Winner, 2012 Prix Médicis étranger
Winner, 2012 Prix du Meilleur Livre Étranger
A New York Times Book Review Editor's Choice
"[Yehoshua] achieves an autumnal tone as he ruminates on memory’s slippery hold on life and on art."—The New Yorker
"Yehoshua’s prose penetrated to a level of psychological understanding that moved me deeply. . . [His] stories remind us that Israeli literature rightly joins the literature of those other cultures that have earned the right to make of ordinary lives a metaphor for such soul-destroying weariness."—Vivian Gornick, The Nation
"An ambitious, engrossing, playfully testamentary novel."—Moment
"A pure pleasure. . . Yehoshua's best book in years."—Maariv (Israel)
"Genius. . . In The Retrospective, Yehoshua evokes the complexities of growing old — for men and women, and for a country that is no longer fledgling — and the entrapments of regrets and broken memories that make it hard to part 'from what might have been but was not.'"—Jewish Daily Forward
"Yehoshua is concerned with the inadequacies in our quotidian sense of history, our inability to comprehend its violent grandeur. Though the history he has in mind may be Jewish and Israeli, the final words of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man may apply: 'Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?'"—Robert Pinsky, New York Times Book Review
"The Retrospective is intelligent, sensitive fiction . . . In his inimitable style, Yehoshua crafts a powerful and engaging allegory of modern Israeli Jewish identity. "—Haaretz
"Yehoshua delivers a stunning explanation of the ethics of art. . . A fluid and absorbing novel of ideas; highly recommended."—Library Journal, starred review
"A truly international book, a serious set of reflections about coming to terms with the past—with a surprising ending. . . His recent novels have a wonderful restraint, an increasingly elegiac feel."—Jewish Chronicle
"Yehoshua's intelligent and refined novel. . . about an aging Israeli director reviewing both his films and his life. . . recalls once again Faulkner's famous dictum that 'the past isn't dead. It isn't even past.'"—Kirkus, starred review
"With beautiful wordsmanship, Yehoshua entangles dignity and humiliation, repugnance and rapture, showing us how difficult they become to distinguish."—Booklist
"A compelling meditation on art, memory, love, guilt… A hugely pleasurable read, it shows that in his seventies, A. B. Yehoshua is still producing some of his best work."—Independent (UK)
"Fascinating. . . Beautiful."—Ha'ir (Israel)
"Richly plotted."—Jewish Week
In Yehoshua’s thoughtful but plodding new novel (after Friendly Fire), elderly Israeli director Yair Moses is a placeholder for the prolific author in a narrative that examines a life’s work. The book begins with a retrospective of Moses’s early films that forces him to relive his collaboration with screenwriter Shaul Trigano. A hotel room painting reminds Yair of a scene from their final collaboration, in which a nursing mother was to breastfeed a beggar. Ruth, the film’s star and Shaul’s soul mate, refused to play the scene, and Moses backed her decision, ending his collaboration with Shaul, as well as Shaul’s relationship with Ruth, who would become Yair’s occasional lover. She attends the retrospective with him, but their relationship is difficult, and watching old work forces the past to the fore. In the book’s second part, Yair revisits the locations of those early films and concern over Ruth’s health causes him to seek out Shaul. Their reunion sends Yair on a surreal penitential mission. In interviews, Yehoshua has mentioned Faulkner as an influence, and it shows. Some sentences are daunting in length and indicate the self-indulgence of the work as a whole. The author’s insights into realism and surrealism, religiousness and secularism, and the creative process deserve greater exploration. Agent: Marc Koralnik, the Liepman Agency (Switzerland). (Mar. 5)
If you’re an author of a half-century’s standing with a stack of prizes to your name, you, too, might want to write a book that probes the responsibilities of the artist. What’s intriguing here is that Yehoshua (A Woman in Jerusalem) makes his central character a film director, facilitating reflections on time and memory while highlighting the complexities of interpretation. Yair Moses has traveled to Santiago de Compostela—symbolically, a pilgrimage city—for a retrospective of his work. With him is Ruth, his longtime leading lady and the former lover of Trigano, the brilliant but difficult screenwriter from whom Moses is now estranged. Above their bed is a rendering of the legend Caritas Romana, in which an elderly prisoner is nursed at the breast by his daughter, which recalls the reason for the traumatic split between director and screenwriter. Trigano had written a similar scene for Ruth that she balked at playing and was infuriated when Moses sided with Ruth. As the story unfolds, Trigano comes off as not just a purist but rigid and monomaniacal—until a final moment when Yehoshua delivers a stunning explanation of the ethics of art.
Verdict A fluid and absorbing novel of ideas; highly recommended. [See Prepub Alert, 9/17/12.]—Barbara Hoffert, Library Journal
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An elegant and graceful translation of Yehoshua's 2011 Hesed Sefaradi, a novel about an aging Israeli director reviewing both his films and his life. Yair Moses and his longtime companion, Ruth, are visiting Santiago de Compostela for a three-day retrospective of his long career. It's appropriate that the screenings be in Santiago, for Moses is also making a pilgrimage of sorts, viewing early work he hasn't seen for 40 years. Ruth was his major actress in these early films and at the time, was the lover of Trigano, a brilliant screenwriter and former student of Moses--though they had a falling out about a delicate scene in a film and for years have barely talked to each other. Much of the first part of the novel is taken up by Moses' complex and sometimes bewildered reaction to his films from the '60s, for in those films, he had an "absurdist" aesthetic that he'd later gotten away from. He's both bemused and perplexed to see his films dubbed in Spanish, a language he doesn't understand. He's also fascinated almost to the point of obsession by a painting in his hotel room, a 17th-century Dutch work depicting an ancient Roman story of Cimon being nursed by his daughter Pera, a scene eerily reminiscent of a segment he'd cut from an earlier movie, the very scene that caused the break between Moses and his screenwriter. Upon his return to Israel, Moses feels the need to get in touch with the prickly Trigano, who feels he's largely responsible for Moses' early success. Yehoshua's intelligent and refined novel recalls once again Faulkner's famous dictum that "the past isn't dead. It isn't even past."