Final Chosen Post

Silence teaches compassion. Danny is raised in total silence. Except for the study of Talmud, Reb Saunders does not address Danny, unless he explodes at him during a mealtime. For the majority of the book, Reuven detests Reb Saunders' silence, and his father does not understand it well enough as a method of raising a child to explain it to his son. When Reuven's father goes into the hospital, there is a silence in Reuven's house, now (See Chosen #3 for details on close reading). However, the outcome of this scenario is the Reuven gives a long lecture to his Talmud class, and his teacher reveals to him that he is living in an ideological lie: he believes in certain liberal, rebellious ways to interpret the Talmud, but the institution for which he works does not allow such practices, "you must not use this method in my class" (253). As a result of this silence, Reuven learns about a dark side that his teacher has. Reb Saunders wants his son to become a tzadik (a righteous man), and so he raises him in silence, "'That man is such an ignoramus, Father.' I was angry. 'Look into your soul and see the world through his eyes ... In the silence between us, he began to hear the world crying'" (286). Though this is stated explicitly, it is so profoundly against the reader's beliefs about how a father should raise his son, that is seems totally out of context, the exact opposite of what Potok is trying to say. However, in the end, David Malter asks him, "'Danny,' he said softly, 'when you have a son of your own, will you raise him in silence?' ... 'Yes,' he said. 'If I can't find another way," and so the reader sees that Danny himself, who used to constantly complain and underwent great agony as a result of his father's silence, proscribes a potential similar treatment his own son (290). Further, Mr. Malter, Reuven's father, is a good listener, but he does not raise his child in silence. In fact, he oft condemns Reb Saunders. And thus, the theme of silence teaching compassion and Potok's viewpoint on it are not clear.

There's an interesting contrast, as well, between sight and hearing, both of which are motifs. Reuven almost loses his sight in one eye, Billy is blind, and Danny and Reuven communicate with their eyes when they cannot speak. Danny and Reuven both experience silent households at some point, as well.  It's interesting--most people say that eyes are the window into the soul, but it appears that Potok advocates for silence being that window. However, the eyes are not to disregarded; they carry immense meaning (see Chosen #2 for details galore). Perhaps there is some reconciliation between the eyes and the ears, some contrast and connection. But I have not yet uncovered this connection. But this speaks to my diligence as a close reader; I'm not going to pull something from outside the text to explain something I don't understand. Instead, I would have to reread this book to garner its full meaning and find a plausible connection between the merits and intricacies between sight and sound.

Lastly, I would highly recommend this book. A friend told me it changed her life, and she's not even Jewish (if you read this, you'll see what kind of determination she must have had to decode all the Jewish terminology). I like to think of sentences are molecules. Potok's sentences are good, but the interactions between sentences are stellar (like water, which is a mundane molecule with extraordinary intermolecular behavior). There is a flow to his work that made the single-spaced pages feel much too short. The boys, Danny and Reuven, have a friendship that almost mimics Moses and the son of Pharaoh's, and that intertextuality is very neat to explore. Further, the book concentrates itself in a very happening historical period, and as such, all the actions are surrounded by true events (what would O'Brien say? Yikes...). Anyhow, the events are educational about the founding of the Jewish state and the Holocaust, but they also provide a somewhat symbolic, very much captivating setting for the story. Also, the symbolism and the Foster-isms abound, and they are so expertly woven into the book. Though they're not hard to find, they're hard to explain which makes this a great choice for anyone who likes a low-preparation book that yields a robust discussion. It's also intensely emotional. I cried at the end of the book, and I have no shame about that. I was practically helpless, it was written so well. It's a must-read.

Chosen #3

Francine Prose describes her reading experience as, "pondering each deceptively minor decision the writer had made," and this philosophy has really come alive with me in The Chosen by Chaim Potok (3). In the book, I started to examine every word and idea as if it had to "stand on trial for its life," to, again, quote Prose. In the beginning, there was nothing, just a blank page. And every single word that made its way onto the page had to pass a "purpose" test. When the purpose of the word isn't blatantly obvious, to advance the plot or contribute to a character, then it begs to be examined. When Reuven's dad leaves the house because of his second heart attack, I noticed "the total silence in the apartment was impossible for me to take" (243). Just as Danny Saunders had been raised in silence, Reuven was now experiencing it, and it was hard for him to swallow. But what's interesting is that Reuven's capacity in his school work improves, especially in Talmud class, to a level of Danny's ability. "It is a joy to listen to you," Rev Gershenson tells Reuven after a four day explanation of a difficult text (253). The syllogism seems to be: quiet house, extraordinary Talmud student. Though a small detail, it roped me into a much bigger picture, one full of alternate meanings for silence and the effect it has on the mind.

Vladimir Nabokov speaks to a much different facet of reading: our emotional devotion to the characters. He advices, "We ought to remain a little aloof" (3). At the end of the book, it was quite hard for me to stay aloof. "I went over to him and put my hand on his shoulder and felt him trembling and crying," that's not an easy sentence to remain aloof to, especially considering the history that Danny and Reuven share (288). From the beginning of the book, they are enemies, and in the end, they love each other. However, I stopped when I got to this part. I started to identify with one of the characters, but I stopped myself short. I actually said to myself, "Jordan, Nabokov would not approve." And I continued reading from that quoted sentence forward, not feeling much of a resemblance between myself and Reuven and Danny. Also, I remained aloof at the beginning, when Danny admits to wanting to "open your head with my bat" (67). Though his passage initially made me quite angry -- after all, Danny had come to apologize, no? -- but I controlled myself. And look at where it took me. In the end of the book, Danny and Reuven have perhaps the most relatable, sweetest, most genuine, and best intentioned friendship I have ever seen.

The Chosen #2

The Chosen by Chaim Potok incorporates no literary symbols better than sickness and eyes. Nearly everyone, at some point, gets sick.  His father looks ill when he comes to check on Reuven in the hospital, "'I hate that Danny Saunders for this. He's making you sick,'" and David Malter takes on two more instances of illness, once when he hears about Roosevelt's death, "his face ashen, his cheeks hollow, looking as he did when he visited me in the hospital," and he later gets a heart attack, "two days later, he suffered a heart attack" (49, 187, 192). This heart attack is peculiar -- it comes not two weeks after the news of the death toll from the Holocaust. It's interesting, David Malter has a heart attack, and Reb Saunders "would suddenly begin to cry," which gets back at the contrast between sickness and the heart and the eyes (193). Danny Saunders gets the flu, "Danny caught the flu in the last week of March and was in bed for more than a week," and he later contracts bronchitis, "Danny returned to school in the first week of April, apparently too soon, for he was back in bed two days later with bronchitis" (185, 185). His mom has a "heart condition," but she seems sweet enough and unimportant enough that I have no conclusions to draw (193). Danny's brother is also an invalid, and they discuss his sickness briefly, as well, "I was really concerned about his health," and he is often portrayed playing with food instead of eating it (201). In fact, the characters that Reuven gets to know while he's in the hospital, Mr. Savo and Billy are also sick. In the beginning of the book, Reuven is in the hospital as he recovers from the injury to his eye, caused by the shattered glass of his glasses that got lodged up there. Dr. Syndman lectures him that "'An eye is not thing to stop a ball with, young man'" (36). All of the sickness, at least according to Foster, shows an emotional heartache, but since humans think of physical sickness as worse than emotional plight, it yields a stronger sense of sympathy from the reader. However, that example with Danny's eye segues nicely into the other portrayed symbol: eyes. Blindness, in particular, is almost omnipresent. Reuven's incident with the baseball almost leads to scar tissue covering his eye, "'the scar tissue can grow over the pupil," but it doesn't, "I was fine, it had healed perfectly" (48, 171). his neighbor in the hospital, Billy, is blind, "I heard the blind boy ask me, and I turned to look at him"  (43). There are references to blinking, eyes, tears, and blindness layered throughout the book: "blinked," "the eye's out," "I opened my eyes," "Both Danny's and Billy's eyes are blue. But one set of eyes is blind," "the eyes dark, with pinpoints of white light playing in them," "They all seemed to be staring at Danny," "'Crazy world. Cockeyed,'" "was almost in tears," "he blinked again," "'His eyes are just plain bad, that's all.' 'Your eyes look bloodshot'"  (48, 91, 152, 114, 125, 135, 173, 185, 191, 200). They say eyes are windows in the soul, so let's see if that fits. Reuven was almost blinded by his hatred after the accident, but he forgave Danny so he can see. Danny's little brother is an invalid, and so his eyes don't work, period. Mr. Savo, who seems to have extensive knowledge about the world, describes the world as cockeyed. As Danny learns more and more disturbing topics, Freud, his eyes become more bloodshot. Reb Saunders' eyes are black with a dot of white; he is an austere man, but he has a pure core. I think that this analogy works. Potok foreshadows a character's traits via their eyes, and this gives the reader quite a visceral understanding of the characters about whom he reads. In fact, I think this subconscious understanding is stronger than anything blatant Potok could have stated about the character. "Show, don't tell."

The Chosen #1

The Chosen by Chaim Potok examines an accident that occurs when Reuven Malter is playing baseball against a boy named Danny Saunders. Reuven is pitching, and he throws two curve balls which fool Danny who becomes more and more heated. Finally, Danny smashes a fastball right into Reuven's glasses; the glasses break, and a shard of glass gets wedged in Reuven's eye. At the hospital, Mrs. Carpenter places him in a bed between a blind boy, Billy, and an ex-prizefighter, Mr. Savo. These two characters mimic the archetypical devil and angel that flank characters' shoulders, influencing them toward both good and bad. Mr. Savo gets in trouble for playing catch with a younger patron, "He tossed it lightly back to the boy ... 'Mr. Savo, you are simply impossible,'" and he  overuses the word "clopping," saying things like "It's D-Day, Bobby boy. We're clopping them good," or "A clop in the head is a rough business. I went four once and got clopped in head," for example.  (58, 55, 39). These references to mischief and violence augment the argument that he represents the Yetzer Ha'Ra (a Jewish term for the darker, sinful part of a human). In complete contrast, the blind boy on Reuven's left, Billy, embodies the Yetzer Ha'Tov (the good part of human's dualistic nature). Thomas Foster's How to Read Literature like a Professor teaches that blindness usually stands for a kind of emotional, social, or otherwise unawareness. One possible interpretation of this is ignorance of the sin and wrongdoing in the world, and as such, Billy represents an innocent, purely good child. His physicality corroborates this: "He had light blond hair and a fine face, a beautiful face" (40). He thinks that at fifteen, Reuven is a grown-up, "'Robert's a grown-up name, isn't it? How old are you?' 'Fifteen.' 'That's grown up.'" (44). This incorrect evaluation of Reuven's maturity shows his naivety. Perhaps it's not that Mr. Savo is bad and Billy is good; rather, Mr. Savo represents the body and being grounded while Billy manifests a more spiritual, lofty aspect of human nature. But dichotomy does not stop with Mr. Savo and Billy. The most notable source of the duality of disposition comes from Danny Saunders, the injurer. Though he "aimed at me [Reuven] deliberately," Reuven is "surprised at how happy I was to see him [Danny Saunders]" when he comes to the hospital ward to visit (49, 66). It appears that Saunders has double intentions: hurt Reuven and invest time in his recovery. Or perhaps this is simply a change of heart as a result of a regretfulness that falls over Danny. This could be the start of trail to one of Potok's themes. I am not entirely sure what theme it could be leading to, nor am I sure of how to detect a theme, but the trends beg to be noticed.