Henry Roth


Born
in Tysmenitz, near Stanislaviv, Galicia, Austro-Hungary, Ukraine
February 08, 1906

Died
October 13, 1995


Average rating: 3.84 · 7,910 ratings · 440 reviews · 43 distinct worksSimilar authors
Call It Sleep

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3.83 avg rating — 7,358 ratings — published 1934 — 44 editions
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A Star Shines Over Mt. Morris

3.84 avg rating — 167 ratings — published 1990 — 11 editions
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A Diving Rock on the Hudson

4.21 avg rating — 101 ratings — published 1995 — 9 editions
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From Bondage

4.09 avg rating — 68 ratings — published 1996 — 8 editions
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Requiem for Harlem

4.16 avg rating — 57 ratings — published 1998 — 7 editions
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An American Type

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3.38 avg rating — 71 ratings — published 2010 — 13 editions
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Mercy of a Rude Stream: The...

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3.64 avg rating — 28 ratings — published 2014 — 7 editions
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L'or De La Terre Promise

4.14 avg rating — 7 ratings — published 2001 — 2 editions
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Shifting Landscape: A Compo...

really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 7 ratings — published 1987 — 4 editions
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A merced de una nueva corri...

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really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 1992 — 2 editions
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More books by Henry Roth…
A Star Shines Over Mt. Morris A Diving Rock on the Hudson From Bondage Requiem for Harlem Mercy of a Rude Stream: The...
(5 books)
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really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 421 ratings

“Life is nothing but an occassional burst of laughter rising above the interminable wail of grief.”
Henry Roth

“His mother called them his gems and often asked him why he liked things that were worn and old. It would have been hard to tell her. But there was something about the way in which the link of a chain was worn or the thread on a bolt or a castor-wheel that gave him a vague feeling of pain when he ran his fingers over them. They were like worn shoe-soles or very thin dimes. You never saw them wear, you only knew they were worn, obscurely aching”
Henry Roth, Call It Sleep

“It was in her abode, in the janitorial quarters assigned her on the ground floor rear, that seemingly inoffensive Mrs. Shapiro set up a clandestine alcohol dispensary—not a speakeasy, but a bootleg joint, where the Irish and other shikkers of the vicinity could come and have their pint bottles filled up, at a price. And several times on weekends, when Ira was there, for he got along best with Jake, felt closest to him, because Jake was artistic, some beefy Irishman would come in, hand over his empty pint bottle for refilling, and after greenbacks were passed, and the transaction completed, receive as a goodwill offering a pony of spirits on the house. And once again those wry (rye? Out vile pun!), wry memories of lost opportunities: Jake’s drab kitchen where the two sat talking about art, about Jake’s favorite painters, interrupted by a knock on the door, opened by Mr. Shapiro, and the customer entered. With the fewest possible words, perhaps no more than salutations, purpose understood, negotiations carried out like a mime show, or a ballet: ecstatic pas de deux with Mr. McNally and Mr. Shapiro—until suspended by Mr. Shapiro’s disappearance with an empty bottle, leaving Mr. McNally to solo in anticipation of a “Druidy drunk,” terminated by Mr. Shapiro’s reappearance with a full pint of booze. Another pas de deux of payment? Got it whole hog—Mr. Shapiro was arrested for bootlegging several times, paid several fines, but somehow, by bribery and cunning, managed to survive in the enterprise, until he had amassed enough wealth to buy a fine place in Bensonhurst by the time “Prohibition” was repealed. A Yiddisher kupf, no doubt.”
Henry Roth, Mercy of a Rude Stream: The Complete Novels

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