Philip Roth
We all have twenty six alphabet in the English language and
we all have decent enough vocabulary, well, some more than others but the point
being that we can construct enough sentences to get by and navigate this labyrinth
called life. But what happens when these same tools in the form of words
acquire a life of their own when used by some people. These people whose
business it is to construct sentence after sentence, their words and lines
become a force of nature. At times, they give clarity and at times they project
a telescopic view to explain human condition.
Philip Roth has been at the vanguard of this special tribe. What
can I say about this great octogenarian American writer that has not been said before?
He has written 31 books and numerous articles over a career spanning more than
five decades. After his last book THE NEMESIS was published in 2010, he said in
an interview to Le Monde that he would be writing no more. What I found most astonishing
in that statement and the interview was the sheer humility of it all. Make no
mistake, Philip Roth is a royalty in American letters and as we know writers
and creative people usually have Himalayan egos (Salman Rushdie is a prime
example). But Philip Roth said that with THE NEMESIS, he’s reached the end of
the road and he has given his all to his writing and he has no more to give. And
boy! Has he given or what. From his first work, a collection of short stories
GOODBYE, COLUMBUS to THE NEMESIS, he as covered a big arc of variable themes of
American identity and the eventual betrayal of American ideals. His semi-autobiographical
tone, his constant meditation about old age and death and his provocative exploration
of Jewish identity are absolutely fascinating. The small towns of New Jersey
are not just an impersonal props but a lived reality in his works. He married
twice but it didn’t work out. His first wife died in a car crash in 1968 five
years after they separated. He doesn’t have children and to the best of my
knowledge, he lives alone in his apartment somewhere in Manhattan.
I can confidently speak for everybody when I say that we don’t
love America because of its muscular foreign policy, but because men like Philip
Roth live there.
