Mr. Polydoros once more goes mining Jewish heritage to explore its history and mythos. In this book, the two intertwine as one man uses forbidden sorcery to bring a clay figure to life. It contains many hints of Mary Shelley’s adolescent creation, including the golem’s desire for a mate. But I digress.
The golem appears often in literature. From the myth of Adam, the Greek tale of a second-generation of humans formed from stone to fictional androids, we constantly find stories of beings (gods, humans, etc.) who must create something in their image—alive but not. The legends of golems function as warnings: the clay figures invariably become mindless, violent killing machines. They always rebel against their creators as they strive for humanity and realize that they can never achieve it. Their yearning invariably turns to desolation and then rage. As they go on a rampage, they must be destroyed, via an off switch printed on their foreheads.
Mr. Polydoros’s golem is placed firmly within the era of Nazi Germany and its purpose is the one from Yiddish myth. It has been created as a destroyer, a thing of vengeance, hatred and malice. The story of Vera’s journeys—to find her missing father, seize German goods, decipher the mystery of stolen texts and kill Nazis whenever she encounters them—is the stuff of glory and nightmare. Memories that aren’t hers well up within her, perplexing her and making her question her creator’s reason in making her. We can understand her frustration and despair as well as the terror of people around her who tremble at her existence. Her journey reflects the human condition because mortals also question our existence, wonder why we’re here and who, if anything, created us and if so…why.
This is a harrowing story, fraught with pain, misery, poverty and the casual cruelty we inflict on others. The author forces us to understand that it is all too easy to fall prey to emotionless brutality, to wrap ourselves in icy purpose until all human warmth is stifled. However, within these pages exist scenes of exquisite tenderness. Vera watches in wonder the rush and swirl of humanity. Even with horror all around them, humans find moments of quiet joy in simple pleasures and these moments echo off the page with a sweetness that brings a smile to the face: a baby’s warm little body, small squares of chocolate, a pot of preserves. Yet Vera revels in the outdoors. Subzero temperatures, chill winds, the icy shock of a river have no effect on her so she finds a solemn beauty in a snow-covered field, withered branches in winter and a frosty river that others don’t see.
This is a deceptive story, one of mythology and yet with sociological impact. It’s a YA novel but decidedly adult in its subject matters. It’s filled with horror, wrath and romance. From the strange, eye-grabbing cover to the last word, it rings out with a thinly veiled truth: we have all been formed with the ability to become monsters. What matters is what we do after our creation.
The golem appears often in literature. From the myth of Adam, the Greek tale of a second-generation of humans formed from stone to fictional androids, we constantly find stories of beings (gods, humans, etc.) who must create something in their image—alive but not. The legends of golems function as warnings: the clay figures invariably become mindless, violent killing machines. They always rebel against their creators as they strive for humanity and realize that they can never achieve it. Their yearning invariably turns to desolation and then rage. As they go on a rampage, they must be destroyed, via an off switch printed on their foreheads.
Mr. Polydoros’s golem is placed firmly within the era of Nazi Germany and its purpose is the one from Yiddish myth. It has been created as a destroyer, a thing of vengeance, hatred and malice. The story of Vera’s journeys—to find her missing father, seize German goods, decipher the mystery of stolen texts and kill Nazis whenever she encounters them—is the stuff of glory and nightmare. Memories that aren’t hers well up within her, perplexing her and making her question her creator’s reason in making her. We can understand her frustration and despair as well as the terror of people around her who tremble at her existence. Her journey reflects the human condition because mortals also question our existence, wonder why we’re here and who, if anything, created us and if so…why.
This is a harrowing story, fraught with pain, misery, poverty and the casual cruelty we inflict on others. The author forces us to understand that it is all too easy to fall prey to emotionless brutality, to wrap ourselves in icy purpose until all human warmth is stifled. However, within these pages exist scenes of exquisite tenderness. Vera watches in wonder the rush and swirl of humanity. Even with horror all around them, humans find moments of quiet joy in simple pleasures and these moments echo off the page with a sweetness that brings a smile to the face: a baby’s warm little body, small squares of chocolate, a pot of preserves. Yet Vera revels in the outdoors. Subzero temperatures, chill winds, the icy shock of a river have no effect on her so she finds a solemn beauty in a snow-covered field, withered branches in winter and a frosty river that others don’t see.
This is a deceptive story, one of mythology and yet with sociological impact. It’s a YA novel but decidedly adult in its subject matters. It’s filled with horror, wrath and romance. From the strange, eye-grabbing cover to the last word, it rings out with a thinly veiled truth: we have all been formed with the ability to become monsters. What matters is what we do after our creation.