madamstassica's review
4.0
Between the historical research that went into this book, and the complexity of the characters, I very much enjoyed this novel. There are so many levels of appreciation, I'm not even sure I can recall them all.
First and foremost I loved how the journey of the characters represented the journey that ancestors of American Jewry experienced. From the pogroms in Russia, to pioneers in Israel (then Palestine), to Ellis Island, to New York City sweatshops...I loved the Jewish history that this book represents.
What I strongly appreciated about the historical aspects was the core issue of language. The author managed to capture the struggle within the Jewish population of how to proceed with their culture during this time period. It was a very intense argument that took place within Judaism. Some felt that Hebrew was the language that kept the Jewish people unique, and that if they were ever to reclaim their right over Israel, Hebrew would need to be the official language. Others felt that Yiddish best represented the Jews, while others (especially in America) felt that the Jewish people needed to forfeit their uniqueness and assimilate with the language (and therefor culture) they were surrounded by. Songs For The Butchers daughter beautifully illustrated this struggle and depicted representatives from all sides of the historical debate. More specifically it captures the way Yiddish began to die out among the Jewish population in the 1900's, which is an important part of history yet is severely under represented.
I am excited to refer this book to anyone who is interested in Jewish history. It is both an interesting story with well written characters, as well as a good resource for anyone looking to catch a glimpse of this time period and culture.
First and foremost I loved how the journey of the characters represented the journey that ancestors of American Jewry experienced. From the pogroms in Russia, to pioneers in Israel (then Palestine), to Ellis Island, to New York City sweatshops...I loved the Jewish history that this book represents.
What I strongly appreciated about the historical aspects was the core issue of language. The author managed to capture the struggle within the Jewish population of how to proceed with their culture during this time period. It was a very intense argument that took place within Judaism. Some felt that Hebrew was the language that kept the Jewish people unique, and that if they were ever to reclaim their right over Israel, Hebrew would need to be the official language. Others felt that Yiddish best represented the Jews, while others (especially in America) felt that the Jewish people needed to forfeit their uniqueness and assimilate with the language (and therefor culture) they were surrounded by. Songs For The Butchers daughter beautifully illustrated this struggle and depicted representatives from all sides of the historical debate. More specifically it captures the way Yiddish began to die out among the Jewish population in the 1900's, which is an important part of history yet is severely under represented.
I am excited to refer this book to anyone who is interested in Jewish history. It is both an interesting story with well written characters, as well as a good resource for anyone looking to catch a glimpse of this time period and culture.
saycheeze37's review
2.0
I'm rating this 2-stars for me, while it might in fact be 4-stars for someone else. This is a beautifully written novel. The ideas, the poetry, the cultural discovery, all come together to create something wonderful. Unfortunately, the aforementioned attributes made the book difficult for me to sink into and get through, thus impeding my enjoyment of the story.
The idea of this book was fascinating and Malpesh's story was an intriguing one full of twists and turns. I enjoyed learning about Yiddish, the Jewish culture and the Christian controversy. I have always been a fan of multiple voices telling a story and enjoyed how the story bounced between Malpesh and the translator.
And while this novel didn't check all my boxes, I would recommend it to those that enjoy a well written, political, poetic journey.
The idea of this book was fascinating and Malpesh's story was an intriguing one full of twists and turns. I enjoyed learning about Yiddish, the Jewish culture and the Christian controversy. I have always been a fan of multiple voices telling a story and enjoyed how the story bounced between Malpesh and the translator.
And while this novel didn't check all my boxes, I would recommend it to those that enjoy a well written, political, poetic journey.
baklavopita's review
4.0
Almost 5 stars. In fact, I lazily read about 30 pages of this book, then woke up and realized how good it was. I started the book completely from the beginning again because I didn't want to miss anything.
One day, soon, I'll start writing reviews for everything I read again.
One day, soon, I'll start writing reviews for everything I read again.
elisabethei85's review against another edition
emotional
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
melanie_reads's review
5.0
What really makes this book work is ideas it deals with about translation. It's a concept that I constantly wrestle with in my own reading. How much is lost in translation and what does it mean to cling to a mother tongue that is no longer used? In the case of this book, Yiddish is the language in question. How much cultural capital will be lost when Yiddish dies?
blackoxford's review
5.0
Make Words Your Homeland
Near the town of Paarl in the South African Karoo stands a structure constructed in 1975 which may be unique in the world: the Taalmonument, an architectural symbol of the Afrikaans language. As far as I am aware, only the Afrikaners have ever chosen to commemorate their culture through a physical representation of a central tool of racial hatred and repression. Mainly used in the rural areas of Cape Province, Afrikaans is spoken by around 7 million people. The symbolism of the Paarl Taalmonument is intended to show the history of Afrikaans linguistic development from archaic Dutch, Malay, and a smattering of native dialects. The year after the monument’s construction the inhabitants of Soweto began a rebellion against Afrikaans as a main language of school instruction. The government succumbed almost immediately to one of the first acts of organised civil rebellion and virtually all non-white schools under the apartheid regime chose English as the language of instruction. Since the death of apartheid, Afrikaans remains the lingua franca in parts of South Africa but is still associated with white supremacy. It is likely to die a slow death.
Yiddish is another language put under intense pressure in the 20th century. But for precisely the opposite reasons as Afrikaans. Although much more ancient than Afrikaans, Yiddish too is a syncretic mix of German, Slavic, Aramaic and Hebrew. Just prior to WW II it is estimated that there were 13 million Yiddish speakers, mainly in an arc of trans-national Jewish culture that ran from the Black Sea to the Baltic. Thanks to the Holocaust and subsequent emigration, Yiddish today is probably understood by perhaps a million native speakers, mostly survivors of persecution. Although there are many academic attempts to resuscitate the language, it seems unlikely that it will ever be recovered as a living part of modern life. Yiddish doesn’t have a Taalmonument, quite likely because it never was a language of repression or colonisation. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t commemorated, indeed mourned in a way that the death of a language like Afrikaans could ever be.
Songs of the Butcher’s Daughter is just the kind of commemoration that Yiddish deserves. Ostensibly a sort of love story and immigrant history, its backbone and binding theme is Yiddish and the culture it expressed, first in Eastern Europe and then in New York City. What was constant about being an Ashkenazy Jew, regardless of place, was language. As the protagonist, appropriately a Yiddish poet, is advised, “The Jewish future, like the Jewish past, can only be found through words. Not nations. Certainly not land…Make words your homeland Itsik. Make them your lover as well.” The suffering of oppression and dislocation is not eliminated but at least somewhat mitigated by language: “Can any solace equal that which is found by finding the proper words for all we encounter?”
In fact, as with Afrikaans but in exactly the opposite sense, Yiddish is the central symbol of Jewish culture as the vehicle for learning which is absent in the peasant culture of ignorance and bigotry in which it had to survive. It identified precisely what made that culture different: “The goyim are a curious people…Not curious that they want to know things,…curious that they don’t.” The only weapons that Jews had traditionally been allowed to possess are words. And words are honed through practice among non-lethal opponents arguing about whether Yiddish or Hebrew is superior: “How do Jews settle anything? With shouting such has not been heard since Babel.” Words may not be magical, but they certainly are sacred: “... the kabbalist’s lessons about the significance of letters as the building blocks of creation. Each told a story if one took time to read it.”
There is of course another memorial to Yiddish, which is implicit throughout Manseau’s narrative: its legacy in other languages, especially English, and specifically American English. At one point the narrator muses, “Who but a writer in a lonely room could impregnate the thoughts of so many.” Americans, and through them other English-speakers, have been impregnated by Yiddish vocabulary and even Yiddish thought patterns, not just through translations of literature (one thinks of Singer, Aleichem and so many others mentioned by Manseau), but in the influences of Yiddish on everyday usage. Growing up in a suburb of New York City in the 1950’s, I found, demanded a minimal familiarity with Yiddish vocabulary. Mensch, mazel, mitzvah were used without conscious thought but entirely appropriately in English conversation. Tsouris, simcha, and meshugenah were universally understood as states of mind with only the most contorted, and therefore ignored, translations into English. And of course, in light of the peculiar directness of much NYC social intercourse, the numerous Yiddish designations of bodily parts and functions were heard everywhere.
So the monument to Yiddish is not some fixed totem that attracts visitors who (for a fee) want to experience some historical experience of dominance. Nor are Yiddish language and culture something to be appropriated by non-Jews as a sort of historical trinket. The monument to Yiddish lives in literature and in other languages, that is in our social existence. Manseau’s novel is but one, very enjoyable, creative component of that monument.
Near the town of Paarl in the South African Karoo stands a structure constructed in 1975 which may be unique in the world: the Taalmonument, an architectural symbol of the Afrikaans language. As far as I am aware, only the Afrikaners have ever chosen to commemorate their culture through a physical representation of a central tool of racial hatred and repression. Mainly used in the rural areas of Cape Province, Afrikaans is spoken by around 7 million people. The symbolism of the Paarl Taalmonument is intended to show the history of Afrikaans linguistic development from archaic Dutch, Malay, and a smattering of native dialects. The year after the monument’s construction the inhabitants of Soweto began a rebellion against Afrikaans as a main language of school instruction. The government succumbed almost immediately to one of the first acts of organised civil rebellion and virtually all non-white schools under the apartheid regime chose English as the language of instruction. Since the death of apartheid, Afrikaans remains the lingua franca in parts of South Africa but is still associated with white supremacy. It is likely to die a slow death.
Yiddish is another language put under intense pressure in the 20th century. But for precisely the opposite reasons as Afrikaans. Although much more ancient than Afrikaans, Yiddish too is a syncretic mix of German, Slavic, Aramaic and Hebrew. Just prior to WW II it is estimated that there were 13 million Yiddish speakers, mainly in an arc of trans-national Jewish culture that ran from the Black Sea to the Baltic. Thanks to the Holocaust and subsequent emigration, Yiddish today is probably understood by perhaps a million native speakers, mostly survivors of persecution. Although there are many academic attempts to resuscitate the language, it seems unlikely that it will ever be recovered as a living part of modern life. Yiddish doesn’t have a Taalmonument, quite likely because it never was a language of repression or colonisation. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t commemorated, indeed mourned in a way that the death of a language like Afrikaans could ever be.
Songs of the Butcher’s Daughter is just the kind of commemoration that Yiddish deserves. Ostensibly a sort of love story and immigrant history, its backbone and binding theme is Yiddish and the culture it expressed, first in Eastern Europe and then in New York City. What was constant about being an Ashkenazy Jew, regardless of place, was language. As the protagonist, appropriately a Yiddish poet, is advised, “The Jewish future, like the Jewish past, can only be found through words. Not nations. Certainly not land…Make words your homeland Itsik. Make them your lover as well.” The suffering of oppression and dislocation is not eliminated but at least somewhat mitigated by language: “Can any solace equal that which is found by finding the proper words for all we encounter?”
In fact, as with Afrikaans but in exactly the opposite sense, Yiddish is the central symbol of Jewish culture as the vehicle for learning which is absent in the peasant culture of ignorance and bigotry in which it had to survive. It identified precisely what made that culture different: “The goyim are a curious people…Not curious that they want to know things,…curious that they don’t.” The only weapons that Jews had traditionally been allowed to possess are words. And words are honed through practice among non-lethal opponents arguing about whether Yiddish or Hebrew is superior: “How do Jews settle anything? With shouting such has not been heard since Babel.” Words may not be magical, but they certainly are sacred: “... the kabbalist’s lessons about the significance of letters as the building blocks of creation. Each told a story if one took time to read it.”
There is of course another memorial to Yiddish, which is implicit throughout Manseau’s narrative: its legacy in other languages, especially English, and specifically American English. At one point the narrator muses, “Who but a writer in a lonely room could impregnate the thoughts of so many.” Americans, and through them other English-speakers, have been impregnated by Yiddish vocabulary and even Yiddish thought patterns, not just through translations of literature (one thinks of Singer, Aleichem and so many others mentioned by Manseau), but in the influences of Yiddish on everyday usage. Growing up in a suburb of New York City in the 1950’s, I found, demanded a minimal familiarity with Yiddish vocabulary. Mensch, mazel, mitzvah were used without conscious thought but entirely appropriately in English conversation. Tsouris, simcha, and meshugenah were universally understood as states of mind with only the most contorted, and therefore ignored, translations into English. And of course, in light of the peculiar directness of much NYC social intercourse, the numerous Yiddish designations of bodily parts and functions were heard everywhere.
So the monument to Yiddish is not some fixed totem that attracts visitors who (for a fee) want to experience some historical experience of dominance. Nor are Yiddish language and culture something to be appropriated by non-Jews as a sort of historical trinket. The monument to Yiddish lives in literature and in other languages, that is in our social existence. Manseau’s novel is but one, very enjoyable, creative component of that monument.
mtnofbooks's review
4.0
I wasn't really sure what to expect from this book and now that I'm done, I'm not really sure what to say. It was an interesting book. In some ways it is a love story with Itsik following his love of Sasha. In many ways it is a coming of age story as he learns what it's like to be Jewish as the world around him changes. It was often hard to follow with the Yiddish terminology laced through it and not very clear context clues to help with the meaning. I felt that the Translator's Notes could have been left out. I think they were disruptive to Itsik's story and the only place the translator played a role was at the end. I did, however, appreciate how Itsik's story was told and how his poetry was almost a character itself.
maylingkuo's review against another edition
3.0
i don't know how i keep picking up all of these jewish books, but somehow when i randomly choose titles off the shelf, a lot of them happen to be by jewish writers.
this book was hard to get into for that reason (i think i just need a break for awhile), and plus, it's told from 2 viewpoints - that of itsik malpesh, a fictional yiddish poet, and a translator in the present day, who is telling the story of malpesh's life. he sometimes explains possible things lost in translation and i tended to skim those parts.
i was on an airplane, so i forced myself to get through it, and i'm glad i did for the following reasons:
* i have a better understanding of yiddish vs. hebrew and the many differences in jewish culture
* the story and the ending ends up becoming very compelling
* the way in which the story told ends up connecting with the present-day is remarkably done and truly touching
this book was hard to get into for that reason (i think i just need a break for awhile), and plus, it's told from 2 viewpoints - that of itsik malpesh, a fictional yiddish poet, and a translator in the present day, who is telling the story of malpesh's life. he sometimes explains possible things lost in translation and i tended to skim those parts.
i was on an airplane, so i forced myself to get through it, and i'm glad i did for the following reasons:
* i have a better understanding of yiddish vs. hebrew and the many differences in jewish culture
* the story and the ending ends up becoming very compelling
* the way in which the story told ends up connecting with the present-day is remarkably done and truly touching
lisagray68's review
5.0
Just exactly the kind of book I love. Itsik Malpesh's life begins in small-town Russia, moves to Odessa and then America. Through it all, he struggles and writes poems for his muse, Sasha. This is as much a love story of Yiddish as it is a love story of Sasha. The one issue that I had at the beginning was the "Translator's Note" -- I didn't realize that the Translator is actually another character in the book -- so don't skip these!
borisfeldman's review
5.0
A Jewish life story, from the Kishinev pogrom to the Lower East Side. Beautifully written. Engaging, unpredictable, plot. A very touching work.
More...