Sometimes a usually toxic stereotype can play out harmlessly, charmingly even, before your eyes. It happened to me at Jewish Book Week (JBW) yesterday. I was in a queue at the bookshop, minding my own business as the couple ahead moved to the check-out.
They were an odd pair at first glance. He was tall and dishevelled, his kippah threatening to escape from his head. She was short, but beautiful — immaculate clothes, lustrous dark hair and handsome features. Her movements were precise as she advanced on the cashier, while he lingered a yard or so behind.
She asked, ‘Is there a discount if you buy more than one?’ The cashier said that there was not. There was a pause in which she collected herself. She flapped the book, a glossy hardback covered in Hebrew lettering, in her left hand and said, ‘My friend bought this at a competitor for less. Can you do me a deal please?’ Her geniality suggested that it would have been inexcusable not to haggle.
‘I’m sorry madam,’ replied the cashier, his composure somewhat shaken. ‘We don’t do discounts, unless you have a reward card?’
There was another brief pause. Then she said, ‘We’ll have one.’ Her husband, a spectator until this point, turned around with a mischievous look and shrugged, as if to say, ‘She can’t help herself’.
Even as everyone smiled at this gently comic scene, darker times came to mind. Many discussions at this year’s JBW have touched on the history of anti-Semitic stereotypes in Europe. There was soon a faint awkwardness among us. This sort of thing is not supposed to be funny.
But the unease was fleeting. It was quickly chased away by good nature and the celebratory atmosphere that pervaded the festival.
This was the 60th JBW, and to mark the occasion the organisers moved the event to swanky King’s Place. Not every punter welcomed the change. One told me, ‘It’s not really about the books anymore.’ He didn’t define what he meant, but he implied that JBW had become a junket for hack authors and professional commentators to sell themselves.
If so, I think he was being unfair. Certainly, the usual suspects were out and about, but not in force. It was unlike the large literary festivals, where the same people say the same things about the same books. Most of the speakers were unusual and they spoke on esoteric subjects: the letters of Joseph Roth, Ulysses as a ‘Jewish novel’ and the European left’s uneasy relationship with Israel to name just three. And it was interesting; so interesting that I didn’t resent working consecutive weekends, barely noticed it in fact. You can’t say fairer than that.
Comments