Critical Essays Bernard Malamud

Critical Essays Bernard Malamud-59
was published in 1952 by the American writer Bernard Malamud; it marks the writer’s debut in the literary field and the start of his literary career.

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My mother’s brother, Charles Fidelman, and their cousin, Isidore Cashier, were in the Yiddish theatre.

Around the neighborhood the kids played Chase the White Horse, Ringolevio, Buck-Buck, punchball, and one o’cat.

I took to literature and early wanted to be a writer. MALAMUD At eight or nine I was writing little stories in school and feeling the glow. You learn what you teach and you learn from those you teach. MALAMUD Thirty-five years— INTERVIEWER There are some who say teaching doesn’t do the writer much good; in fact it restricts life and homogenizes experience. And a community of serious readers is a miraculous thing.

To anyone of my friends who’d listen I’d recapitulate at tedious length the story of the last movie I’d seen. In 1942 I met my wife, and we were married in 1945. Isn’t a writer better off on the staff of , or working for the BBC? Some of the most extraordinary people I’ve met were students of mine, or colleagues.

That was, considering the circumstances, an act of great generosity. As a kid, for entertainment I turned to the movies and dime novels.

Maybe derives from Frank Merriwell as well as the adventures of the Brooklyn Dodgers in Ebbets Field. Once in a while, on Jewish holidays, we went visiting, or saw a Jewish play—Sholem Aleichem, Peretz, and others.

His wife, Ann, an attractive, articulate woman of Italian descent, had planned the party, assisted by the young people from Oregon and the Malamuds’ son, Paul, and daughter, Janna.

The taping of the interview began late Friday morning, on the back porch, which overlooks a long, descending sweep of lawn and, in the distance, the encircling mountains.

Though my father always managed to make a living, they were comparatively poor, especially in the Depression, and yet I never heard a word in praise of the buck.

On the other hand, there were no books that I remember in the house, no records, music, pictures on the wall.

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