![]() Singer can be relentlessly punishing to his characters. What can man do in the face of such avaricious indifference? For Singer’s god is the god of ice storms and blood sacrifices, the maker of Leviathans and tigers, the wind of knives and the great deluge. ![]() A common refrain in Singer’s stories is, “Who invented the world?” His characters question God, history, the wind. The stories are touching and humane, yet unsentimental. (There’s something sad about Singer wearing the garb of South Florida excess.) He ended his days in Miami, amongst other aging New York transplants. Europe had betrayed him America never fully welcomed him. He carried his Judaism with him, but felt disconnected to any country or place. He wrote in Yiddish, and then helped translate his own stories into English. ![]() His prose is diamond-hard, sometimes folksy, sometimes charming, always powerful. This collection is powerful, elegant, evocative. ![]() ![]() Singer is a magnificent talent, a writer I’ve given short shrift to for years. The award was split with Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow. In 1974, Isaac Bashevis Singer won the National Book Award for his superb, humane, and thrilling short story collection, A Crown of Feathers. ![]()
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