Asher

I recently finished My Name is Asher Lev, which is not the sort of book that I normally enjoy. It tells the story of a young Jewish man who feels compelled to be a painter against the wishes of his father, family, community, and self.

Perhaps the reason that I liked it as much as I did (possibly the only reason that we like any story) is that I identified with Asher. Asher does not seem to express himself easily, or rather he chooses not to express himself because he knows that others cannot understand. When someone in the book talks there is no indication of the emotion expressed. No retorted’s, no whispered’s, often not even a said to indicate the tone of voice. This proved a very effective device since it allows the reader to fill in the emotions according to their own experience and perception of reality.

To me Asher and his family did not yell. They say things without expressing the true feelings inside—almost monotone. One has to read between the lines to understand how they actually feel. One must listen to what was said, and what wasn’t, in order to guess what they are thinking rather than judging from body language and tone. Sometimes I do this, half on purpose, and half by habit. I identify with Asher for this reason as well as his ultimately vain, internal struggle to please those around him and to be a good boy. Then again who hasn’t felt that way?