy when someone dies who you don't like. For describing a meaness so mean it makes me laugh, like the wedding anniversary being sadder than Holocaust Day because the Holocaust is over. For writing about what is happening now. For being a sane voice of insanity, or a kind voice of cruelty or whatever the hell you and your voice are, I always feel lucky to read it
"She told him he had the worst body odor in the world and that his mouth reeked like a mass grave of rabid dogs. He called her a cunt and said their wedding anniversary was the saddest day of the year, even sadder than Holocaust Day, because at least the Holocaust was over. It was bonkers. Like listening to the trashiest reality show ever made."
A high bar raised for dueling insults.
What a snapshot of emotions that is so beautifully realistic. Sweet, sad, almost funny but not really. touching. Like now. Thank you!
This story reminds me of a short story titled The Scubblething by John B Keane. It takes place in a small town in Ireland where an old couple get into an escalating argument every Christmas Eve that the young folks hide in the yard all around the house to listen. Every other day this couple is loving, kind & very generous to their neighbors. It seems to be a cleansing ritual.
I’ll look it up . Its a cool take on a Christmas Story.
Wow, what a great story!
Just a bit of personal information: My husband and I have been married for 60.5 years. We're both 82 years old. While we have never had arguments like those of the redhead and prickface (by the way, I love you're drawing, Etgar), whenever my husband admonishes me for the slightest transgression, I reply as follows: You just spent 2 minutes of the time we have left on this earth admonishing me. Does that really seem like the best use of your time? He smiles and replies, "What can I say to that?" It works every time.
You should share this with relationship psychologist, Esther Perel - or she should invite you to be guest. Mazal tov on your longevity and love.
Awesome. I’m going to try this the next time I’ll have a fight with my wife 🙌
Bravo! Fantastic anti-war parable—something we need more than ever now.
I love it!
Wow ! That's Nobel prize stuff !
I am not kidding. I'm not exaggerating. In very few words, you manage to convey the full depth of paradoxical human emotions. Something that deeply impressed me in the great novels of Olga Tokarczuk (Nobel Prize 2018). I hope she has been translated into Hebrew.
Where can I read the Hebrew original?
I haven’t published it yet . Still looking for a paper which wants wants to run it (:
Gevald
They haven’t invented the emoji yet that describes the feeling of reading/absorbing/holding onto with all my might such devastating art. A “💟” is a too creepy emoji than I would want to convey. Toda. Stay safe and whole.