Nuremberg Tour 10

Due to the vagaries of the evening bus schedule, I arrive at JCC almost thirty minutes before course time. I settle in with Haaretz Daily, read about the Histadruth being raked over the coals. Why? Perceived racism. Workplaces with mostly white Jews allegedly get better union representation that workplaces with mostly Oriental Jews. I sigh, don't really wish to be a part of all that.
My mind wanders to Ariel. I really should dump him. Why? What if we were married? How on earth does one do research day after day showing how bad Germans are, then return to an Aryan-looking spouse? At some point, you lose control, rationality, for even a minute, commit homicide.
Ariel's sister Naomi sits, cheerful tone, "so how's class going?".
"I so lack any talent."
This seems to please her, "so you are very modernized?"
"Not really, the two aren't linked mostly. One can be, like me, language inept, yet Guyana style of old-fashioned."
"So you and Ariel are still an item for coffee?"
"An item, no; coffee, yes."
She sighs, "I know exactly what you mean. So caught up in his little world, he doesn't even really live in this century. If you were more modern, I was even thinking of asking you to well dress up nice and maybe wake him up. But I guess that's out."
I nod.
"Any suggestions Rachel, what to do about him?"
"Naomi, he desperately needs to switch topics, at least some. There are far more edifying periods available to study."
"I hear you, the Black Plagues would be an improvement."
We both laugh.
"Father says the way to slow him a bit is vacation, plans on buying a package deal for his birthday present."
"Not to Israel, I hope."
She laughs, "I agree, would only make it worse. Dad thinks maybe Mexico, you know relaxed manana atmosphere."
"I wish your family all the best in it."
"Huge contradiction, we just don't understand. Rest of us, so completely modern, western, secular; him, so old style Jewish."
I nod.
"Rumor is true? You aced the radar exam?"
"It's true."
"That is one savage meat-grinder, brutal assault on one's math and sci abilities. Did you know only two in a thousand pass?"
"News to me."
"You have a duty. Anyone with talent like that, should not waste it ..."
I'm saved by the bell, class time.
After class, I must wait a bit for the bus. I pick up Haaretz again. Several pages later, guess who's smiling face? Half page write up on his literary career. Promise of the delights to come in his in-process book.
I groan inwardly. Any chance of him slowing down has just vanished down the toilet. Fame does that to a person. You become ever more driven in whatever narrow specialty. Once you are famous, becomes almost impossible to find a balanced life.
I show the article to Naomi. She groans, loudly, "my God, now it's like a runaway locomotive."
Canada has two national dailies. Globe and Mail is vaguely left, vaguely pro-Palestinian, but without any real energy to either. National Post draws harder lines. Nothing vague about their right of center stance or their almost rabid pro-Israeli editorial line.
Two days later, with Haaretz permission, National Post reprints, complete with their heartfelt apology to readers for hitherto missing a rising young Israeli celebrity.
Globe and Mail one ups them. They reprint with permission, but comment it is in response to reader feedback, seeking balanced reporting. They promise to allow the same page space to each side.
The immediate effect is a tidal wave of demand for Ariel's books. Hitherto, he was only known to Canadian Jewish sub-culture, Canadian Israeli sub-sub-culture. Now he belongs to mainstream Canada. Everyone with literacy level of high school and higher, (except for Muslims), just has to get their hands on one of his books.
As for coffee, he simply doesn't have time for penny ante little people like me anymore. Off on a book tour, weekends only, around his academic schedule.
Within three months, the bubble has burst. He is passe, a has been. There is a reason Jews have been tolerating his pedantic run on sentences. They read for content, story line, not style.
Non-Jews, well they are a little more demanding. They have the sheer effrontery to actually expect to be - gasp - entertained as well as educated with a historical novel. Nobody non-Jewish ever buys a second book.
He is even compared, in uncharitable book reviews, to the style of Solzenhitzen's Gulag Archipelago. To any of you gentle readers who may have chosen to forgo that experience, I will give my opinion. Solzenhitzen would have done a bang up public relations job had he kept it to say 200 pages. But he indulged in overkill, as so many Russians do. His book first shocks, then annoys, then merely numbs and bores you to death. Yes, even horror eventually becomes boring. It's like crossing the Gobi Desert during the hot season. I doubt if one non-Russian in a hundred has made the full journey.
I have, I've been all the way through Gulag Archipelago and through one of Ariel's. And oh yes, it is a perfectly valid comparison. As far as the non-Jewish world is concerned, Ariel is toast.
He invites me for coffee, looks hugely different. Gone is that driven energy. I know in my heart of hearts that Farzana is right. One day, he will end it.
I can even tell you why. He may be rich, he is certainly famous, but he views himself and his cause as a failure.
I actually get a chance to speak, tell of my desire to write on Guyana and why.
I am really mega hurt by his reaction: too light and airy fairy, not scholarly enough, too chick lit, too simplistic, totally unworthy ...
Blinded by tears, I exit the coffee house, vowing never to see that roach again.
By next morning my virulent hatred of him has been transformed. Now I know the true importance of my project. He alienated people by talking down to them. I plan on being friendly, informal, invite you along for a Guyanese story filled with basically lovable and humorous people. I'll forgo any arch-villains or heavy duty plot. Just a fun look at a society that works remarkably well.
Only way you can get the outside world to listen. Take his approach, it's like the minister who ends up preaching to the choir.
The university library proves a treasure trove, as do internet archives of the Guyana Chronicle newspaper and Guyana government. I am actually in the luxury position of so much information, I'll have to discard some. Far better than the opposite of not enough and desperately scratching.
Farzana looks at me amused, "so little one, dreamed up a pen name yet?"
"Why bother?"
"Grow up kid, act your age and admit you're a Jew. Do I hafta spell it out in oversimplistic terms? Are you that naive? Jews write on Jewish topics, get published by Jewish publishers. What Gentile would publish a Jewish story? What Jew would publish a Gentile story?"
"OK."
"Look, pick a name, check the web to see you aren't unknowingly using a famous person's name. People aren't being anti-Semitic. It's just there is a huge glut of books struggling for the buyer's attention. I read a magazine article on the book trade. You have 1.8 seconds to grab people's attention with the cover illustration or they don't read the summary."
I groan inwardly, but know she's right.
"Take that floral green dress and a wide straw hat. Perfect for the photo. Let's call up something."
A moment later, we both stare in morbid fascination. The defence minister looks a way too much like me.
"Belay the idea of a photo. If the publisher insists, keep it as small and obscure as possible."
I nod.
"I have two brothers who would happily track you to the ends of the earth, kill you."
I gasp.
"That's how close it hits to home. But not to worry, both are over there, engaged in the struggle."
"Amazing how much contrast in siblings!" I assert.
"Don't get me started little one. I could tell you stories would curl your hair. Best just drop it."