Philip Roth
Sabbath’s Theater in the theater.
Rereading Portnoy’s Complaint now that the Golden Age of American Jewry is over.
The trouble with Fleishman.
The characters in her new story collection are fully formed creatures of that transitional 20th-century moment between European Jewish survivors and American forgetters.
“I don’t want you to rehabilitate me”—just to give me the last word.
It’s a cop-out to explain away a novel’s improprieties on the grounds that they are of another age.
A new biography is a “narrative masterwork.”
Diego Schwartzmann and his predecessors.
Sympathetic to Israel and hostile to the radical left, Roth was not always the rebellious Jew.
An inadvertent warning about the dangers of political infantilization.
Separated by a common language?
The tale of the pupik.
And British insistence that there is no such thing.
Jewish literature, like Jews, will either become more overtly Jewish, or cease to be Jewish at all.