Ayelet Tsabari

*I received a free copy of this book from the publisher through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.*

The Art of Leaving struck me as being a woman version of On the Road, except the Tsabari tells infinitely better stories than Kerouac does, and her story contains a profoundness that I just never found within Kerouac’s work. Tsabari goes in-depth with recounting her life, leaving bare all the struggles and hurts she’s had with her father’s death, the oppression she felt since a small child living in Israel as a Mizrahi Jewish person, and her endless search for a place where she could stay for longer than a year or two.

This book is emotional and is the best type of memoir where you feel as though you’re hanging out with the author, hearing her tell you stories from her life. While some were extremely far from my own field of reference–in which case I enjoyed learning more about how different people live in different places–others were all too relatable and familiar and made me reflect on my own life after reading. One of my favorite moments is when Tsabari is trying to get her grandmother to recount family stories; her grandmother was a fierce, strong woman (much like Tsabari herself). The life stories she shares are gripping, and I am in awe of Tsabari’s whole family for what they’ve gone through and the cheer and contentment they have found for themselves (that includes the author as well)!

Aside from the profundity of the stories, the level of humor within the book is what kept me turning those pages. The main difference, really, between Tsabari and Kerouac is that Tsabari is able to take a look at herself and laugh–she doesn’t take herself too seriously, and her recollections about her stubbornness and bold adventures have a hint of laughter to them, which I absolutely loved. This created a nice balance within the narrative itself; a lot of the stories are serious and heartbreaking, but they’re sprinkled in with some fun stories or fun moments, and this creates a wholly realized reflection on life that is so satisfying and readable.

This book is everything; it contains complex explorations and thoughts about growing up, becoming an adult, and finding yourself; experiences that anyone can relate to. And it is BEAUTIFULLY written. Tsabari is a rockstar writer, truly. The way she crafts sentences is beyond compare, and there were quite a few times when I just had to pause reading this to soak in the way she conveyed an image or a thought. If you’re at all a fan of memoir, I highly recommend this to you. It’s a wonderful read.

Also posted on Purple People Readers.… (mais)

Israeli fiction has had the effect on me of a loud, rambunctious, youthful group thoughtlessly jostling me aside as they enter a crowded bus. I look at it from under lowered eyes, trying without success not to judge. From my white middle-class American insulation I find the colorful opinions and actions of the Israeli diaspora “just too intense for me.” Gradually, I shuffle aside to accommodate the spirited group, listening without effort. When they eventually get off the bus before I do, there is a space where they were, and the silence feels empty.

I was looking forward to being seduced by this collection. The first story, “Tikkun,” threatened my resolve. It slapped me awake, moral nerve endings jangling. What people are these, I ask, reviving my indignity. I think now the story was put first to do just that: these stories are going to rock your world, it seems to be saying, so be prepared to realign your carpenter’s level.

All the stories seem to have a Yemeni connection, the characters descendants of Yemeni immigrants to Israel. Lili and Lana in “Say it Again, Say Something Else” are two bruised girls not really ready for the world but trying to act as though they are. In “Casualties” a young military officer plays at hardness, nonchalance, and devil-may-care until the reality in her life calls her cellphone.

Two stories in the middle of the collection seemed technically and tonally perfect, gathering the angst and confusion of the culture. “Invisible” features a Filipina caregiver overstaying her visa while caring for an aged grandmother not her own, her distant extended family, and a demobbed soldier who has seen action. In “A Sign of Harmony” a young Israeli in India tries to find a thread of a road that she wants to walk amidst the clamor of cultures.

“Below Sea Level” angles a selfish youth mentality to reflect into our eyes again, nearly blinding us to the whole human drama that comprises family. And “Borders” reminds us that family is what we make it, after all. These are stories about Israel’s youth, and as such, display youth’s tendencies toward self-absorption, lack of history or responsibility for the future. In each story Tsabari captures a moment in time that is so transitory the characters may never know how it changed them, or how it changed us.

If these stories accurately reflect a piece of Israeli experience and culture, they are a bombshell in the midst of more staid (placid?) values, religious or not. The pervasive atmosphere of “why worry about tomorrow” must be a release at the same time it cripples a wider understanding of a world building a future. What kind of future is never even hinted at in this collection, for these characters are not even part of the conversation. What kind of world is this, a place with as much history as the world has to offer, and a blank where future is meant to lie? It leaves us pondering the word “wonderful.”… (mais)