428
F. W.
DUP~S
Malamud's ability to persuade us of the reality of his characters–
their emotions, deeds, words, surroundings-remains astonishing. In most
of the twelve stories that make up
Idiots First,
that ability is quite as
evident as it was in
The Magic Barrel,
his earlier short story collection,
and in those long stories we call his novels. There is no accounting for
this elusive gift except by terms so trite as to seem like abstractions.
His identification with his people tends to be perfect ; and it is perfect
because, on the one hand, they are mostly Jews of a certain class,
as he is, and on the other (to quote Mr. Podhoretz further), they are
"copied not from any models on earth but from an idea in the mind of
Bernard Malamud." The idea brings about a grand simplification, or
specialization, of historical reality. For one thing, Malamud's Jewish
community is chiefly composed of people of East European origin. For
another, they tend to retain, morally speaking, their immigrant status.
Life is centered in the home and the workshop and remains tough and
full of threats. The atmosphere is not that of the 1930's Depression alone,
as Fiedler says, but that of the hard times ever immanent in the nature
of things. Prosper his people may for a while and within limits. But
memories and connections continue to bind them to the Old World, in
some cases to the world of the Old Testament where Jacob labors for
Laban and Job suffers for everyone. Some, it is true, progress to the
point of acquiring ineffably Anglo-Saxon first names ("Arthur Fidel–
man," for example) . Some are found claiming that all-American privilege
of the post-war period, "a year in Italy." But in Italy they become, or
fear to become, immigrants all over again, and the old American theme
of innocents abroad is updated. Golden Italy so confounds the professor
of "The Maid's Shoes" that he dares open his heart to it not at all.
The art student Arthur Fidelman is made of different stuff but not of
stuff good enough to prevail against the glorious menace of golden Italy.
In the story about him in
T he Magic Barrel,
his first days in Rome were
shown to be haunted by a crafty alter ego (a "refugee from Israel")
and Fidelman lost his notes on Giotto, the "Christian artist." In the two
stories about him in
Idiots First
he is still being badly hustled in Italy
and his few victories are painfully Pyrrhic.
The Fidelman stories are beautifully done and very funny. Some–
thing about them, however, suggest the rigors of a punitive expedition
on the part of the author and possibly at his own expense. One remem–
bers his earlier tales of would-be artists and intellectuals- those dreary
youths who lie all day on their rooming house beds trying to concentrate
on the reading of
Madame Bovary
or on writing novels themselves. And
one suspects that in these cases Malamud's identification with his world
