There was a report on the radio this morning, unsurprisingly, about the great writer Amos Oz who just passed away. A passage from his book ” A tale of Love and Darkness” was read. The reporter chose a passage describing the author’s meeting with Ben-Gurion.
It’s a great passage but not one I remember at all.
Other scenes from the book left strong impressions in my memory – memories not only of what was written but how I felt when reading them.
I remember the descriptions of the books, or rather the significant presence of BOOKS in Oz’s childhood. How much these books meant to his father, how painful it was for his father to part with them.
I remember the tragedy of his mother’s life and the complex relationship.
I remember how befriending children his age was complicated when growing up as an only child among angst, silences, great minds of the period and books.
I remember his struggle to forge his own way, his own identity.
I remember it took me a long time to read the book – it is not a quick, light read.
But I’m so glad I read it.
I was browsing my blog to see if I had reviewed this book in the past. I hadn’t because I began my blog in December 2010.
My blog turned eight this month and I had forgotten.
My mind is elsewhere this year – full of memories…