Rodinsky's Room

Rating:
Summary: Still no sign of Rodinsky!
Review: A thoroughly disappointing book! Both authors seem to have overlooked the obvious point that the world is full of sad, mad recluses poring over esoterica in their garrets, and that one is only more interesting than any other on account of their thought processes. While they hint that the room was full of his books and writings, these hardly feature in their text. Was Rodinsky just a substandard lexicographer or did he actually have some interesting insights. I am none the wiser for reading this book. Surely an exposition of his writing would have done far more to illuminate him than the discovery that he came to rest in a forgotten corner of the commuter belt. (Lichtenstein seems to think that how Rodinsky got from Whitechapel to Surrey is one of the great unsolved mysteries of our time - perhaps he got on the tube!) To her credit, she makes the disarming revelation three-quarters of the way through her text, that she lacks the background to analyse this material. This, and her entirely conventional description of her discovery of her Jewish roots, do not, however, do much to improve her book. At least one feels that she is sincere, so that her writing is actually more enjoyable than Sinclair's contrived and tired urban mythmaking. His idea that London's underworld/underground provides a mystical link with the past was an interesting one when it first emerged in the seventies. One nevertheless feels from reading his essays that he hasn't had any other bright ideas since then.

Rating:
Summary: A Little Too Much Authorial Intrusion
Review: David Rodinsky disappeared from his room at 19 Princelet Street, an old synagogue in London's Spitalfields in 1969 and was not thought about again until his room was reopened in 1980. Inside were papers and personal effects, notes and books in many languages, cabalistic diagrams and dictionaries. David Rodinsky, who had failed to attract much attention during the years of his disappearance, was now attracting the imagination of a number of people.

One of those attracted was Iain Sinclair, who wrote an article about Rodinsky called, "The Man Who Became a Room." Rodinsky, easily categorized as a recluse and a scholar, was, of necessity, reduced to all that was left of him, i.e., all that was found in his room. A young Jewish art student, Rachel Lichtenstein, who was researching the thesis she intended to write concerning the immigration of Jews to the East End, became entranced with Rodinsky's room, which by the 1990s had assumed near-mythic proportions. Lichtenstein, who became fascinated by what she found as well as by what she didn't find, spent many of the next years researching and piecing together the life of David Rodinsky.

In alternating chapters, Lichtenstein and Sinclair write their own stories and the story of David Rodinsky. Lichtenstein takes the more archaeological approach; Sinclair's chapters are more analytic. There is some overlap and the two approaches usually serve to compliment each other well.

Lichtenstein's story is the more personal one. She seems to be in search of her own identity as much as she seems to be in search of Rodinsky's. Born Rachel Laurence, she changed her name to that of her grandparents. An Englishwoman who is reclaiming her Jewish heritage, she looks upon Rodinsky as somewhat of a companion in her own quest.

Lichtenstein's efforts are impressive. She clearly sees Rodinsky, forgotten and ignored, as the symbol of London's forgotten Jewish history. An early scene in the book tells of Lichtenstein's efforts to rescue some of the more historically valuable books from Rodinsky's room.

Traveling to both Israel and Poland, Lichtenstein moves away from the mystery of Rodinsky and then draws closer to it again as she comes close to the shetl from which Rodinsky's family no doubt came.

A thorough researcher, Lichtenstein examines the mystery of David Rodinsky from every side. His books tell her that he was a scholar bordering on obsession, while his papers point to a sad, lonely and unexceptional existence. To her enormous credit, Lichtenstein avoids mythologizing Rodinsky and instead, presents all sides quite clearly, leaving the reader room to form his own interpretations.

At times, however, Lichtenstein is guilty of author intrusion as her own quest intrudes into the story she has set out to write. There are far too many sad and weepy scenes set in Poland, and, while we do not, for one second, doubt Lichtenstein's sincerity, her presentation seems a bit shallow and empty.

Sinclair's contributions are interesting and not at all intrusive. He follows Lichtenstein's progress while he comments and elaborates on it, but he also offers his own interpretation of Rodinsky and his room. His writing lacks the quality of personal quest so evident in Lichtenstein's, and, as such, it offers a perfect counterpoint to her more emotional narrative.

Lichetenstein's closure seems a little contrived and somewhat forced. Nevertheless, this is an interesting and engrossing book and David Rodinsky, wherever he is, will certainly be remembered as a fascinating piece of history. It is just too bad he could not be remembered as fascinating human being as well.

Rating:
Summary: Deceptively simple
Review: Gradually this story of one apparently fairly ordinary old Talmudic scholar and how he became emblematic of the diaspora
and then of the holocaust. Deceptively simple in the way the
story is slowly revealed, I found this one of the most moving books I have read in several years. Without any dramatic special effects, the authors make the mysterious occupant of Princelet
Street at once far less of a mystery and far more of a human being. This is a wonderful picture of Jewish immigration to London's East End, but it also helps us understand the kind of loss and sense of yearning which the immigrants from Eastern Europe brought with them into their new place of exile.
Anyone interested in Jewish life in London should read this.

Rating:
Summary: Deceptively simple
Review: Gradually this story of one apparently fairly ordinary old Talmudic scholar and how he became emblematic of the diaspora
and then of the holocaust. Deceptively simple in the way the
story is slowly revealed, I found this one of the most moving books I have read in several years. Without any dramatic special effects, the authors make the mysterious occupant of Princelet
Street at once far less of a mystery and far more of a human being. This is a wonderful picture of Jewish immigration to London's East End, but it also helps us understand the kind of loss and sense of yearning which the immigrants from Eastern Europe brought with them into their new place of exile.
Anyone interested in Jewish life in London should read this.

Rating:
Summary: The right story, the wrong storytellers
Review: Having lived in London, where I came to know the Spitalfields neighborhood where the book is set and heard much about the "urban legend" of David Rodinsky, I expected to enjoy this book. Reading Liechtenstein and Sinclair's evocative impressions of Spitalfields took me back, but otherwise "Rodinsky's Room" was a disappointment.

The perceptive reader senses the truth behind the mystery of David Rodinsky early on: Rodinsky was neither a genius nor a scholar, but a man of limited intelligence who lived most of his life with his protective, reclusive mother. After losing his mother, the sheltered Rodinsky couldn't make a life for himself in an unfamiliar world and was ultimately institutionalized. The authors find witnesses and documents who tell the truth about Rodinsky, but against all the evidence they dutifully record in the book the authors persist much too long in the belief that Rodinsky was some kind of inspired cabbalist mystic.

The Rodinsky story is an interesting one, but Liechtenstein and Sinclair are not the right authors to tell it. Sinclair veers between disjointed autobiographical ramblings (none of which bear any apparent relevance to Rodinsky) and repetitive efforts to psychoanalyze Liechtenstein, asking over and over, "Why is this woman so interested in David Rodinsky?" While she writes more coherently than Sinclair, Liechtenstein comes across as flighty, self-absorbed and ludicrously naive; the story of Liechtenstein's rediscovery of her Judaism, the real heart of the book, gets old very quickly. Also, one does not need to be a former Londoner to notice Liechtenstein's factual errors (many of which don't even involve London; for example, she places Massachusetts' Brandeis University in California), the large number of which led me to question the publisher's editorial competence.

Despite its many shortcomings, I can recommend "Rodinsky's Room" as a well-written memoir notwithstanding its content. However, readers looking to learn something about David Rodinsky's milieu - the disappearing Jewish East End - should look elsewhere.

Rating:
Summary: empty room, empty book?
Review: I had a hard time putting this book down -- it's fascinating to read. The alternation of voices (Sinclair's and Lichtenstein's) is very effective, and the story of the Spitalsfield neighborhood, as it emerges from these pages, is very moving. But part of the fascination lies in the skill with which the writers say so much about so little. Rodinsky himself remains a mystery, one that becomes increasingly less intriguing as the book goes on. Sinclair is a gifted writer whose rapid-fire style masks the lack of content. Lichtenstein never seems to realize that the average undergraduate would have completed her search (for Rodinsky) in a few days: go to the newspaper archives, check the city's death records, and when someone tells you which cemetery he is likely to be buried in, check it out right away instead of waiting for months and then waxing mystical when her adviser turns out to be right. As she and Sinclair both acknowlege, Lichtenstein's search for herself is the real subject of the book.

Rating:
Summary: A misunderstood (and misread) classic
Review: I just finished teaching *Rodinsky's Room* and was amazed to see the variety of misreadings posted here as reviews. Among the many contemporary works of historical recovery or revision, *Rodinsky* stands out because of its alternating -- and often warring -- authors, each of whom has a different purpose in recovering Rodinsky's history, as well as a different form and style through which to accomplish this recovery.

Sinclair, the experimental London novelist and essayist, draws on a pastiche of languages and approaches: the short, grotesque sentences of crime novels; classic gothic imagery of the uncanny; filmic montage and surrealist juxtaposition; gossip and rumor and arcane whispers. As he follows Lichtenstein's quest for Rodinsky's history, Sinclair questions traditional ways of fixing history that overexpose, erase, or create a fictional simulacrum of the past. While he is quite aware that his early writings on Rodinsky were the stuff of romantic urban legend, he is also insistant that heritage trusts and yuppie preservationists are no better than the City developers who want to erase the multiple layers of time sedimented in Spitalfields. The latter erase history, while the former use urban myths to increase property values.

Lichtenstein's style, while more straight-forward than Sinclair's, is comparable to Paul Auster: a clean, seemingly transparent surface, with a plot built on unexplainable coicidences. If Sinclair is obsessed with the Room as a set for his own fictional musings, Lichtenstein wants to demystify the room, unfix energy from a fetishistic attachment to Rodinsky's objects and redirect it onto the human story of David Rodinsky.

And to those reviewers who see Rodinsky as ultimately an ordinary man or a mentally disturbed recluse, I can only ask: did we read the same book? Rodinsky apparently taught himself several ancient languages, was at work on a treatise on the origins of language itself, definitely studied Kabbalah, and maintained himself in near obscurity in the closely-knit Jewish community of Spitalfields. Lichtenstein also debunks the mental illness theory: the behaviors that seemed "crazy" in London would have been totally normal in the Polish community of his grandparents. The very complexity of Rodinsky's identity is used to evoke the heterogeneity and brilliance of a Jewish immigrant community the history of which is currently elided in the pursuit of parking garages, office blocks, and silk weaver garrets.

Ultimately, *Rodinsky's Room* is thematically similar to works like Sebald's *The Emigrants* or Amitav Ghosh's *In an Antique Land*, works that explore the porous boundaries between fiction, history, and myth, works that seek to protect history without romanticizing it or cutting it off, museum-like, from the plurality of possible fictions.

Rating:
Summary: A misunderstood (and misread) classic
Review: I just finished teaching *Rodinsky's Room* and was amazed to see the variety of misreadings posted here as reviews. Among the many contemporary works of historical recovery or revision, *Rodinsky* stands out because of its alternating -- and often warring -- authors, each of whom has a different purpose in recovering Rodinsky's history, as well as a different form and style through which to accomplish this recovery.

Sinclair, the experimental London novelist and essayist, draws on a pastiche of languages and approaches: the short, grotesque sentences of crime novels; classic gothic imagery of the uncanny; filmic montage and surrealist juxtaposition; gossip and rumor and arcane whispers. As he follows Lichtenstein's quest for Rodinsky's history, Sinclair questions traditional ways of fixing history that overexpose, erase, or create a fictional simulacrum of the past. While he is quite aware that his early writings on Rodinsky were the stuff of romantic urban legend, he is also insistant that heritage trusts and yuppie preservationists are no better than the City developers who want to erase the multiple layers of time sedimented in Spitalfields. The latter erase history, while the former use urban myths to increase property values.

Lichtenstein's style, while more straight-forward than Sinclair's, is comparable to Paul Auster: a clean, seemingly transparent surface, with a plot built on unexplainable coicidences. If Sinclair is obsessed with the Room as a set for his own fictional musings, Lichtenstein wants to demystify the room, unfix energy from a fetishistic attachment to Rodinsky's objects and redirect it onto the human story of David Rodinsky.

And to those reviewers who see Rodinsky as ultimately an ordinary man or a mentally disturbed recluse, I can only ask: did we read the same book? Rodinsky apparently taught himself several ancient languages, was at work on a treatise on the origins of language itself, definitely studied Kabbalah, and maintained himself in near obscurity in the closely-knit Jewish community of Spitalfields. Lichtenstein also debunks the mental illness theory: the behaviors that seemed "crazy" in London would have been totally normal in the Polish community of his grandparents. The very complexity of Rodinsky's identity is used to evoke the heterogeneity and brilliance of a Jewish immigrant community the history of which is currently elided in the pursuit of parking garages, office blocks, and silk weaver garrets.

Ultimately, *Rodinsky's Room* is thematically similar to works like Sebald's *The Emigrants* or Amitav Ghosh's *In an Antique Land*, works that explore the porous boundaries between fiction, history, and myth, works that seek to protect history without romanticizing it or cutting it off, museum-like, from the plurality of possible fictions.

Rating:
Summary: Enchanting mystery, but inadequate and a bit parochial
Review: Lichenstein and Sinclair have taken a fascinating and perplexing mystery and have raised it to the status of urban legend. On many levels, their collaborative attempt succeeds admirably: Lichtenstein skillfully (with some elements of a suspenseful detective story) presents her search for David Rodinsky, whose room was rediscovered, virtually untouched, two decades after it had been abandoned, and Sinclair places the story in its many cultural contexts. Yet, in other ways, their narrative falls short: more questions are raised than answered by their book, and Sinclair's contributions occasionally suffer from a parochialism that makes his discussion difficult for the general reader. As Sinclair himself admits, "The more the mystery of Rodinsky was discussed and debated, the dimmer the outline of the human presence."

The book alternates between chapters by the two authors, and Lichtenstein's contributions are far more straightforward. She weaves her investigation into Rodinsky's identity with her own quest for her Jewish identity and ancestry, and I found her chapters to be far more compelling. Unfortunately, Lichtenstein seems a bit out of her depth when discussing Rodinsky's writings. She confesses she doesn't have the background necessary to understand or translate most of the scraps of papers and journals found in Rodinsky's rooms, yet both she (and Sinclair) repeatedly refer to Rodinsky as a talented linguist and scholar (or a cabbalist). This claim would have been greatly supported by reprinting or summarizing some of the texts left in the room, but we are given only four examples of Rodinsky's apparently prodigious output: two grammatically inept notes to his aunt (including one notable for its venom), the translation of a page of Chinese characters that turns out merely to say "I am David Rodinsky" over and over, and a journal entry on the study of the Assyrian language that could have been written (stylistic errors and all) by a college freshman. Was Rodinsky truly a scholar and a linguist, or was he just a reclusive dabbler? The evidence presented in the book is hardly convincing either way.

Sinclair's nonlinear meditations are also absorbing; he finds parallels to the mystery of Rodinksy in a broad range of literary themes and cultural myths, and he aptly illustrates the East End neighborhood where Rodinsky spent nearly all his life. Although he is a wonderful stylist, Sinclair seems to be writing for his fellow members of the East End literati (and for the critics) rather than for the general reader. Time and again, he mentions London-based semi-celebrities without any introduction whatsoever; I can't imagine many American--or even British--readers knowing most of the people and friends Sinclair mentions. If, before you begin this book, you can't identify Steven Berkoff, David Gascoyne, James Fox, George Melly, John Harle, and dozens of other similarly obscure artists and writers, you will know even less about them after you finish reading Sinclair's chapters. Even better-known writers like Kathy Acker and Arthur Morrison deserve some sort of identification.

Furthermore, Sinclair's chapter placing Rodinsky's story within the context of the mythology of the golem seems far-fetched; the parallels just aren't there. Indeed, most of those who knew Rodinsky clearly find this comparison odious ("There must be no talk of golems, cabbalists, interdimensional voyages, invisibility," says one. "Rodinsky was a man to be pitied, an inadequate [who] unfortunately attained nothing . . . due to his low IQ.") But such objections hardly keep Sinclair from attempting to substantiate this analogy for nearly 30 pages.

Nevertheless, in spite of my rather significant reservations, I found this book overall to be an affecting celebration of the life of a man who otherwise would be one of the many reclusive loners and social outcasts who disappear in the world on a daily basis.

Rating:
Summary: Our visit to Rodinsky's Synagogue
Review: On a recent visit to London in search of my wife's roots and her mother's childhood home, we were most fortunate to be permitted to visit the synagogue where Rodinsky lived in an upstairs room. The building is in disrepair but doesn't feel ramshakle. It's generally not open to the public. In fact, we were not permitted to actually visit the upstairs due to unsafe building conditions but did tour the sanctuary and the basement meeting room and kitchen. The building is in the process of being renovated and has applied for historic status under British law. Our tour was arranged as a special favor to a close family member. One gets a distinct sense of a different time and place when standing in the small sanctuary lit from above by an aged stained glass skylight and reading the imprinted names of the long deceased members of the congregation on the wooden beams surrounding the room. My wife and I tried to imagine her grandfather and great-grandfather actually in this room some time long ago, having closed their kosher fish market (two blocks away), bathed, dressed and prepared for the Sabbath. Interestingly, we were told that many of the more politically radical elements of the surrounding community, including Vladimir Lenin, were allowed to use the basement meeting room as a secret place to refine the philosophy that would have such a tremendous impact on the twentieth century. While personal safety didn't permit to see his actual room, the spirit of the neighborhood and of Rodinsky permeated the entire building and helped us focus our thoughts on what such an individual might have done and thought and experienced in this old Jewish neighborhood now, basically, vanished.