New Book for Review: Literary Fiction ‘Too Jewish’ by Patty Friedmann

Too Jewish Kindle Patty Friedmann is touring in June 2011 with her literary fiction novel, Too Jewish.

When young, brainy Bernie Cooper escapes the Nazis and ends up in New Orleans, he thinks at first that he’s landed softly, almost immediately finding love with Letty, not only a nice Jewish girl, but fifth-generation Southern upper crust. But suddenly, snobberies he couldn’t even have guessed at are set in motion. It seems Letty’s prominent Jewish parents hate him for being…too Jewish!

EXCERPT FROM FIRST CHAPTER

I wasn’t stopped. I wasn’t questioned at the station. I wasn’t bothered on the train. I was in a compartment with five other people, and I knew the couple across from me was Jewish. This is not a good thing to admit, I suppose, but it is easy to identify Jews. In part it is physiognomy. I apologize for that. I apologize more for taking advantage of the neutrality of my appearance while I was in Stuttgart. It probably did me no good, walking around looking like an overripe member of Hitlerjugend, but inside I had no fear in the streets, and for that I was grateful. In school my appearance did no good, of course, because identity is documented on papers. Having the name Kuper, which sounded like nothing in particular, didn’t help in school. I was a Jew, and I was beaten by other boys.
The couple in the train compartment saw me as an Aryan on holiday. So did the three other travelers with us. They were three businessmen who clearly were together. Older men, too old for the German army. I had nothing to do. My seat was the farthest from the window. The window was wasted on the businessmen. They were too busy talking to enjoy looking out. I could gaze past them into the distance, but that would have been rude. Besides, I was a sophisticate, a young man who traveled for pleasure. Why would I want to see the outskirts of Stuttgart? Or the countryside, dry and colorless as the seasons had not changed yet?
Paris was seven hours, but the French border was only two. I was expecting a transformation at the French border, as if suddenly I would become a carefree French speaker once the train made its crossing. I could be bored for two hours. I could make myself think of nothing for two hours. My mother came to mind. I made myself think of nothing. She came to mind again, so I thought of Axel. I thought of Park Avenue. The man and woman across from me said nothing. They looked past me. I dozed off, and the train had come to a stop.
Karlsruhe.
We still were in Germany. The men in our compartment did not excuse themselves as they stepped over us. All of them were leaving in Karlsruhe. No one else came onto the train, and after we pulled out of the station, I caught the man’s eye and said, “Jude,” in a whisper. Jew. His neutral expression turned to horror.
“Oh,” I said. Then I pointed at myself. The woman let me look her in the eye. But she didn’t smile. She didn’t trust me. I didn’t know why I trusted them, except that I was completely certain I could recognize a Jew on sight. I thought about pulling my passport from my pocket and showing them the “J” on it. But the ride to the French border was short. I didn’t need to prove anything that very second. Once we were across, we could talk. We could express our relief.
When the train came to a halt, it was not rail personnel who came to the compartment but an SS officer. I was accustomed to SS officers. I didn’t flinch. “Raus!” he said. The English meaning of that word is “out,” but in German it means so much more. It makes a person jump. Germans say it to their children, and their children learn to jump and run. I stood up, bumping into my compartment mates as we pushed to the exit. “Juden?” the officer said. None of us said a word. He asked for our passports. The gentleman handed over their passports, and as he did so, I carefully slipped one of the gold coins out of my left shoe. My socks were damp and made it difficult to reach down, but some power inside me made my fingers nimble and fast, and I palmed the coin. I felt where the other coin was, just in case. The ring was nestled down in the toe of my other shoe. It wasn’t coming out unless I had a gun to my head. That didn’t seem to be what was going to happen. This officer was no older than I was. He was frightened of himself. When he pushed the man and woman out farther, I told him to wait, that surely there was some misunderstanding. He asked for my passport. Instead I slipped him the coin. “They’re my parents,” I said. “I don’t think so,” he said. He turned and walked away, pushing the woman roughly down the passageway. Their baggage was still in the overhead rack. I considered my other coin. They hadn’t smiled at me. They hadn’t believed me.
Until I saw Axel, I did not allow anyone in any crowd or small space to be an individual to me.

313 pages

You can visit her website at www.pattyfriedmann.com.

Please Note: Too Jewish  is only available in electronic format for review.

If you would like to review Too Jewish, email us by clicking here or email Dorothy Thompson at thewriterslife@yahoo.com. Deadline for inquiries end May 25 or until the tour is filled. Thank you!


Leave a Reply