What We Talk About When We Talk About Ann Frank–Nathan Englander
This shit’s the real deal—flat out, beautiful stories, each one better than the last. I was absolutely floored by this collection; how individually they were near perfect, and in concert, even better. Much of Englander’s collection is infused with a certain flavor of mysticism (not the shitty hipster-Brooklyn kind, but one revolving around Judaism and tradition and the power of oral histories), which adds a touch of the unexpected, but in a good way.
I had an interesting experience with the title story What We Talk About When We Talk About Ann Frank. The story revolves around two couples playing a game where they try to predict which gentile neighbors would hide them in the event of a second holocaust. It’s a heartbreaking story (better than Carver’s), and easily one of my favorites in this year’s Best American. Like any well-meaning gentile, I immediately inserted myself into the story, knowing in my heart of hearts that I would be one of those people to do whatever I possibly could to help those being persecuted. I talked about it with my wife. She seemed pretty sure I’d do the same. For some reason this made me feel good.
Three days later, a friend of mine said that his baby crib might have bed bugs. He said he wasn’t sure, that the pest people didn’t see any real signs of infestation, but were going to spray to be safe. Over text, he asked, if need be, could he and his family crash at our place.
I didn’t respond right away. I thought about shows I’d seen where bed bugs take over houses and lives and people cry and go crazy with portable steamers and shrink-wrapped bags of clothes. I thought about my nesting wife, her insistence that the house be perfect by the time forty weeks is up. And about myself. About being covered in bugs and about itchy bites, sleep a kind of nightmare. And then I thought about Englander’s story. How I’d so quickly placed myself on the side of Morally Conscious Gentile, there to help out any fellow in need. But fuck…I couldn’t even do it with possible bed bugs.
My buddy texted back, saying it was no worry, the pest people only needed an hour to spray, two hours to air it out. It was then I told him it was cool if he still needed a place to crash. I felt like a fucking dick. I thought about the story, its heartbreak, its truth. I told myself bed bugs were different, so very different.
