Bookishly Jewish

As a writer, I often worry I’ll be remembered for the worst thing I’ve ever written. I don’t even know what thing is – doesn’t everyone alternate between thinking they’re writing gold and garbage at all times? – but the very idea of this nebulous awful piece of writing sometimes keeps me from putting new words on the page. I know this is normal, that all artists grapple with feelings of inferiority – but in the age of social media, this ever present bogey man looms large. Gone are the days when a debut is allowed to develop over a career of books that each builds on skills attained over the course of a lifetime. One bombed book, and there might not be a chance to traditionally publishing a second. Not to mention, the onus of marketing through those venues that seemed geared towards bringing out the worst in people. Which is why I absolutely devoured Gayle Forman’s Not Nothing, a book that invites us to instead seek the best in each other.

Not Nothing is two stories in one. It is the tale of Alex, who is sent by his social worker to perform community service in a senior living home. The reader is aware Alex has done something terrible – but Forman wisely does not reveal to us the nature of Alex’s crimes until we have already come to know him as a kind, caring, human who simply requires an invitation to his better self. It is also the tale of Josey, the 107 year old man that does the inviting. Having not spoken in years, Josey sees something in Alex that prompts him to open up and share his experiences during WWII, including how he was saved from the concentration camps by his Polish fiance. Pretty soon, all the residents are sharing stories with Alex, and he goes from being a suspect extra cleaner to beloved confidant.

This utopia lasts right up to the moment everyone finds out why Alex is performing community service in the first place. I won’t sugar coat it – what he has done is truly terrible. However, he is also not guilty of everything he is accused of. The way Forman manages to show us the dangers of assigning motivations to others without speaking to them, and how to reexamine our own contributions to the worst moments of our lives, without ever blaming the victim or condoning Alex’s actions, is incredibly clever. We are so quick to write people off these days. To ascribe the worst possible motivations. To assume everything is about us rather than what the other person is going through. Not Nothing invites us to reshape that thinking, much like the characters in the novel invite Alex to rise to the occasion of his life.

Not going to lie. I cried a little.

Moving on from that embarrassing admission, as this is a MG, I will point out some stuff for parents reading this review. One of Alex’s fellow volunteers and first friends has two moms. Queer parents seeking more representation for their kids of books with families that look like theirs, will find that here. There is also some very real homophobia, mental health struggles in a parent, cancer in a parent, and antisemitism. If you’re child doesn’t understand what those terms are, they might not be ready to dive in, or they might need to ask you some questions along the way. Not Nothing is a great story for kids who don’t want any romance (although Josey does tell the story of falling in love with his fiance).

Somehow, a 107 year old narrator felt very relatable. Even for kids. That is most certainly Not Nothing. In fact, it is something worth picking up and reading.

Note: BookishlyJewish received a copy of this book from the publisher.

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Never has reading a book garnered so many nonsensical passerby comments than Lisa F. Rosenberg’s Fine, I’m A Terrible Person. Although this is a digital first release, I was reading the physical book, and people just couldn’t stop themselves. To be clear, these were not people who read the book, or even had any idea what was in it. They were commenting on the title. Which they universally found objectionable. Most assumed the reference to a terrible person meant the book was full of questionable, or even criminal, activity. Which struck me as odd given the innocuous image right under the title, but as I learned through reading, the cover copy and press release hadn’t given me any ability to predict the plot either.

The title refers to a phrase that one the two main characters, Aurora, uses every time her daughter Leyla brings up a question or complaint about Aurora’s destructive and manipulative behaviors. Aurora is not one for self reflection, so she just brushes Leyla off with a “fine, I’m a terrible person,” in the hopes that this sarcastic admission of guilt will absolve her from having to deal with the matter further and allow her to return to extorting those around her. Except, as the reader learns, Aurora actually is a terrible person (not in a criminal way, in a self absorbed and neglectful way). The statement serves to silence those around her who are then subjected to more of her abuses.

The cover includes the line “Can a mother and daughter, bonded by trauma, finally make peace.” The cover illustration is of Aurora and Leyla driving together, and the description says that Aurora heads to L.A. for a family funeral while Leyla is there to secretly spy on her husband who might be cheating on her leading them to share a weekend “of hijinks, chaos, and yes, even some healing”. All of this lead me to believe we were in for a road trip novel in which the two POVs manage to find peace after a series of madcap adventures. There are definitely madcap adventures, but spoiler alert – this is not a mother daughter healing story. Any healing in these pages, is on the part of Leyla who has an actual character arc. Aurora can’t, or won’t, ever change.

I’ve read and enjoyed my fair share of books that have nothing to do with their cover copy, so I know it’s possible to get past that hurdle, however there are a few things that gave me pause here. The novel is dual POV, and we spend a fair amount of time in Aurora’s head. Which is unfortunate because she is not sympathetic. In fact, the more the reader sits in her thoughts, the more they glean that Aurora is truly abusive. There’s no inkling of humanization here – having a troubled past does not justify paying it forward to your own kids – and I think that’s because the author herself disdains Aurora. Her phrases and descriptions – even in Aurora’s head – show a total lack of empathy towards this person. This really works for Leyla’s arc, but if we’re going to cast Aurora as entirely unlikable, then perhaps the novel should have been written in a single POV – Leyla’s. That would also solve the head hopping issue that sometimes occurs where in the span of three or four paragraphs we go from Leyla’s POV to Aurora’s and back again. The novel is written in the third person, but it was still disorienting to me when that happened.

The best parts of Fine, I’m A Terrible Person were indeed in Leyla’s POV. The scene at the cannabis convention was pure hilarity. The connection to her Rhodeslis relatives felt more genuine from her. Not to mention the wonderful parody of rich, private school, mom culture. I loved my time with Leyla! I didn’t care that this was not the story I was implicitly promised by the cover. I was fascinated, and bummed every time I was pulled out of her world to hang out with her irredeemable mother.

If you are triggered by abusive parents who never change, Fine, I’m a terrible Person is not the book for you. If you have nosy people in your life, who cannot help but make comments like “oh what a lovely title for a book, why in the world would you read that?” as if they have any idea of what is inside just from that cursory glance, you might want to read it in a secluded location. If you’re like me – savor your time with Leyla, and try to rush through the Aurora bits as best you can. As Leyla herself comes to learn, she’s worth it, even if her mother will never see that.

Note: BookishlyJewish received a copy from the author

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King Solomon features in many a happy tale for Jewish youngsters, showing off his wisdom and knowledge of human nature to unravel difficult problems and deliver justice to the people. However, in A Ring For A King, by Martha Seif Simpson, illustrated by D. Yael Bernhard, the sage King finds himself at a loss. In a peek behind the curtain of a biblical person’s life, young Ezra, the Kings cup bearer, discovers that even famous Kings sometimes need a little help.

King Solomon is looking for a way to in inspire hope and humility in the people, two virtues that might sometimes conflict. Eliezer, also at a loss, seeks help from an old man who gifts him the titular ring. Engraved on it’s inside is the now famous Jewish phrase Gam Ze Ya’avor – This too shall pass. When Eliezer brings the rings to Solomon he understands how this phrase can help everyone. The rich and mighty will be humbled to understand that their good fortune is subject to change, and those struggling can know that their challenges and misfortunes will also pass. Fully internalizing the lesson, Eliezer shares his reward with the old man who gifted him the ring.

The illustrations give a nice sense of time and place, and the lesson is a good one for small children. Adults might be slightly disappointed that the ring in the title is not the demon controlling Ring of Solomon of lore (or is it? nobody really knows what was engraved on that particular piece of jewelry) but if you go in knowing that information then A Ring For A King is a very sweet story about a familiar figure to share with the children in your life.

Note: BookishlyJewish Received a copy of this book from the publisher.

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If you’re on this website, you probably participate in a few subcultures – the reading or writing communities, some fandoms, and a Jewish group or two. We all have these small microcosms, enabled by the internet, that hugely enhance our lives while also becoming major time sucks. We are, by and large, dabblers in the art of the subculture. Comedian Moshe Kasher, on the other hand, is a specialist. In his memoir Subculture Vulture, he details how six different subculture have affected his life and breaks down some of the reasons why he chose to participate in them. If personal anecdotal experience were allowed to stand in for rigorous sociological research, he could be a scholar of the subculture and Subculture Vulture his dissertation.

This was my second foray into audio books, and the audio file opened right up to the author introducing himself as the narrator. I loved this! While I have never watched a single one of his comedy shows, I now know that Moshe Kasher has a uniquely fun and soothing reading voice. I highly recommend listening during stressful commutes or annoying household chores.

The six subcultures detailed are: alcoholics anonymous (hereafter referred to as AA), 1990’s rave culture, Child of Deaf Adult (CODA), the Burning Man festival, Hassidic Judaism, and stand up comedy. With each section, Kasher gives a brief history and overview of the subculture in question, details his involvement, and sums up how this has affected him as well as what it might mean for society at large. When it comes to AA, which I have a weird familiarity with for a person that’s never even gotten drunk yet alone addicted, I could have used less detail. When it came to learning about the deaf community as seen through the eyes of a child of two deaf parents, I could not get enough! You’re experience will likely vary based on what you bring to the table.

For two of the subcultures mentioned, deaf culture and Hassidic Judaism, I felt that Kasher was not really a participant. The chapters on the deaf community read like a love letter to his deaf mother, but it would have been more interesting for me had he delved more into his own personal experiences as a CODA. For heavens sake, it even has its own acronym! Surely it has it’s own subculture? And for the Judaism chapter, Kasher never really willingly participated in ultra-orthodox or Hassidic Judaism. He looked on as his father did. He even details exactly how he was excluded as an outsider (the anecdote about the family photo was particularly egregious). It was very clear to me that he was viewed as an outsider by every single one of those Hassidic relatives, and I think it was clear to him too.

Kasher has a lively writing style, and his analysis of each subculture is nuanced. He may not be able to explain why he can stay sober without AA anymore, or if this has anything to do with the fact that he went through his cycles of addiction and sobriety as a teenager (too bad he joined and left AA before the ‘never had a legal drink’ meetings started), but he was very capable of explaining why AA culture can alienate a lot of people – including anyone who isn’t Christian. Not knowing much about rave culture or Burning Man, I found the strengths in those sections to be Kasher’s ability to analyze why these movements took off but also how they self imploded or morphed into entirely different entities. The peak behind the scenes into stand up comedy will probably be the most controversial. I’m sure quite a few people will have strong feelings about his musings on the pros and cons of policing comedy and how social media has morphed this particular style of performance art.

I have no idea if Subculture Vulture would have been nearly half as compelling had I read it on paper. Kasher is an animated and engaging audio narrator. It’s possible I’d love the physical book too – but you can only read something for the first time once – and I am glad I chose the audio book. I’m also grateful that my library had it available for me – because library patron is most definitely one of my top subcultures.

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Every time I do an interview, I end by asking the interviewee to recommend a Jewish book to our readers. The Weight of Ink by Rachel Kadish was the recommendation of Neal Shusterman, and it sounded so interesting I had to pick up a copy for myself! I was very glad I did.

First let us address the elephant in the room. The Weight of Ink is a door stopper. Clocking in at 592 pages, I did have some trouble lifting it when lying down. However, I think even people who don’t like long books will enjoy this one. Each page is necessary for the development of an extremely complex and rewarding story. Or perhaps I should say three intertwined stories. The first, and most compelling, is the story of Esther. An orphan of the Portuguese Jewish Community of Amsterdam, she is sent to live in London with an elderly, blind Rabbi. Sound complicated? Well, Esther lived in the 1660’s so if her personal life tragedy and complicated geographical origins weren’t enough, students of history will know that Esther is about to face some very unusual and scary times in London. On top of that, when yet another family disaster strikes, she becomes the Rabbi’s scribe – a role unthinkable for a woman of that time. Through this opening she gains access to a scholarly life of the mind that was forbidden to most women of the time. Like a knowledge addict, she cannot stop herself from learning not only Jewish texts, but those of philosophy. It is a story of feminism, struggle, and fierce hope.

If Esther’s story was the most compelling (for me), then Professor Helen Watt’s was the most though provoking. When a rich London couple locates a trove of documents from a London Rabbi living in 1660’s London their main goal is to rid themselves of this potential complication to their home renovations. Helen Watt, on the verge of ending her career and suffering from a neurological condition, is called in by the husband who was her former student. She immediately understands the significance of these documents but is thwarted in her attempts to study them by the fact that academia rewards the young and male rather than the thorough and patient. It is a direct parallel to Esther’s frustrations – even in our supposed age of enlightenment barriers are placed before this woman due to her age and gender. The University would vastly prefer their splashy discovery be announced by the young, hot shot, male professor with highly styled hair. However, as a non-Jew who has devoted her life to studying Jewish works – Helen’s position poses some moral questions of its own. Does she have a right to the access she desires to these documents while Jewish scholars are being shut out by the University and she is benefiting from that exclusion? Is she correct in her assumption that this story is a story for “all of us,” or as her younger graduate student flippantly says in an attempt to wound her, is she simply claiming a right to something that is not hers because she once dated a Jew and thinks that makes her special?

Those questions are not easily answered and I sat with them for a good long time. Indeed, some of the narrative found in the trove is universal. Particularly that of a woman’s struggle to access knowledge and power, which seems far more relevant to Professor Watt than her male Jewish graduate student. However, when we learn in Esther’s chapters of how she suffered as a Jew during the plague, and how her ancestors suffered during the inquisition, I could not help but feel that these aspects of the story deserved to make their debuts in the hands of a Jew. How much would it change scholars understanding of the trove to learn that the Rabbi Esther scribes for was blinded at the hands of Catholic inquisitors who subjected him to unspeakable cruelty? Unfortunately, those aspects of the trove might never even be revealed if a scholar does not go searching for them. On the other hand we have the subtle antisemitism of the couple who sells the papers, assuming Helen is a Jew because of her chosen field of study and visibly relieved to discover she is not. Seeing that through Helen Watt’s eyes was fascinating, and possibly more effective, than seeing it through a Jewish lens.

The Jewish graduate student provides no easy solutions. He is not exactly the heroic Jew descending from the heavens to help Professor Watt sort through these papers with a sensitive eye towards their Jewish origins. In fact, when the story began, I shared Professor Watt’s misgivings about him and would have been loathe to leave him alone in the room with the papers for fear he would damage them. His personal life is a mess, his motivations unclear, and his entire personality, while not full blown dude bro caricature (that is reserved for the rival team of historians) borders very close. Only through Professor Watt’s mentorship is he saved from jumping to conclusions and publishing some major mistakes. It is a true testament to Kadish’s skill that she gives him a full emotional arc showing great growth of character by the end.

None of the characters in The Weight of Ink is perfect. While we may sympathize with them, we also see their flaws. That is because they are people, living in a world where life is rarely easy or perfect whether you live in 1660 or 2025. I left my reading satisfied, having both learned something and felt something, which is a rare combination. My thanks for the recommendation.

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Today marks an auspicious occasion – BookishlyJewish’s first audiobook review! Why did it take so long? I have attempted to read many audiobooks and found my brain unable to process them. However, they were all fiction. When I recently tried to listen to The Talented Mrs. Mandelbaum written by Margalit Fox and narrated by Saskia Maarleveld I discovered I am completely capable of reading non fiction via audio. In fact, I’m better at reading it that way than on paper. It just goes to show, a person can always discover new bookish joys. 

I think Mrs. Mandelbaum herself would approve of this discovery. As the first organized crime boss in America, she was a fan of enjoying life’s pleasures. She’s also a character that is widely unknown in the public consciousness even while other infamous figures of the time – like the Tammany Hall politicians – are the subjects of numerous books, college courses, and even high school curricula in NYC. Perhaps this is because “Marm” Mandelbaum’s version of crime – she was a fence that helped plan many of the robberies that fed her inventory – mostly involved theft and property reassignment rather than the drugs and violence of later crime bosses that receive most of the criminal limelight. 

Indeed, Mrs Mandelbaum was practically a Robin Hood of sorts, beloved by a community that refused to testify against her and even posted her bail. She was a deft climber of the “the crooked ladder,” where immigrants and minorities barred from entering traditional professions by rich elites who guard those gates fiercely, turn to crime to amass enough wealth or power to muscle their way in. Make no mistake – this is shady underworld stuff. But considering the only other options available to a poor immigrant woman at the time were prostitution or factory work which paid less and had conditions even more dangerous than those of prostitution, is it any wonder that legions of NY pickpockets and thieves sought something else?

While The Talented Mrs. Mandelbaum provides a fascinating historical account of the title character, her various criminal predecessors, and the corrupt politicians and warring police factions of late 1800’s New York City, it truly shines in the epilogue where the circumstances that could have produced such a woman are discussed. America is known as the land of freedom and it offers many (including myself) shelter from religious persecution. But as history shows, women were often oppressed more severely here than in other countries. As a Jewish German woman, Marm Mandelbaum did not think it odd for women to earn money outside the home. She was accustomed to her community banding together in the face of wealth hoarding by a privileged elite and government sponsored pogroms. That ethos was familiar to her neighbours in little Germany. It wasn’t until the rich she was robbing used American moral purity wars to portray her as an uppity woman that she met her downfall. They came after her hard and heavy, seemingly more for the crime of being a woman who dared to boss around men and rise above hr immigrant station than for the actual robberies themselves. It’s a familiar story, a ruling class subverting religion to other a minority and paint them as evil in order to obfuscate their own heinous crimes and greedy avarice. This is not to say Mrs. Mandelbaum wasn’t a criminal. She most definitely was. But so were the people prosecuting her. The Pinkerton Detective Agency? Talk about thieves who used that crooked ladder to amass wealth and then legitimate themselves. They were just as shady as the criminals they were catching.

Marm Mandelbaum is a character for the ages. She refused to stay defeated. During her exile in Canada she was still running her fencing business. If she were alive today I’d like to think she’d be some big CEO tycoon, managing her employees as efficiently as she managed her fleet of pickpockets and bank robbers. Or Maybe not. There’s still plenty of “upper class” criminals who like to demonize Jewish female immigrants in order to push focus from their own inequities. Hopefully, by reading The Talented Mrs. Mandelbaum people can learn how to spot them.

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Every now and then a social media personality will espouse an opinion on why ‘kids today don’t read’. Everything from corona virus to books being too short or too long will be blamed. As is the case with most things, there’s some truth to all of those theories, depending on which particular kid and community we are talking about. Such nuance, in which not everything is absolute, is generally beyond the capabilities of internet discourse. Instead, people immediately start supporting and attacking the poster based on their personal experiences. The vast majority of these responders will be adults – some in kid facing roles like educators and librarians – while the kids roll their eyes and back away slowly from these debates about what is ‘wrong’ with their generation. Into this complicated foray comes Abby White’s debut, D. J. Rosenblum Becomes the G. O. A. T., which I will admit I did not immediately realize was a YA. 

At fourteen, D. J. is young for what the industry has taught me to expect from YA. A shelf full of seventeen/eighteen/nineteen year-old protagonists graduating high school, going on parent-less trips and internships abroad, or even starting college has taught me to expect YA characters to be mini adults with slightly more angst and sexier outfits. D.J. is very much still a teen enmeshed in her family dynamic. She and her mother are moving in with her Aunt and Uncle to support them after the death of D.J.s older cousin Rachel. While most kids would balk at spending their last middle school years away from their friends, D.J. is viewing the situation as an opportunity. Although Rachel’s death was declared a suicide, D.J. has never accepted that as true, and believes her cousin was murdered. Now that she’s living in Rachel’s town, she can investigate the situation for herself. That being said she’s not going it alone – she manages to rope in her best friend from back home as well as several kids from her new school who were unaware of D.J.’s ulterior motives when she presented Rachel’s death as a potential story for the middle school newspaper.

To be clear: D.J. Rosenblum Becomes the G.O.A.T is not a suspenseful murder mystery. I knew right away what had happened to Rachel and I suspect most readers will too. Attempts at making the investigation more suspenseful or believable failed to convince me. For me, the suspense came in the form of wondering what would happen to D. J. when she finally acknowledges the truth about Rachel. I could be wrong, but I think that was the authors intention all along, and it’s really well done.

A small side note: there is a content warning and resources to reach out to for support, but I want to point out something more subtle in case it pertains to any BookishlyJewish readership. The favorite pastime of many authors (especially, but not limited to, debuts) seems to be making their protagonists book lovers and inserting favorite books into the story. As a book lover myself, I don’t mind, although I do wonder why it happens so often. I point it out because one book D.J. mentions was unfortunately was very jarring for me. It’s author, who I will not name, has been widely acknowledged to have caused irreparable harm to a variety of groups including several I belong to. No, it is not the author you are thinking of, it’s an even older story, which is how I suspect it snuck through. Back then we didn’t have as much fanfare about these things. Luckily, it was just one mention and I was able to move right along. Many readers who are too young to remember the incidents won’t even notice, I just cringe to think of them going to pick up the aforementioned book and accidentally supporting this person which I do not think was anyone’s intent here.

There are several unique things about D.J. Rosenblum, including featuring a Jewish community in a part of America other than NY or LA, but what I especially appreciated was the way this book felt extremely attuned to its market. This is not a cross over appeal, market to everybody, and therefore fully satisfy nobody book. D.J. having a delayed bat mitzvah (a classic MG experience) should tip the reader off that this is a book for the subset of kids who don’t want their books packed with sex or adult style problems and life experiences. There are lots of kids who need those books, and find them true to their lived experience, but there are a whole lot of kids who were left behind by the push to focus exclusively on those styles of books and a whole lot more who want the full spectrum (I read everything from middle grade to adult sci fi as a teen.). D. J. is closer to first crushes than first intercourse, and her one attempt at attending a party is both hilarious and sweet in terms of how she has no idea what she’s doing and how the older kids actually take care of her rather than taking advantage. Her story adds some much needed variety to the YA shelf.

I know it may sound strange given the subject matter, but I thought D.J. Rosenblum Becomes the G.O.A.T. was a feel good book. D.J.’s friends come from an assortment of backgrounds. Her relationship with her mother, who is a single mom and conceived D.J. via artificial insemination, is delightfully oddball as the two of them discuss the insemination and various other topics (one of the first things that made me realize this was not a MG was D.J. recalling a discussion with her mother that was decidedly NOT middle grade in nature). There is also compassion – the queen bees of both the middle school and high school defy the stereotypical roles they are usually given. Instead they are complex characters who show empathy and self awareness.

White does not go easy on topics like mental health, suicide, honesty in relationships, and how to give help even when someone is failing to ask for it. She simply does it in a hopeful way that focuses on younger readers – the twelve to eighteen set – rather than trying to “age it up” to also appeal to adults.  Some older teens might find they’ve moved beyond this and into the adult section. Some younger ones will probably shed tears of relief that finally there is a book designed specifically for them. Which is maybe the solution to the whole debate- stop forcing all kids books into the mold of what one guru thinks is the way to “get kids reading again”. Instead, offer up a variety of lengths, maturity levels in content, and experiences, by having authors write what is true to them. Then, when a teen browses or approaches their friendly local librarian, there will be something different and wonderful to offer each of them.

Note: BookishlyJewish Received an e-arc of this book through netgalley

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There’s a lot I could talk about in Amanda Panitch’s Middle Grade novel The Two Wrong Halves of Ruby Taylor. It features a Jewish magical creature – we all know I’m trash for those, an interfaith family – many BookishlyJewish readers have asked for that content, a female Rabbi – she’s a marvelously complex character by the way, and so much more. Still, I’d like to start with something a bit more basic to a writer’s toolkit: voice. 

Ruby is delightfully “voice-y.” To put it mildly, Ruby is not easily grossed out. She keeps up a running commentary with the reader on everything from animal dissections to the various antics of her younger cousins. This gives the reader a humorous place from which to approach some very serious issues. Namely, Ruby’s grandmother making her feel less loved than her perfect cousin Sarah because she disapproves of the fact that Ruby’s mother isn’t Jewish. Not to mention the resulting fall out on Ruby and Sarah’s previously close relationship or the complicated emotions that arise when Ruby accidentally causes Sarah to be possessed by a dybbuk. 

A Dybbuk is essentially the malevolent soul of someone who has died but refuses to move on due to some unfinished purpose. They then posses another being to achieve their nefarious goals. In this particular case the Dybbuk’s original goal is actually not all that nefarious. The dybbuk started out as a woman who wanted to study Torah back in the shtetl but was refused due to her gender. After the resulting betrayals from everyone who could have helped her, and her tragic death, she decided she needed revenge on the establishment. We’ll overlook the fact that Dybbuk’s aren’t supposed to stick around for decades and the fact that you cannot trap them in boxes. Allowing that little bit of creative license leaves us with a Dybbuk that, upon being released from her cage, takes hold of Sarah and proceeds to torpedo all of Sarah’s relationships. Needless to say, Ruby is concerned about this turn of events, but how can she expel the dybbuk when nobody will believe her, and she’s starting to doubt she’s  Jewish enough herself? The dybbuk is no slouch – it uses the tension between the cousins to make all of Ruby’s attempts at helping Sarah appear like Ruby’s own petty jealousy. 

Along the way to solving this demonic pickle, The Two Wrong Halves of Ruby Taylor delves into some serious discussions about friendship and how one friend can’t be everything to a person, growing up interfaith, modernizing without alienating community members, and the difficult truth that sometimes relationships just can’t be salvaged and are not worth the pain and harm they cause. Throughout, Ruby never loses her humorous charm. 

This is also an inclusive book. There is a wide cast of characters of various other religions as well as the presence of LGBTQIA+ people and parents within the community. Panitch has a light touch and the text reads quickly. The only thing I would have liked to see is a sequel told from Sarah’s point of view, because let’s face it, I was more of a Sarah as a kid and I’d love to see what Panitch can do with a narrator who has a more serious voice. As The Two Wrong Halves of Ruby Taylor shows, the world needs all of us and our unique voices.

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Cammy is an absolute mess. She’s 29, a temp worker writing marketing drivel living in a literal basement in New York City whose dreams of writing (anything, anything at all) remains elusive. She’s a somewhat reluctant member of the Drama Collective, a group that meets weekly to share writing snippets and ideas for plays, but whose members she hasn’t really been able to connect with—their perceived haughtiness putting her own life in uncomfortable spotlight. Who are they to think so highly of themselves? They haven’t achieved anything! (and yet neither has she) At Drama Collective Gretchen’s birthday party, Cammy faces a terrible thought when the birthday girl exclaims, “I’m thirty! I’m almost dead!” Cammy is also ‘almost dead’ and has achieved nothing. But before she’s able to spiral, she gets a call from her hometown rabbi—her father has died. Cammy wants to run from the fear of failure, and it’ll take the death of her father, the subsequent trip home to New Jersey and a terrible seven days of shiva for her to truly sink to her lowest before capable of rising again (a character arc that so wonderfully mirrors the actual shiva ritual).

Immediately, I connected with Cammy. At 29, I was nearly her equal in every regard. I was also struggling to find meaningful work, meaningful connections and juggling the self-deprivation of not having achieved my dreams. I had a strained relationship with my own mom. I had graduated from university with heaps of accolades poured upon me by my professors that I was going to be ‘something’ and yet found myself unable to make lasting friendships and drowning in the pain of not having ‘made it’ with my writing yet. I also found living in the ‘big city’ (my Chicago to Cammy’s New York City) was an act I viewed as evidence of having ‘made it’ – Chicago was a light upon the hill, a beacon of civilization where the real things happened, and shunned the suburb I’d spent much of my youth. 

Cammy was a mess, and yet a delight to read—she made horrible choices, all of which are sympathetic, as the reader is aware of how she’s running from facing her own grief and her terrible failures. Despite so much pulling her back home to New Jersey, she cannot help but feel as though moving home would mean ‘accepting defeat’ – letting down her father, her esteemed mentor and teacher, and everyone who doubted her. Even though so much is painfully self-inflicted, Cammy makes so many self-centered choices, each of which  slowly helps her gets down from her (very) high horse. Only at your lowest, do you see what you still have.

The idea of getting a ‘second act’ in life is delightfully sprinkled through out the book and the various secondary characters, offering Cammy a ray of hope in an otherwise depressing point in life. I loved the supporting characters, each of whom challenged Cammy’s ideas of ‘settling’ and ‘giving up on your dreams.’ Nick Ramos, especially, was a character I adored. Another character who was told he was going to ‘make it big,’ his entire trajectory is destroyed after an accident that made his dreams impossible. He shared a descent into self-loathing with Cammy that offered a wonderful moment of connection and offered possibility—that even when your dreams are dashed, it’s possible to find meaning and keep living. But I also loved this character, too, for the way it helps to show that telling children that they are going to be something big can have the opposite affect—that adult adoration can be disastrous to their mental health if they aren’t able to achieve those standards.

Although shiva is a central plot point, the book honestly doesn’t include all that much Jewish practice. Cammy is distant from Jewish practice, eating nonKosher foods in many scenes, avoiding her family’s rabbi, and generally dissing religion at any offered opportunity. I think I would have loved to see a moment of her actually attending shiva—the titular ritual is actually absent as Cammy avoids it every. single. day. In some ways, this book isn’t entirely Jewish at all—the character arc deals more with her facing the problems in her life rather than running from them, problems that aren’t solved through a connection to her people but from the nonJewish people in her life. Her love interests are all nonJews, her mentor is a nonJew, and her own Jewish father shuns religion as well. Even Jewish ritual is repeatedly described as stifling and sometimes even blamed for Cammy’s bad choices (she wouldn’t have snuck out of the house to party if the shiva wasn’t such a terribly forced institution of mourning). She doesn’t have a ‘come around’ moment with her Jewishness unlike other aspects of herself. 

All of that doesn’t detract from my joy in reading this book. Cammy has a wonderfully earned redemption arc that left me crying for the last 30 or so pages. At the book’s conclusion, I had the joy of sitting in a comfortable aftermath of a beautifully earned redemption story. Cammy’s recklessness might scare some readers away, but those who can see a character running from facing uncomfortable facts will be rewarded with an incredible character journey.

Note: BookishlyJewish received an e-arc from the publisher

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DEKE MOULTON (she/her) (rhymes with ‘geek’) is a writer currently living in the US Pacific Northwest. She is a former US Army drill sergeant and trained as an Arabic linguist during her time in service. Don’t Want to Be Your Monster, her debut book, won the Sydney Taylor Book Award Honor Award and was named one of Kirkus Reviews’ Best Middle Grades of 2023. Her follow up, Benji Zeb is a Ravenous Werewolf, is a Sydney Taylor Notable Book and a Jewish Book Council middle grade finalist. She is represented by Rena Rossner with the Deborah Harris Literary Agency.

I blundered my way into reading Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay when I was a freshman in college who had no intentions of becoming a writer (I deemed it a bad fiscal choice LMAO), but did have a whole lot of spare time to read. I was the annoying person that didn’t find classes that hard. To occupy myself, and explore the road not taken, I pulled up numerous lists of ‘best books’ and worked my way through them with the help of both the college and local library. It was a pretty good time, all things considered, even if I was kind of clueless about a whole lot of things.

I fell into the story immediately. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay goes deep, not only into WWII escape from the shtetl type stuff, but also into the comics book industry. I myself had only ever read a few Archie comics, which I’d bummed off friends at summer camp, but I still knew about superheros. They’re kind of culturally ubiquitous. So it was something of a revelation to discover all the queer content embedded in superhero comics, and to learn people were actively prosecuted for it. The story line that pulled me in the most was the Houdini like escapes from Europe, the unfortunate miscommunication (not going to spoil it), and the way a story about two Jews from very different backgrounds could actually be this big bestseller and literary hit. 

Looking back now, I remember very little of that story without a reread. However I distinctly recall the heart aching knowledge that one must hide their true self or risk being cut off from society and family. The sacrifices people make for the children they love. The idea that relationships forged over a shared experience and life can be just as strong as those formed over romance.  Those elements of the plot hit me differently now. I guess I’m less clueless. About a lot of things.

I’m ripe for a reread of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, but I don’t know if I’ve got the emotional fortitude. Still, if you’re looking for some solace, this might just be the novel to pick up. Not every super hero wears a cape and not all villains announce themselves as such. It’s nice to see heroism in supporting those around you and living one’s life. It’s the story so many of us live every day. 

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