There Are Jews in My House

I went out and bought this book based on a review in one of the free newspapers handed out at major train stations in New York, and it was a terrific read! Having grown up in Russia around the same time as Ms. Vapnyar, I can confirm that her portrayal of life both in Russia proper and little Russia in Brooklyn is exceptionally accurate. Yet, though the book wasn't an eye-opener to me, it was entertaining and thoughtful. Each story had its own unexpected twist and ended a bit abruptly, leaving it to the reader to ponder its final meaning. The opening story is the longest and most ambiotious of the book. It is also the scariest, though again not the way one would expect. My favorite, however, was the story called Mistress, portraying psychological struggles of recent Russian immigrants living in Brooklyn. From the nine-year-old boy Misha who is forced to assist his linguistically handicapped grandmother to his grandfather finding himself unable to work in America and earn his respect, Vapnyar's depth and precision in revealing their most intimate feelings are truly unbelievable. A Dostoyevsky influence is visible, but Vapnyar's writing is much lighter and less imposing. Overall, this is an excellent book combining an intriguing literary style with good entertainment, warmth and food for one's thoughts and soul.

In Vapnyar's book, she shows a tremendous talent for integration and understand of personal feelings, and particularly, some nuances of prejudice, that we don't often consider. Most, but not all, of the stories in this book take place in Russia. Part of Vapnyar's brilliant writing style in this short book of short stories is her ability to capture so vividly, the picture and feeling of the surrounding environment in very few words, but her descriptions never seem incomplete.The title story is particularly poignant, and shows the level of anti-semitism in Russia mostly in the 1940's, and how while it was there, it was not the same as that of Poland, which was ingrained in the society for 100's of years, or that of Germany, which was institutionalized by the Nazi party. Yet, it was still there, it was always there. And when a person started to get on another's nerves, when they were more successful, when they were more literate, when they did things that were beyond the ability of the other individual, well the answer cannot be, that I am inferior, it must be, that they are Jews.But must it? Perhaps, if perception is reality. Even the children in her story, "A Question For Vera" are indoctrinated in some of the usual anti-semitic methods of the time, including phrenology. It is in this very story, that Vapnyar poses the question, so reminiscent of Shakespeare's Shylock in the "Merchant of Venice" when he says, "...If you prick us do we not bleed?..." But Vapnyar says it her way, "What if ... there wasn't anything bad or special about being Jewish? Katya looked around. There was nobody to answer that question..."Aside from her incredible insight, it is so much the more so interesting, that English is not Ms. Vapnyar's first language. She is a Russian immigrant who came to New York in 1994, the book blurb says. But she has mastered the language of English, so finely, so delicately, that she can express these intricate and personal feelings, so very well, in English. She truly has broad talent. I would expect she will produce much more for readers to enjoy and ponder as her career expands.

Vapnyar's writing is so light that you barely notice that you're reading. The title story is my favorite-a very powerful tale of jealousy between two Russian women during Nazi invasion. Love Lessons is different, but great too. My favorite line (spoken by a young sexual education teacher): "It was not as if I had no experience whatsoever. I wasn't a virgin. Or at least I hoped I wasn't. Actually I couldn't be completely sure about it."

I first read Lara Vapnyar in the debut fiction issue of The New Yorker. I've now read this collection. She is on her way to be one of our very best writers. Her prose is simple but never kitchy. Her characters are nuanced, complex, unforgettable. They instruct us in the ways humans love (and betray) one another. Ms. Vapnyar is the most interesting new writer I've read this year.

Don't be misled by this book's title into thinking its concerns are narrowly ethnic. Although the first story lends the collection its title, the last story's title ("Love Lessons...") points to the book's larger subject of love in its various forms: first love, a child's love, gay love, adulterous love, altruistic love. Like Chekhov, Vapnyar draws you into her stories with carefully chosen, specific details and characters rendered lifelike with a few light strokes: a pear-shaped principal whose black pumps leave impressions in the linoleum ("Love Lessons"), an obsessively cooking grandmother who smells of sweat, valerian root, and dill ("Mistress"). These last two stories, along with the title story, are longer, more complexly constructed, but the shorter stories have their own charm. "Ovrashki's Trains" breaks your heart as you watch a lonely girl pass her time beneath a summer cottage preparing mudcakes for her dolls while waiting for a father who will never arrive. Through stories of Russian Jews in Moscow and Brooklyn, Vapnyar conveys the inclinations of the human heart.