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המשכונאי
בגיל 45, סול נצרמן - ששרד את ברגן־בלזן אך איבד שם את אשתו וילדיו — מנהל בית משכונות בהארלם. אבל העסק הוא רק כסות לפעילות אחרות של גנגסטר, שמשלם לנצרמן משכורת נוחה תמורת שירותיו. סול מבקש להסתגר מהעולם שסובב אותו, אך לשווא. חלומותיו רדופים על ידי עינויי העבר שלו, והמציאות המחוספסת והאלימה חודרת לתוך חנותו וחייו וגורפת אותו לתוכה.
המשכונאי ראה אור לראשונה ב־1961, ועד מהרה נמכר ביותר מחצי מיליון עותקים. הספר עובד לסרט קולנוע מצליח בבימויו של סידני לומט, שמקומו המרכזי בשיח הקולנועי על השואה לצד הבימוי הריאליסטי הופכים אותו ליצירת חובה. גם עכשיו, כשהוא רואה אור עשרות שנים אחר כך, מהדהד המסר שבין שורותיו באותה העוצמה: רק על־ידי הזדהות עם סבלו של האחר, יכול הניצול — בין שהוא גבר או אישה, יהודי, שחור או פורטוריקני — להתעלות אל מעבר למורשתו הטראומתית.
המשכונאי ראה אור לראשונה ב־1961, ועד מהרה נמכר ביותר מחצי מיליון עותקים. הספר עובד לסרט קולנוע מצליח בבימויו של סידני לומט, שמקומו המרכזי בשיח הקולנועי על השואה לצד הבימוי הריאליסטי הופכים אותו ליצירת חובה. גם עכשיו, כשהוא רואה אור עשרות שנים אחר כך, מהדהד המסר שבין שורותיו באותה העוצמה: רק על־ידי הזדהות עם סבלו של האחר, יכול הניצול — בין שהוא גבר או אישה, יהודי, שחור או פורטוריקני — להתעלות אל מעבר למורשתו הטראומתית.
272 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 1961
31 people are currently reading
1473 people want to read
About the author
Edward Lewis Wallant
6 books45 followersWallant began to write professionally at age twenty nine. He had served in the Second World War as a gunner's mate. He attended the University of Connecticut and graduated from Pratt Institute and studied writing at The New School in New York. While he worked as an advertising art director, Wallant wrote at night.
Wallant died of an aneurysm at the age of 36.
Wallant died of an aneurysm at the age of 36.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 92 reviews
March 17, 2017
This story is primarily about Sol Nazerman, a victim Holocaust Survivor, and his present day life as a Pawnbroker.
This was first written in the 60's. There is a movie - which I haven't seen.
Sol, 45 years old, survived Bergen-Belsen, but his wife and children did not. The flashback scenes -haunting dreams - are gruesome graphic scenes of Sol's past Nazi imprisonment - including horrific memories of his wife being forced into prostitution and equally horrific suffering his children endured before their deaths.
Sol tries to deal with the pawn shop - daily business needs - in East Harlem...while constantly plagued with nightmares and headaches from the
wartime traumas.
Nazerman is a completely shut down man.... essentially a walking dead man!
He sees everybody who comes into his shop as 'scum'. Sol not only cares nothing for himself - he doesn't feel any compassion for the community around him. No matter if they are poor, lonely, hurting or desperate....Sol doesn't feel anything for them.
This story not only deals with the after effects from the concentration camp experience- ( PTSD), but it explores the relationships between Jews and other minority groups....other residents of Harlem.... who are also suffering.
The pawn shop itself - is mostly a front for Mafia money....which Nazerman uses to support his sister, and her two kids. Sol also supports a 2nd family: his best friend Tessie and her dying father. Later in the book -he will help his nephew out of trouble, too.
If I needed to borrow $10...I might consider borrowing from Sol Nazerman myself.
--- but don't think you can offer a helping hand 'free-of-charge' to Sol. He would insist that he was "scrupulous about money matters". A sad man - but a proud man!
The powerful forward written by Dara Horn is a beautiful tribute to Edward Lewis Wallant who died at age 36 of an aneurysm. Wallant was compared with his contemporary Saul Bellow. It's sad that such a talented author died so young.
It's all sad: the book is a sad subject- yet beautifully written.
The author dying shortly after its release, is also sad.
I'm glad this book made a new recent release. Absolutely one of the best Holocaust 'NOVELS' I've read. I usually shy away from 'fiction' Holocaust stories -- but this book has an important message... and is done well!
This novel brought up thoughts for me about my father, Max, who also owned a Pawn Shop in Oakland. My father died young, too -- also of an aneurysm-- at age 34.
I still remember- going to the shop with my dad -playing on the adding machine. After he died - I spent time in my uncle Abe's store and my grandparents store. They each own pawn shops too - on the same street. I guess it was a common Jewish business back in the 50's and 60's.
VERY SPECIAL THANKS to "Fig Tree Books"...... for this powerful book. I can't tell you how glad I am to have learned more about Edward Lewis Wallant. A very gifted writer.
This was first written in the 60's. There is a movie - which I haven't seen.
Sol, 45 years old, survived Bergen-Belsen, but his wife and children did not. The flashback scenes -haunting dreams - are gruesome graphic scenes of Sol's past Nazi imprisonment - including horrific memories of his wife being forced into prostitution and equally horrific suffering his children endured before their deaths.
Sol tries to deal with the pawn shop - daily business needs - in East Harlem...while constantly plagued with nightmares and headaches from the
wartime traumas.
Nazerman is a completely shut down man.... essentially a walking dead man!
He sees everybody who comes into his shop as 'scum'. Sol not only cares nothing for himself - he doesn't feel any compassion for the community around him. No matter if they are poor, lonely, hurting or desperate....Sol doesn't feel anything for them.
This story not only deals with the after effects from the concentration camp experience- ( PTSD), but it explores the relationships between Jews and other minority groups....other residents of Harlem.... who are also suffering.
The pawn shop itself - is mostly a front for Mafia money....which Nazerman uses to support his sister, and her two kids. Sol also supports a 2nd family: his best friend Tessie and her dying father. Later in the book -he will help his nephew out of trouble, too.
If I needed to borrow $10...I might consider borrowing from Sol Nazerman myself.
--- but don't think you can offer a helping hand 'free-of-charge' to Sol. He would insist that he was "scrupulous about money matters". A sad man - but a proud man!
The powerful forward written by Dara Horn is a beautiful tribute to Edward Lewis Wallant who died at age 36 of an aneurysm. Wallant was compared with his contemporary Saul Bellow. It's sad that such a talented author died so young.
It's all sad: the book is a sad subject- yet beautifully written.
The author dying shortly after its release, is also sad.
I'm glad this book made a new recent release. Absolutely one of the best Holocaust 'NOVELS' I've read. I usually shy away from 'fiction' Holocaust stories -- but this book has an important message... and is done well!
This novel brought up thoughts for me about my father, Max, who also owned a Pawn Shop in Oakland. My father died young, too -- also of an aneurysm-- at age 34.
I still remember- going to the shop with my dad -playing on the adding machine. After he died - I spent time in my uncle Abe's store and my grandparents store. They each own pawn shops too - on the same street. I guess it was a common Jewish business back in the 50's and 60's.
VERY SPECIAL THANKS to "Fig Tree Books"...... for this powerful book. I can't tell you how glad I am to have learned more about Edward Lewis Wallant. A very gifted writer.
April 14, 2017
“The sea of grief has no shores, no bottom ; no one can sound its depths.”
― Primo Levi, If Not Now, When?
Sol Nazerman runs a pawnshop in a neglected, low-income, black neighbourhood in 1960s East-Harlem.
Every day, miserable people appear in the shop, trying to trade in their cherished possessions for small loans they need to keep going. Nazerman responds to their desperation with apathy and disdain.
We slowly learn Nazerman is a holocaust survivor who was dehumanized in the camps, and who lost everything he ever cared about.
Nazerman has cut himself off from his emotions as a means of survival, and is moving comatose through life. He is catatonic, “like a creature embedded in a plastic block".
But august was his bad month. Every year, on the 28th of August, it was his anniversary, the anniversary of his family's death, HIS death.
On this day "his heart had atrophied; like the mammoth, he had been preserved in ice. What did he fear then? If the ice finally melts, the meat of the great entombed creature merely rots. One could only die once. He had been extinct for a long time, and only the carcass remained to be disposed of".
The Pawnbroker is a bleak, unsentimental and forbidding book. Nazerman is bitter, asocial and trusts no one ; he's a complete misanthrope who only sees ugliness in everything and everyone. This makes for some uncomfortable reading.
At the same time, the book is deeply melancholic as it slowly reveals the depth of suffering of Nazerman who is struggling to maintain his emotional detachment, in order to be able to function in life.
Is there still hope for someone who experienced the worst that humans are capable off?
7/10
― Primo Levi, If Not Now, When?
Sol Nazerman runs a pawnshop in a neglected, low-income, black neighbourhood in 1960s East-Harlem.
Every day, miserable people appear in the shop, trying to trade in their cherished possessions for small loans they need to keep going. Nazerman responds to their desperation with apathy and disdain.
We slowly learn Nazerman is a holocaust survivor who was dehumanized in the camps, and who lost everything he ever cared about.
Nazerman has cut himself off from his emotions as a means of survival, and is moving comatose through life. He is catatonic, “like a creature embedded in a plastic block".
But august was his bad month. Every year, on the 28th of August, it was his anniversary, the anniversary of his family's death, HIS death.
On this day "his heart had atrophied; like the mammoth, he had been preserved in ice. What did he fear then? If the ice finally melts, the meat of the great entombed creature merely rots. One could only die once. He had been extinct for a long time, and only the carcass remained to be disposed of".
The Pawnbroker is a bleak, unsentimental and forbidding book. Nazerman is bitter, asocial and trusts no one ; he's a complete misanthrope who only sees ugliness in everything and everyone. This makes for some uncomfortable reading.
At the same time, the book is deeply melancholic as it slowly reveals the depth of suffering of Nazerman who is struggling to maintain his emotional detachment, in order to be able to function in life.
Is there still hope for someone who experienced the worst that humans are capable off?
7/10
February 3, 2013
In Beyond Good and Evil Nietzsche writes that when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss looks into you. The Pawnbroker, a novel by Edward Lewis Wallant, is about a man who has stared long into the abyss, though through no choice of his own. The abyss has made a home in his heart, the difference being this is a conscious choice on his part.
Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front begins with a memorable observation;
This book is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war.
I’m not quite sure why, but this came to mind when I was reading The Pawnbroker, different as different can be. I suppose there are odd subliminal similarities. It’s not a novel about a generation; it’s about an individual. It’s a story of survival and death in survival. It’s about a man who survived the Holocaust while all that he loved, all that was most precious to him, did not. He, too, was destroyed; he did not die though nothing of life remained.
The Pawnbroker was originally published in 1961, one of the first fictional works to touch on the Holocaust by an American Jewish novelist who had no direct experience of the event, writing at a time when historical understanding was still at a relatively early stage of development. It was a bold move, almost foolhardy, one would have thought, but Wallant carries it off reasonably well. There is one simple reason for this: it’s not about the Holocaust at all; it’s about a man washed up on a distant shore after the shipwreck of his life. And that distant shore is Harlem in New York, a subject the author clearly has experience in abundance.
It is there that Sol Nazerman runs a pawnshop. He is a shell of a man, emotionally disengaged, suffering from what would be referred to in current fashion as post-traumatic stress disorder. His trauma is beyond comprehension; beyond the comprehension of his mercenary sister and her family, with whom he lives, and supports, in the fashionable Mount Vernon district; beyond the comprehension of Marilyn Birchfield, the well-meaning social activist who attempts to reach out to him.
Nazerman, a former professor at Krakow University in Poland, is the walking dead. Behind him are the shadows - a young son who drowned in excrement in a cattle truck on the way to a death camp; an infant daughter that he himself consigned to the ovens; a wife forced into camp prostitution, something he was compelled to witness, who subsequently died in some unspecified fashion, or the fashion that was specified for all.
But he survived with the guilt of survival. There are flashbacks to the past, but Wallant’s real focus is on the present. Nazerman, feeling nothing in himself, feels nothing at all for the suffering he witnesses every day, for the desperation of those who come to his store; desperate in poverty, desperate in simple loneliness. Ironically he despises them all in much the same way as the Nazis despised the Jews. His clients are nothing; they are scum, to use his own word. “Haven’t you got a heart?”, one customer asks. “No”, he responds, “No heart.”
But he does have a heart; it’s just locked in permafrost. Circumstances combine to raise the temperature. The anniversary of his family’s death approaches, a difficult enough time. The business itself is no more than a front for a racketeer, who uses it for money-laundering. Indifferent to everything else, Nazerman is also indifferent to where his money comes from...until he finds out that it comes from prostitution.
Then there is young assistant, Jesus Ortiz, full of enthusiasm, only to be alienated by his employer’s callous indifference to all around him, to the scum swept into the shop by the tides of Harlem. He agrees to take part with others in robbing the store, but when one of the gang produces a gun – contrary to previous agreement – he steps in to shield Nazerman from death, himself killed in the process. It’s the great cathartic moment of the novel;
“And then the dry retching sound of weeping, growing louder and louder and louder, filling the Pawnbroker’s ears, flooding him, drowning him, dragging him back to that sea of tears he had thought to have escaped. And he sat hunched against the abrasive roar, his body becoming worn down under the flood of it, washed down to the one polished stone of grief, of grief.”
“And his aesthetic numbness left him. He became terrified of the touch of air on the raw wounds. What was this great agonizing sensitivity and what was it for? Good God, what was all this? Love? Could it be love?...Oh, no not love! For whom? All these dark, dirty creatures? They turn my stomach, they sicken me. Oh, this din, this pain and thrashing.”
Sadly the author died when he was still in his thirties. I mentioned above that he was an American Jewish writer - and here the stress has to be on Jewish -, for which his particular contribution was recognised. But for this the ending is just too, too obvious, the symbolism palpable – Nazerman is saved by Jesus. He is reborn in the process, a message I doubt that many Jews or Holocaust survivors would accept. Was this his intention? Was this the message? Surely a name like Jesus could not have been used by accident, even if it is common enough among those of Hispanic origin?
There are no answers here, though it makes the ending, at least for me, a little weaker than a think Wallant intended. Or is this really what he intended? I simply don’t know. It’s is a powerful book with a stark message about humanity lost and found. It’s well-written for the most part, wholly convincing in plot and characterisation. But the ending, oh, the ending; depending on your point of view it’s a spiritual high or a perplexing narrative low. Am I making too much of this? After all, what’s in a name? Well, in Jesus, quite a lot. I suppose at least the outcast has at last learned to mourn.
The Pawnbroker is a book for its time and, for its time - and I do stress for its time – it’s a commendable piece of work.
Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front begins with a memorable observation;
This book is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war.
I’m not quite sure why, but this came to mind when I was reading The Pawnbroker, different as different can be. I suppose there are odd subliminal similarities. It’s not a novel about a generation; it’s about an individual. It’s a story of survival and death in survival. It’s about a man who survived the Holocaust while all that he loved, all that was most precious to him, did not. He, too, was destroyed; he did not die though nothing of life remained.
The Pawnbroker was originally published in 1961, one of the first fictional works to touch on the Holocaust by an American Jewish novelist who had no direct experience of the event, writing at a time when historical understanding was still at a relatively early stage of development. It was a bold move, almost foolhardy, one would have thought, but Wallant carries it off reasonably well. There is one simple reason for this: it’s not about the Holocaust at all; it’s about a man washed up on a distant shore after the shipwreck of his life. And that distant shore is Harlem in New York, a subject the author clearly has experience in abundance.
It is there that Sol Nazerman runs a pawnshop. He is a shell of a man, emotionally disengaged, suffering from what would be referred to in current fashion as post-traumatic stress disorder. His trauma is beyond comprehension; beyond the comprehension of his mercenary sister and her family, with whom he lives, and supports, in the fashionable Mount Vernon district; beyond the comprehension of Marilyn Birchfield, the well-meaning social activist who attempts to reach out to him.
Nazerman, a former professor at Krakow University in Poland, is the walking dead. Behind him are the shadows - a young son who drowned in excrement in a cattle truck on the way to a death camp; an infant daughter that he himself consigned to the ovens; a wife forced into camp prostitution, something he was compelled to witness, who subsequently died in some unspecified fashion, or the fashion that was specified for all.
But he survived with the guilt of survival. There are flashbacks to the past, but Wallant’s real focus is on the present. Nazerman, feeling nothing in himself, feels nothing at all for the suffering he witnesses every day, for the desperation of those who come to his store; desperate in poverty, desperate in simple loneliness. Ironically he despises them all in much the same way as the Nazis despised the Jews. His clients are nothing; they are scum, to use his own word. “Haven’t you got a heart?”, one customer asks. “No”, he responds, “No heart.”
But he does have a heart; it’s just locked in permafrost. Circumstances combine to raise the temperature. The anniversary of his family’s death approaches, a difficult enough time. The business itself is no more than a front for a racketeer, who uses it for money-laundering. Indifferent to everything else, Nazerman is also indifferent to where his money comes from...until he finds out that it comes from prostitution.
Then there is young assistant, Jesus Ortiz, full of enthusiasm, only to be alienated by his employer’s callous indifference to all around him, to the scum swept into the shop by the tides of Harlem. He agrees to take part with others in robbing the store, but when one of the gang produces a gun – contrary to previous agreement – he steps in to shield Nazerman from death, himself killed in the process. It’s the great cathartic moment of the novel;
“And then the dry retching sound of weeping, growing louder and louder and louder, filling the Pawnbroker’s ears, flooding him, drowning him, dragging him back to that sea of tears he had thought to have escaped. And he sat hunched against the abrasive roar, his body becoming worn down under the flood of it, washed down to the one polished stone of grief, of grief.”
“And his aesthetic numbness left him. He became terrified of the touch of air on the raw wounds. What was this great agonizing sensitivity and what was it for? Good God, what was all this? Love? Could it be love?...Oh, no not love! For whom? All these dark, dirty creatures? They turn my stomach, they sicken me. Oh, this din, this pain and thrashing.”
Sadly the author died when he was still in his thirties. I mentioned above that he was an American Jewish writer - and here the stress has to be on Jewish -, for which his particular contribution was recognised. But for this the ending is just too, too obvious, the symbolism palpable – Nazerman is saved by Jesus. He is reborn in the process, a message I doubt that many Jews or Holocaust survivors would accept. Was this his intention? Was this the message? Surely a name like Jesus could not have been used by accident, even if it is common enough among those of Hispanic origin?
There are no answers here, though it makes the ending, at least for me, a little weaker than a think Wallant intended. Or is this really what he intended? I simply don’t know. It’s is a powerful book with a stark message about humanity lost and found. It’s well-written for the most part, wholly convincing in plot and characterisation. But the ending, oh, the ending; depending on your point of view it’s a spiritual high or a perplexing narrative low. Am I making too much of this? After all, what’s in a name? Well, in Jesus, quite a lot. I suppose at least the outcast has at last learned to mourn.
The Pawnbroker is a book for its time and, for its time - and I do stress for its time – it’s a commendable piece of work.
December 6, 2023
I tried to read this book over 50 years ago, when the memory of the movie was still seared into my mind. Full disclosure, it was so evocative that I had to put it aside and never picked it up again. Now, at a remove of this amount of time, its power has not diminished. But this time, it held me for its entire length.
At that time I didn't know the tragedy of Edward Lewis Wallant, its author, dead at the age of 36 from an aneurysm. Had he lived longer, he would have definitely enjoyed a reputation equal to his peers -- Roth, Bellow, Hertzog. This portrait of the holocaust as exemplified by a single life, its horrors and repercussions, would be enough to elevate this book into the canon as a masterpiece. But his choice of setting, a pawnshop on 125th Street in Harlem, provides an unending source of characters and opportunity unequaled in other holocaust novels. I cannot praise this novel too highly or mourn the premature loss of its author too strongly.
At that time I didn't know the tragedy of Edward Lewis Wallant, its author, dead at the age of 36 from an aneurysm. Had he lived longer, he would have definitely enjoyed a reputation equal to his peers -- Roth, Bellow, Hertzog. This portrait of the holocaust as exemplified by a single life, its horrors and repercussions, would be enough to elevate this book into the canon as a masterpiece. But his choice of setting, a pawnshop on 125th Street in Harlem, provides an unending source of characters and opportunity unequaled in other holocaust novels. I cannot praise this novel too highly or mourn the premature loss of its author too strongly.
December 7, 2016
They don't write novels like this anymore. There is such an inherent ugliness in 'The Pawnbroker', and rarely does it ever let up. Heavy-handed, morose, darkly humorous, and at times, gloriously overwritten. This is as much a book about the Holocaust as it is about poverty in New York City--everybody is ruined in more ways than one. Rarely have such unlikable characters been so lovingly treated by their author. Edward Lewis Wallant had that rare touch of hammering the reader with the grotesque and pitiful, and then on the next page, plucking the right heart strings and embracing the characters with a strange, soulful empathy.
An important American novel.
A beautiful passage:
'And the pawnbroker stared just as yearningly as a freezing man stares at the last ember of a fire and suddenly sees how lovely the color of light can be.'
An important American novel.
A beautiful passage:
'And the pawnbroker stared just as yearningly as a freezing man stares at the last ember of a fire and suddenly sees how lovely the color of light can be.'
April 20, 2019
Pretty dark but compelling. The hilarious pathos of Tenants is obviously missing but the bruised rituals of survivors make this a wrenching satisfaction.
April 29, 2015
Immensely honored to be part of the team at Fig Tree Books that will be re-publishing this classic novel in the fall. Our edition features a new foreword by Dara Horn.
February 8, 2019
Non so ormai nemmeno più dove e quando ho acquistato in formato tascabile “L’uomo del banco dei pegni”, di Edward Lewis Wallant, nella traduzione di Maria Eugenia Morin, ma l’ho certo fatto nel vago ricordo della fama del film che Sidney Lumet trasse dal romanzo. Poi, vigliaccamente, ho lasciato il libro per anni a impolverarsi su uno scaffale, per paura di immergermi, da lettore e da editore, nell’ennesima cupa e lacerante storia sull’Olocausto.
Ma in questi giorni mi sono finalmente deciso e l’ho letto. E che vi devo dire?
Oggi, sia al cinema che nella narrativa, vanno di moda le storie con bambini, che inducono a più facili commozioni, ma la cruda verità è che sul tema non c’è niente di più straziante della disperata e impotente consapevolezza di un uomo adulto che ha visto travolgere dall’orrore la propria famiglia.
Io non sono ebreo, e non ho particolari motivi di simpatia o antipatia verso gli ebrei. Ma consiglio a tutti di leggere questo libro, per capire, al di là delle manifestazioni di solidarietà, spesso di facciata, cosa hanno davvero patito (e continuano a patire) gli ebrei per via dell’Olocausto, e perfino più i superstiti, se possibile, delle vittime.
Perché “L’uomo del banco dei pegni” è un romanzo di un’angoscia assoluta, ossessiva, ma una volta iniziato non si riesce a smettere di leggerlo. E non per pietismo o morbosità. Ma per l’incredibile capacità di Wallant di descrivere l’orrore straordinario (la Shoah) attraverso l’orrore ordinario e quotidiano (la squallida vita di un sopravvissuto all’Olocausto, prestatore su pegno in un misero quartiere di New York). Un libro che trasuda umanità da tutte le pagine; bellissimo e terribile.
Ma in questi giorni mi sono finalmente deciso e l’ho letto. E che vi devo dire?
Oggi, sia al cinema che nella narrativa, vanno di moda le storie con bambini, che inducono a più facili commozioni, ma la cruda verità è che sul tema non c’è niente di più straziante della disperata e impotente consapevolezza di un uomo adulto che ha visto travolgere dall’orrore la propria famiglia.
Io non sono ebreo, e non ho particolari motivi di simpatia o antipatia verso gli ebrei. Ma consiglio a tutti di leggere questo libro, per capire, al di là delle manifestazioni di solidarietà, spesso di facciata, cosa hanno davvero patito (e continuano a patire) gli ebrei per via dell’Olocausto, e perfino più i superstiti, se possibile, delle vittime.
Perché “L’uomo del banco dei pegni” è un romanzo di un’angoscia assoluta, ossessiva, ma una volta iniziato non si riesce a smettere di leggerlo. E non per pietismo o morbosità. Ma per l’incredibile capacità di Wallant di descrivere l’orrore straordinario (la Shoah) attraverso l’orrore ordinario e quotidiano (la squallida vita di un sopravvissuto all’Olocausto, prestatore su pegno in un misero quartiere di New York). Un libro che trasuda umanità da tutte le pagine; bellissimo e terribile.
January 26, 2016
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Sol Nazerman is a victim of the Holocaust, as you become familiar with Sol you understand he is far from the label of survivor. He's best described as a dead man walking, an automaton of trauma. Broken from all he has endured and lost, impacting his life greatly, the mental and emotional damage unrepairable. An affecting story of tremendous loss, family, sacrifice. A story of picking up the pieces when every thing has been stolen from you. Well written, a harsh glimpse into the lasting effects of those enduring the unthinkable of the Holocaust.
I enjoyed the story, the portrayal of Sol is well done. I'm not sure how I felt about the ending, one big allegory leaving me ambiguous. The ending was predictable to a degree yet it caught me somewhat off guard. I found it interesting, halting, yet completely unsure on my final verdict.
Great story, lovely writing perfect counterbalance of fiction and literature.
Sol Nazerman is a victim of the Holocaust, as you become familiar with Sol you understand he is far from the label of survivor. He's best described as a dead man walking, an automaton of trauma. Broken from all he has endured and lost, impacting his life greatly, the mental and emotional damage unrepairable. An affecting story of tremendous loss, family, sacrifice. A story of picking up the pieces when every thing has been stolen from you. Well written, a harsh glimpse into the lasting effects of those enduring the unthinkable of the Holocaust.
I enjoyed the story, the portrayal of Sol is well done. I'm not sure how I felt about the ending, one big allegory leaving me ambiguous. The ending was predictable to a degree yet it caught me somewhat off guard. I found it interesting, halting, yet completely unsure on my final verdict.
Great story, lovely writing perfect counterbalance of fiction and literature.
February 6, 2021
ספר קודר ועצוב, כתוב יפה אבל לא קל לקריאה.
סול נצרמן הוא ניצול שואה. אשתו ושני ילדיו הקטנים נרצחו במחנות, והוא ראה את סבלם. חברו נרצח במחנה לנגד עיניו. הוא הועסק בפינוי של גופות במחנה ההשמדה בו היה, אבל הוא שרד. ממרצה באוניברסיטה בפולין, הוא הפך למשכונאי בשכונת עוני בניו יורק, בבית משכון שמשמש כאמצעי להלבנת כספים של מפיונר איטלקי, בו מועסק גם עוזר ממוצא מעורב (כנראה שחור ולטיני). הוא גר עם אחותו, בעלה וילדיהם, ומממן אותם וכן את אשתו של חברו שנרצח במחנה. סובבים אותו אוסף של דמויות עלובות נפש, שחורים, פושעים קטנים, זונות ועוד. הסיפור נבנה ונבנה לקראת יום השנה לרצח של משפחתו, שבו מתרחשת טרגדיה בבית המשכון. הספר הוא בליל של רגשות דרמטיים, מכאובי גוף ונפש, המראים שגם שורדי השואה לא שרדו אותה באמת, ומה שעברו משפיעים על חייהם בכל דקה. ויותר מזה - גם אם נדמה שאולי יצליחו להתגבר על כך, את הטראומה הם עדיין מעבירים לדור הבא.
ספר כואב שבדיעבד אני לא בטוחה שהיה לי כדאי לקרוא.
סול נצרמן הוא ניצול שואה. אשתו ושני ילדיו הקטנים נרצחו במחנות, והוא ראה את סבלם. חברו נרצח במחנה לנגד עיניו. הוא הועסק בפינוי של גופות במחנה ההשמדה בו היה, אבל הוא שרד. ממרצה באוניברסיטה בפולין, הוא הפך למשכונאי בשכונת עוני בניו יורק, בבית משכון שמשמש כאמצעי להלבנת כספים של מפיונר איטלקי, בו מועסק גם עוזר ממוצא מעורב (כנראה שחור ולטיני). הוא גר עם אחותו, בעלה וילדיהם, ומממן אותם וכן את אשתו של חברו שנרצח במחנה. סובבים אותו אוסף של דמויות עלובות נפש, שחורים, פושעים קטנים, זונות ועוד. הסיפור נבנה ונבנה לקראת יום השנה לרצח של משפחתו, שבו מתרחשת טרגדיה בבית המשכון. הספר הוא בליל של רגשות דרמטיים, מכאובי גוף ונפש, המראים שגם שורדי השואה לא שרדו אותה באמת, ומה שעברו משפיעים על חייהם בכל דקה. ויותר מזה - גם אם נדמה שאולי יצליחו להתגבר על כך, את הטראומה הם עדיין מעבירים לדור הבא.
ספר כואב שבדיעבד אני לא בטוחה שהיה לי כדאי לקרוא.
December 6, 2015
The Pawnbroker is a haunting, powerful book about the vast gamut of human behavior, including some of the darkest moments in human history. But it’s not a book about the Holocaust.
It’s about the cognitive destruction of a Holocaust survivor. It’s the haunting story of a man named Sol, so embittered by life experiences that he has become immune to any form of human sympathy, compassion, or love. He lives in constant desperation, unable to find a release from horrific dreams and equally powerless to form a singular bond of tenderness with another person. He lives in bitterness.
Before the Holocaust, Sol Nazerman is a university professor in Poland. He survives the Holocaust; but his wife, daughter, and son are murdered in Nazi camps. His mind, having been decimated by loss, brutality, and cruelty, tilts upon the verge of collapse. Sol settles in New York and becomes a pawnbroker in Harlem. Here he survives, but with a personality so broken by pain and suffering that he repels everyone.
Day after day, the wretched poor of Harlem flow in and out of Sol’s shop, begging for a few dollars from the depressed and broken pawnbroker for owned and stolen artifacts. Already severely depressed, Nazerman falls into even greater despair from the wretched display of broken lives that flow into his pawnshop.
Wallant is an extremely gifted writer, producing a taught, flowing story replete with unforgettable characters and personalities. Had Wallant lived more than his brief 36 years, he certainly would have become the equal of other great American Jewish authors, including Saul Bellow, Bernard Malamud, Norman Mailer, and Phillip Roth.
The Pawnbroker is an honest, serious work of art about the human experience, with fascinating complexity and haunting sorrow. Wallant proffers an amazing exhibition of human power, weakness, tenderness, and grace in the characters he writes about.
Deep within the thematic brilliance of The Pawnbroker the reader feels life through the eyes of each troubled character. Wallant proffers an amazing display of vision and clarity in describing the insurmountable suffering of this aspect of the human experience. Although the time period in this novel is 1960s America, the characters’ situations, personalities, and travails ring true today.
Charles S. Weinblatt was born in Toledo, Ohio, in 1952. He is a retired university administrator. Mr. Weinblatt is the author of published fiction and nonfiction. His biography appears in the Marquis Who’s Who in America, Who’s Who in American Education, and Wikipedia.
It’s about the cognitive destruction of a Holocaust survivor. It’s the haunting story of a man named Sol, so embittered by life experiences that he has become immune to any form of human sympathy, compassion, or love. He lives in constant desperation, unable to find a release from horrific dreams and equally powerless to form a singular bond of tenderness with another person. He lives in bitterness.
Before the Holocaust, Sol Nazerman is a university professor in Poland. He survives the Holocaust; but his wife, daughter, and son are murdered in Nazi camps. His mind, having been decimated by loss, brutality, and cruelty, tilts upon the verge of collapse. Sol settles in New York and becomes a pawnbroker in Harlem. Here he survives, but with a personality so broken by pain and suffering that he repels everyone.
Day after day, the wretched poor of Harlem flow in and out of Sol’s shop, begging for a few dollars from the depressed and broken pawnbroker for owned and stolen artifacts. Already severely depressed, Nazerman falls into even greater despair from the wretched display of broken lives that flow into his pawnshop.
Wallant is an extremely gifted writer, producing a taught, flowing story replete with unforgettable characters and personalities. Had Wallant lived more than his brief 36 years, he certainly would have become the equal of other great American Jewish authors, including Saul Bellow, Bernard Malamud, Norman Mailer, and Phillip Roth.
The Pawnbroker is an honest, serious work of art about the human experience, with fascinating complexity and haunting sorrow. Wallant proffers an amazing exhibition of human power, weakness, tenderness, and grace in the characters he writes about.
Deep within the thematic brilliance of The Pawnbroker the reader feels life through the eyes of each troubled character. Wallant proffers an amazing display of vision and clarity in describing the insurmountable suffering of this aspect of the human experience. Although the time period in this novel is 1960s America, the characters’ situations, personalities, and travails ring true today.
Charles S. Weinblatt was born in Toledo, Ohio, in 1952. He is a retired university administrator. Mr. Weinblatt is the author of published fiction and nonfiction. His biography appears in the Marquis Who’s Who in America, Who’s Who in American Education, and Wikipedia.
September 5, 2021
I finished reading The Pawnbroker by Edward Lewis Wallant last night, and I can’t stop asking myself why I hadn’t known anything about Wallant until a few weeks ago, and why he is not better known at least in the USA.
I relished every word, sentence and paragraph of the book in a way I hadn’t experienced since reading Stoner by John Williams or Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin, and that’s a big statement. I hope that just like John Williams, Wallant (whose The Pawnbroker was published four years before Williams’s Stoner) can be still rediscovered by all publishers and readers he rightfully deserves. Should he not died from aneurysm at the age of the 36, only a year after The Pawnbroker, his second novel, had been published, I am sure his name would now be as known as those of his contemporaries Bellow or Roth.
The Pawnbroker is the story of Sol Nazerman, a Jewish immigrant in New York, irretrievably devastated by his experience in Dachau concentration camp. He holds the pieces of his inanimate life together by supressing even the tiniest hints of emotion, but the cracks in his wreck of a life are widening while the fifteenth anniversary of what he calls “his death” is approaching, and the unstoppable waves of human misery keep flooding his shop, demanding his shrinking attention.
I think I forgot to breathe while I was reading the last part of the book, I was so engrossed in it. Brace yourself if you embark on this journey of devastation, for Wallant is going to break you in the most violently poetical manner. But if you hold your own, you may also find redemption at the end of the road.
A magnificent, unforgettable novel. Doubly recommended if you are studying creative writing.
I relished every word, sentence and paragraph of the book in a way I hadn’t experienced since reading Stoner by John Williams or Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin, and that’s a big statement. I hope that just like John Williams, Wallant (whose The Pawnbroker was published four years before Williams’s Stoner) can be still rediscovered by all publishers and readers he rightfully deserves. Should he not died from aneurysm at the age of the 36, only a year after The Pawnbroker, his second novel, had been published, I am sure his name would now be as known as those of his contemporaries Bellow or Roth.
The Pawnbroker is the story of Sol Nazerman, a Jewish immigrant in New York, irretrievably devastated by his experience in Dachau concentration camp. He holds the pieces of his inanimate life together by supressing even the tiniest hints of emotion, but the cracks in his wreck of a life are widening while the fifteenth anniversary of what he calls “his death” is approaching, and the unstoppable waves of human misery keep flooding his shop, demanding his shrinking attention.
I think I forgot to breathe while I was reading the last part of the book, I was so engrossed in it. Brace yourself if you embark on this journey of devastation, for Wallant is going to break you in the most violently poetical manner. But if you hold your own, you may also find redemption at the end of the road.
A magnificent, unforgettable novel. Doubly recommended if you are studying creative writing.
January 18, 2014
The writing style throughout the book was ridiculously good. It uses so many literary devices, but manages not to knock you over the head with them - a very difficult balance. It should be required reading for fiction writers. It is the type of book I wanted to savor and read several times to get every nuance. I am definitely going to read it again.
The Pawnbroker gave me so much to think about...I can hardly write about it here. Can tragedy result in a person being dead inside, or is that person simply dormant? Why do some immigrants feel they have to get rid of their past and heritage completely in order to be "American"? What is love between two human beings? How can some people see through stereotypes and others can't, even if they were raised the same? How can some people prey on another's tragedy for money? What constitutes a sacred place? Is it better to be dead than to suffer under love?
The Pawnbroker gave me so much to think about...I can hardly write about it here. Can tragedy result in a person being dead inside, or is that person simply dormant? Why do some immigrants feel they have to get rid of their past and heritage completely in order to be "American"? What is love between two human beings? How can some people see through stereotypes and others can't, even if they were raised the same? How can some people prey on another's tragedy for money? What constitutes a sacred place? Is it better to be dead than to suffer under love?
January 10, 2011
This was a life-changing book for me when I was 12. I'm trying to find some record of what I said about it back then. I'll be rereading it as well.
December 28, 2018
ספר מומלץ ביותר ואני יכול להבין מדוע נחשב לסוג של קלסיקה אמריקנית. דמותו של סול המשכונאי היא דמות בלתי נשכחת
September 24, 2015
Sol Nazerman runs a pawn shop in a low-income neighborhood. His business is mostly legitimate--sure, he pays money for the random trinkets brought in by his destitute neighbors--but the business isn't profitable. And he's only able to stay afloat through the patronage of a local criminal who is using Sol's business as a vessel to launder his money.
Sol lives an isolated and sad existence. As the story advances, we see why. Sol is a Holocaust survivor--the only one of his nuclear family to make it. His wife and two children were all not only killed, but also suffered horribly beforehand. (His flashbacks about his wife were awful, nearly unbearable to read.) While many see the numbers etched into Sol's forearm, few seem to make the connection that he is a survivor. Or maybe they just don't care.
This book reads about as drearily as the plot sounds. At first, I didn't know if I was going to make it through. I've heard a bunch of people say this book reminds them of Dostoevsky's works, but I have to disagree. At least Dostoevsky injected some mania in with his depression; The Pawnbroker, on the other hand, is straight melancholy, through and through.
However, when I made it past the first 50+ pages, when I started knowing more about Sol's backstory and started seeing his more significant relationships unfold, I found myself hooked. I was absolutely enthralled and invested. And though I really don't want to sound cliche here, the flashbacks to his experiences as a prisoner broke my heart. I'm not going to lie: I cried...a lot. I have to give Wallant credit for creating a deep, thoughtful, multidimensional story and cast of characters. I don't think that I ever really liked anyone in this book, but I definitely felt for all of them.
Ultimately, The Pawnbroker is not a book to read if you want to feel warm fuzzies. It's deeply--just OPPRESSIVELY--sad. But it is also thought-provoking and honest. (And I would add that it ended on a surprisingly optimistic note; I actually wasn't expecting that.) Before reading this book, I had no idea that Edward Lewis Wallant was a Jewish-American author lumped in with the likes of Saul Bellow, Norman Mailer, and Bernard Malamud. But after reading this book, I can definitely see that his talent more than qualifies him for the company of those gifted authors. This was a heavy read, but also a very, very good one.
Sol lives an isolated and sad existence. As the story advances, we see why. Sol is a Holocaust survivor--the only one of his nuclear family to make it. His wife and two children were all not only killed, but also suffered horribly beforehand. (His flashbacks about his wife were awful, nearly unbearable to read.) While many see the numbers etched into Sol's forearm, few seem to make the connection that he is a survivor. Or maybe they just don't care.
This book reads about as drearily as the plot sounds. At first, I didn't know if I was going to make it through. I've heard a bunch of people say this book reminds them of Dostoevsky's works, but I have to disagree. At least Dostoevsky injected some mania in with his depression; The Pawnbroker, on the other hand, is straight melancholy, through and through.
However, when I made it past the first 50+ pages, when I started knowing more about Sol's backstory and started seeing his more significant relationships unfold, I found myself hooked. I was absolutely enthralled and invested. And though I really don't want to sound cliche here, the flashbacks to his experiences as a prisoner broke my heart. I'm not going to lie: I cried...a lot. I have to give Wallant credit for creating a deep, thoughtful, multidimensional story and cast of characters. I don't think that I ever really liked anyone in this book, but I definitely felt for all of them.
Ultimately, The Pawnbroker is not a book to read if you want to feel warm fuzzies. It's deeply--just OPPRESSIVELY--sad. But it is also thought-provoking and honest. (And I would add that it ended on a surprisingly optimistic note; I actually wasn't expecting that.) Before reading this book, I had no idea that Edward Lewis Wallant was a Jewish-American author lumped in with the likes of Saul Bellow, Norman Mailer, and Bernard Malamud. But after reading this book, I can definitely see that his talent more than qualifies him for the company of those gifted authors. This was a heavy read, but also a very, very good one.
October 26, 2019
Jamás había oído hablar de este libro, hasta que me lo encontré en la biblioteca y como tampoco había leído nada de esta editorial y me apetecía mucho probarla, pues me adentré sin pensarlo mucho.
Wallant se inspiró para escribir esta novela en un amigo con el que estudió y el cuál había pasado por los campos de concentración nazis. Pero, en esta novela lo que importa no son los campos, sino los traumas que luego tuvieron que superar estos judíos, si es que lograron recobrarse de ellos.
La historia empieza más de 15 años después, cuando nuestro protagonista es ahora un prestamista que más bien se dedica a blanquear dinero de un mafioso. Durante todo el libro se puede ver que el protagonista no solo está traumatizado y que las escenas de ese pasado le persiguen hasta en los sueños, que es el único momento en que el autor nos muestra algunos de esos momentos a través de flashbacks, sino que también ha aceptado que nunca va a volver a ser feliz, por eso le podemos ver la mayoría de las veces quejándose, asqueado ante la gente y de manera general, gruñón.
El final del libro, aunque un poco precipitado, es simplemente perfecto. El autor nos muestra cómo pueden actuar las personas ante determinadas situaciones, cambiando totalmente de parecer en el último minuto por sus valores y creencias. Además, me parece que hace una reflexión final muy interesante; para lograr zafarse del pasado, no hay que tratar de ignorarlo y continuar como si nunca hubiese ocurrido nada, sino que hay que aceptarlo y vivir con ello por muy duro que sea. Es así la única manera de que no te persiga.
3.5/5
Wallant se inspiró para escribir esta novela en un amigo con el que estudió y el cuál había pasado por los campos de concentración nazis. Pero, en esta novela lo que importa no son los campos, sino los traumas que luego tuvieron que superar estos judíos, si es que lograron recobrarse de ellos.
La historia empieza más de 15 años después, cuando nuestro protagonista es ahora un prestamista que más bien se dedica a blanquear dinero de un mafioso. Durante todo el libro se puede ver que el protagonista no solo está traumatizado y que las escenas de ese pasado le persiguen hasta en los sueños, que es el único momento en que el autor nos muestra algunos de esos momentos a través de flashbacks, sino que también ha aceptado que nunca va a volver a ser feliz, por eso le podemos ver la mayoría de las veces quejándose, asqueado ante la gente y de manera general, gruñón.
El final del libro, aunque un poco precipitado, es simplemente perfecto. El autor nos muestra cómo pueden actuar las personas ante determinadas situaciones, cambiando totalmente de parecer en el último minuto por sus valores y creencias. Además, me parece que hace una reflexión final muy interesante; para lograr zafarse del pasado, no hay que tratar de ignorarlo y continuar como si nunca hubiese ocurrido nada, sino que hay que aceptarlo y vivir con ello por muy duro que sea. Es así la única manera de que no te persiga.
3.5/5
February 3, 2016
Dara Horn called it a masterpiece in her essay "Against Holocaust Novels."
The late, great D.G. Myers wrote, "The Pawnbroker is not really a Holocaust novel at all. It is something different. And at least when it comes to the American novel, something better. The Pawnbroker is one of the last examples of a genre that has largely disappeared from American shores — the meaning-making novel, the novel with something to say, the novel with an overt and unembarrassed message."
All I have to say is that it moved me and it's beautiful. That's enough.
The late, great D.G. Myers wrote, "The Pawnbroker is not really a Holocaust novel at all. It is something different. And at least when it comes to the American novel, something better. The Pawnbroker is one of the last examples of a genre that has largely disappeared from American shores — the meaning-making novel, the novel with something to say, the novel with an overt and unembarrassed message."
All I have to say is that it moved me and it's beautiful. That's enough.
October 29, 2014
This is my third book by Wallant, and it seals him as one of my favorite authors. A very powerful book, and as his others, the theme is redemption--finding your own humanity when the worst has happened to you. Its author and protagonist is Jewish, but the theme is universal: Unexpected "Christs." What or who "saves" people?
May 20, 2013
sopravvivere, a volte, è peggio che morire. un uomo senza cuore e senza più radici ritrova un minimo di umanità, pian piano, impercettibilmente. libro crudele, a tratti insostenibile per quello che racconta- ma alla fine, un grande romanzo ebraicoamericano.
March 30, 2014
Powerful. Moving. Like the movie based on it, this novel deserves far more attention than it receives.
January 18, 2016
Like reading early Bellow. Makes me wonder when writers decided that stories involving the Holocaust had to either be morality plays or drenched in shmaltz.
January 30, 2016
Moving and powerful, even more than the fine film made from it.
March 6, 2022
Mučna priča o Solu Nazermanu, bivšem logorašu koji je preživio Bergen-Belzen. Sada vodi skromnu zalagaonicu u Harlemu u koju dolazi mahom velegradski polusvijet. Nazerman je mizantrop, čovjek kojemu je prošlost iscrpila svu životnu energiju. Njegova je svakidašnjica golo vegetiranje u okružju ružnoće, dok mu u snovima naviru grozne slike iz logora u kojem su stradali njegovi najmiliji. Mračan, melankoličan roman o ljudskoj tami, o strašnom iskustvu koje ne može izliječiti ništa, a najmanje vrijeme.
February 26, 2019
While I enjoyed this book and thought many parts of it were quite thought-provoking, I didn't have an overall feeling of satisfaction with the way in which the ending plays out. It felt rushed compared to the rest of the novel, and I think that there were several parts that could have been expanded upon to round out the novel. I'll be trying to write about this on my blog in the next few days. I've already fallen off the wagon on that.
October 30, 2021
Absolutely beautiful but devastating story. A vivid and personal portrait of a holocaust survivor whose actions touch the lives of many, but who is unable to rest, consumed by his own grief and despair. The writing is exquisite.
October 22, 2015
Neuauflagen und Neuübersetzungen von Klassikern erobern gerade den Buchmarkt (Von Stoner, über Zwei Schwestern bis zu Was sie begehren), Wallants Klassiker von 1961 wurde nun zum ersten Mal ins Deutsche übersetzt.
Sol Nazerman trägt seine Häftlingsnummer aus einem deutschen KZ sichtbar auf den Unterarm tätowiert. In Spanisch Harlem, wo er ein bescheidenes Pfandhaus betreibt, kann man nicht von jedem Kunden erwarten, dass er die Bedeutung dieser Ziffern kennt. Vielleicht ist das für Sol auch besser so. Seine Erlebnisse und der Verlust seiner Frau und seiner Kinder sind unaussprechbar, seine Alpträume vermutlich nur ein schwaches Abbild des Erlebten. Als Opfer medizinischer Versuche an Häftlingen wirkt der Mann so, als hätte man ihm die Knochen gebrochen und in falscher Reihenfolge wieder zusammengesetzt. Sol hat sich arrangiert mit Murillio, einem Mafioso, der das Pfandhaus als Scheinfirma zur Geldwäsche nutzt. Murillio gehören vermutlich alle Läden und Bordelle der Straße. Sols Kunden sind kleine Diebe, Schnorrer und Prostituierte, die bei ihren Freiern kleine Wertgegenstände mitgehen lassen und für ein oder zwei Dollar verpfänden. Sol verdient gut und finanziert auch den Lebensunterhalt seiner Schwester und deren Familie.
Innerlich ist der Mann längst gestorben, möchte am liebsten in Ruhe gelassen werden mit den Schicksalen seiner Kunden und von den Ansprüchen seiner Verwandtschaft. Doch so einfach ist das nicht; denn eine Reihe von Personen erwartet noch etwas von Sol. Eigenartige Vorfälle könnten einen auf die Idee bringen, dass jemand von Sol Schutzgeld erpressen will und dass Murillio Testkäufer losschickt, um Sols Treue ihm gegenüber auf die Probe zu stellen. Jesus Ortiz, Sols Angestellter, träumt von einem eigenen Geschäft mit seinem Namen über der Tür und benötigt dazu Sols ausgezeichnete Fachkenntnisse. Das Geschäftsgeheimnis jüdischer Händler ist Ortiz noch immer ein Buch mit sieben Siegeln. Eine Frau tauscht bei Sol Sex gegen Geld, um sich und ihren Vater durchzubringen – und zu Hause interessiert sich Sol dann doch ein winziges Stück für seinen zeichnenden Neffen. In dieser zutiefst deprimierenden Situation taucht, rundlich und frisch wie ein gemangeltes Kleidungsstück, eine Miss Birchfield bei Sol auf. Sie will zunächst Unterstützung für ihr Jugendzentrum und entwickelt bald ein Interesse an Sol, das für den gebrochenen Mann nur wie eine weitere Last wirkt.
Sols Schicksal legt sich wie eine staubige, erstickende Decke über den Leser, unter der dennoch atmosphärisch großartige Beschreibungen und stilistische Perlen hervorragen. Ein verblüffendes Ende kann schließlich die deprimierende Atmosphäre abschütteln. Stilistisch ist es eines der besten Bücher, das ich in diesem Jahr gelesen habe. Über 50 Jahre Warten auf die Übersetzung haben sich hier gelohnt.
Zitat
„Obwohl die Lampen brannten, war es schummrig im Laden. Draußen tauchte die Abendsonne die Straße in ein Goldbad, in dem sich die Passanten wie dunkle Schwimmer bewegten, ohne Hast und Zielstrebigkeit. Gemeinsam mit seinem Gehilfen atmete er den Staub der durch eine Vielzahl von Händen gegangene Waren ein, die vorstellbaren Gerüche nach Schweiß und Stolz und Tränen; es war eine unbestimmte und doch übermächtige Atmosphäre, und sie bescherte ihnen eine Intimität, die sich keiner von beiden wünschte.
„Dieser ganze Krempel“, sagte Ortiz sinnierend. „Und doch ist es ein Geschäft. Solide Sache, oh, wirklich solide Sache – ein eigenes Geschäft. Mit Akten und Büchern und Papieren, alles schwarz auf weiß fixiert. Euereins macht es richtig, wie ihr das immer hinkriegt, egal, was ist.“ (Seite 38/39)
Sol Nazerman trägt seine Häftlingsnummer aus einem deutschen KZ sichtbar auf den Unterarm tätowiert. In Spanisch Harlem, wo er ein bescheidenes Pfandhaus betreibt, kann man nicht von jedem Kunden erwarten, dass er die Bedeutung dieser Ziffern kennt. Vielleicht ist das für Sol auch besser so. Seine Erlebnisse und der Verlust seiner Frau und seiner Kinder sind unaussprechbar, seine Alpträume vermutlich nur ein schwaches Abbild des Erlebten. Als Opfer medizinischer Versuche an Häftlingen wirkt der Mann so, als hätte man ihm die Knochen gebrochen und in falscher Reihenfolge wieder zusammengesetzt. Sol hat sich arrangiert mit Murillio, einem Mafioso, der das Pfandhaus als Scheinfirma zur Geldwäsche nutzt. Murillio gehören vermutlich alle Läden und Bordelle der Straße. Sols Kunden sind kleine Diebe, Schnorrer und Prostituierte, die bei ihren Freiern kleine Wertgegenstände mitgehen lassen und für ein oder zwei Dollar verpfänden. Sol verdient gut und finanziert auch den Lebensunterhalt seiner Schwester und deren Familie.
Innerlich ist der Mann längst gestorben, möchte am liebsten in Ruhe gelassen werden mit den Schicksalen seiner Kunden und von den Ansprüchen seiner Verwandtschaft. Doch so einfach ist das nicht; denn eine Reihe von Personen erwartet noch etwas von Sol. Eigenartige Vorfälle könnten einen auf die Idee bringen, dass jemand von Sol Schutzgeld erpressen will und dass Murillio Testkäufer losschickt, um Sols Treue ihm gegenüber auf die Probe zu stellen. Jesus Ortiz, Sols Angestellter, träumt von einem eigenen Geschäft mit seinem Namen über der Tür und benötigt dazu Sols ausgezeichnete Fachkenntnisse. Das Geschäftsgeheimnis jüdischer Händler ist Ortiz noch immer ein Buch mit sieben Siegeln. Eine Frau tauscht bei Sol Sex gegen Geld, um sich und ihren Vater durchzubringen – und zu Hause interessiert sich Sol dann doch ein winziges Stück für seinen zeichnenden Neffen. In dieser zutiefst deprimierenden Situation taucht, rundlich und frisch wie ein gemangeltes Kleidungsstück, eine Miss Birchfield bei Sol auf. Sie will zunächst Unterstützung für ihr Jugendzentrum und entwickelt bald ein Interesse an Sol, das für den gebrochenen Mann nur wie eine weitere Last wirkt.
Sols Schicksal legt sich wie eine staubige, erstickende Decke über den Leser, unter der dennoch atmosphärisch großartige Beschreibungen und stilistische Perlen hervorragen. Ein verblüffendes Ende kann schließlich die deprimierende Atmosphäre abschütteln. Stilistisch ist es eines der besten Bücher, das ich in diesem Jahr gelesen habe. Über 50 Jahre Warten auf die Übersetzung haben sich hier gelohnt.
Zitat
„Obwohl die Lampen brannten, war es schummrig im Laden. Draußen tauchte die Abendsonne die Straße in ein Goldbad, in dem sich die Passanten wie dunkle Schwimmer bewegten, ohne Hast und Zielstrebigkeit. Gemeinsam mit seinem Gehilfen atmete er den Staub der durch eine Vielzahl von Händen gegangene Waren ein, die vorstellbaren Gerüche nach Schweiß und Stolz und Tränen; es war eine unbestimmte und doch übermächtige Atmosphäre, und sie bescherte ihnen eine Intimität, die sich keiner von beiden wünschte.
„Dieser ganze Krempel“, sagte Ortiz sinnierend. „Und doch ist es ein Geschäft. Solide Sache, oh, wirklich solide Sache – ein eigenes Geschäft. Mit Akten und Büchern und Papieren, alles schwarz auf weiß fixiert. Euereins macht es richtig, wie ihr das immer hinkriegt, egal, was ist.“ (Seite 38/39)
May 18, 2016
Past That by a Million Years
Dara Horn's impassioned introduction to this reprint of Wallant's 1961 novel hails it as a masterpiece, putting what she calls a flood of later bad Holocaust novels into the shade, and placing the author in what would have been the same league as Saul Bellow and Philip Roth, had he not died of an aneurysm at the age of 36, a year after this novel was published. Is such praise an overstatement? I found it a tough, uncompromising book, grim and difficult to read, but with undoubted integrity. I was surprised to find how little of a Holocaust novel it is, focusing on the trauma of a Holocaust survivor rather than the story of the camps or the gradual process of attrition that lead there, although the comparatively few flashbacks are certainly graphic enough. And I have to say that I found the novel too monochromatic, too limited in scope, to compete with the vast imaginative worlds of either Bellow or Roth, or for that matter Dara Horn herself.
Sol Nazerman, a former university lecturer, has survived Bergen-Belsen and now runs a pawnshop in Harlem, earning a living from the sad reversals of his mostly black neighbors. A better living, actually, than the store itself might be expected to produce, as he has accepted one of those unrefusable offers to run the store as a money-laundering front for a Mafia boss. But he continues his job, doggedly denying his clients the money they think their goods are worth, but lending them something nonetheless. He works with a young dark-skinned Latino called Jesus Ortiz, who believes that he will teach him the Jewish secret to success in business. What the young man does not realize, in his zest for life, is that this is a job that can be endured only by the already-dead, someone who has seen humanity at its worst, and now refuses to acknowledge any deeper feelings.
Over the course of the book, nonetheless, chinks begin to appear in Sol's defenses. He comes to distrust the source of the money he is laundering. A group of men in league with Ortiz seem to be casing the premises for a heist. And Sol himself finds himself drawn to a social worker, Marilyn Birchfield, who offers him friendship. Yet he runs a mile from any suggestion of romance. When Marilyn hopes to wean him off his understandable bitterness, he replies "Bitterness? I am past that by a million years." He does enjoy a couple of outings with her, but his rejection is even stronger: he tells her that in loving him, "you would be guilty of necrophilia. It is obscene to love the dead." And when the woman he does see from time to time worries about her dying father, he tells her: "Imagine yourself a cow in a fenced place with a dozen other cows. Don't think, don't feel. Soon enough will come the ax."
Dara Horn warns us against looking for much humanity, let alone uplift or redemption. But I disagree; there was just a glimmer. And that glimmer was the only thing that made it possible to read through to the end. [3.5 stars, rounded up]
Dara Horn's impassioned introduction to this reprint of Wallant's 1961 novel hails it as a masterpiece, putting what she calls a flood of later bad Holocaust novels into the shade, and placing the author in what would have been the same league as Saul Bellow and Philip Roth, had he not died of an aneurysm at the age of 36, a year after this novel was published. Is such praise an overstatement? I found it a tough, uncompromising book, grim and difficult to read, but with undoubted integrity. I was surprised to find how little of a Holocaust novel it is, focusing on the trauma of a Holocaust survivor rather than the story of the camps or the gradual process of attrition that lead there, although the comparatively few flashbacks are certainly graphic enough. And I have to say that I found the novel too monochromatic, too limited in scope, to compete with the vast imaginative worlds of either Bellow or Roth, or for that matter Dara Horn herself.
Sol Nazerman, a former university lecturer, has survived Bergen-Belsen and now runs a pawnshop in Harlem, earning a living from the sad reversals of his mostly black neighbors. A better living, actually, than the store itself might be expected to produce, as he has accepted one of those unrefusable offers to run the store as a money-laundering front for a Mafia boss. But he continues his job, doggedly denying his clients the money they think their goods are worth, but lending them something nonetheless. He works with a young dark-skinned Latino called Jesus Ortiz, who believes that he will teach him the Jewish secret to success in business. What the young man does not realize, in his zest for life, is that this is a job that can be endured only by the already-dead, someone who has seen humanity at its worst, and now refuses to acknowledge any deeper feelings.
Over the course of the book, nonetheless, chinks begin to appear in Sol's defenses. He comes to distrust the source of the money he is laundering. A group of men in league with Ortiz seem to be casing the premises for a heist. And Sol himself finds himself drawn to a social worker, Marilyn Birchfield, who offers him friendship. Yet he runs a mile from any suggestion of romance. When Marilyn hopes to wean him off his understandable bitterness, he replies "Bitterness? I am past that by a million years." He does enjoy a couple of outings with her, but his rejection is even stronger: he tells her that in loving him, "you would be guilty of necrophilia. It is obscene to love the dead." And when the woman he does see from time to time worries about her dying father, he tells her: "Imagine yourself a cow in a fenced place with a dozen other cows. Don't think, don't feel. Soon enough will come the ax."
Dara Horn warns us against looking for much humanity, let alone uplift or redemption. But I disagree; there was just a glimmer. And that glimmer was the only thing that made it possible to read through to the end. [3.5 stars, rounded up]
January 13, 2018
A relentlessly overblown and pretentious style, with sentences that frequently make you just stare at the page for a few seconds, before finally shaking your head and moving on (relegating them back to the murk). But the characters are strong, and the guy has a nice ear for dialogue. This one definitely looks like it could've been freed of about a quarter of its bulk by some enterprising editor (back in the days when editors still actually edited). It reminds me of Judith Merril's Shadow on the Hearth in that regard (although for different reasons); if only someone had taken a blue pencil to those works, they both would've benefited greatly.
February 26, 2022
The Pawnbroker is considered a classic, in part because it was among the first novels to address what we'd later identify as PTSD in Holocaust survivors. Here, Sol Nazerman tries to drag himself through every day of his new, empty life as a pawnbroker in Harlem after losing everything. It's an interesting character study, but there is no mystery about why Sol is so miserable, and while it achieves a certain level of what might be called poetry of despair, it frequently goes over the top.
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