Holocaust humour?

>> Helen Schulman’s The Revisionist is a courageous black comedy

by JULIET WATERS

In the first paragraph of The Revisionist, we learn that Dr. David Hershleder, a neurologist, has a hypothesis. If death is no longer defined by cardiac malfunction but by the cessation of cerebral activity, then human life itself can only begin when those same cerebral neurons commence firing.

But for some people, death seems to happen long before the demise of the heart or brain. Hershleder’s mother is a good example. Though physically she survived the Holocaust, psychically she never really regained full consciousness. Hershleder, it seems, has inherited his mother’s lack of passion, confidence and trust.

It may surprise you to learn that Helen Schulman’s The Revisionist is a comedy. A very black comedy, a very elegant comedy and, ultimately, a very courageous comedy. Schulman is entering some extremely painful and challenging territory in examining the lives of adult children of Holocaust survivors. This is the brain surgery of comedy. Miraculously, she pulls it off.

Hershleder, despite a long list of professional accomplishments, is a chronic nerd. Hopelessly shy, haunted by a feeling of social incompetence, his gradual withdrawal from any deep emotional connection may have ruined his marriage. His wife Itty (so named because her brother called her “it” from the moment she was born—“Itty” was a parental attempt to soften the blow) has kicked him out of their house. No “it” at all, Itty has way too much passion to settle for his half-life anymore. She accuses Hershleder, a severe workaholic, of being “frozen in motion.” But worse even than his failing marriage is the evidence that his son, Jonathan, is starting to inherit his father’s creepiness. Some personality traits are genetic, Hershleder knows, but some are the subconscious legacy that we hand down through generations.

Alone and desperate, Hershleder’s only other friend is an old high school buddy, David Kahn. Another ex-geek, Kahn is an obnoxious financial genius who uses his money to disguise a lack of personality. Through Kahn, Hershleder learns of another nerdy David from their past. David Josephson has recently translated the work of a reformed Holocaust denier, Jacques LeClerc, a French chemical engineer who set out to prove the gas chambers were a scientific impossibility, only to find out that his own research proved him wrong.

Hershleder becomes obsessed with the revisionist, believing somehow that if he can find out what it is that enabled LeClerc to make the shift from denial to acceptance of the truth, then maybe he will be able to make that shift himself. Problem is, he doesn’t know what the truth is. With his friends, Kahn and Josephson, he heads to Paris to confront LeClerc. “Road trip!” yells Kahn excitedly, exhibiting the touching immaturity of people who have missed out on a full adolescence. Much of the poignancy and humour of this book comes from the energy of other minor characters trying, along with Hershleder, to break out of this petrified goofiness. Schulman is subtle, but not too subtle.

Does Hershleder’s obsession actually hold the key to whatever it is that is blocking him emotionally? Or is it just another way for him to evade it?

To avoid spoiling a carefully crafted plot, the answer to that question is best left a secret. It’s a surprise, but one among many. Some readers may find the answer disturbing, some might find it cathartic, some might find it a bit pat. How a reader interprets the ending may say as much about the reader’s past as it does about Hershleder’s.

Schulman proves herself a talented revisionist, as new layers of story and character are constantly being revealed. As for Holocaust deniers, “revisionist” is not truly the right word for them, anyway. They are ignoring reality, not revising it. The shift LeClerc makes is symbolic of the shift Hershleder has to make in how he looks at his own past. This novel will make every reader wonder if he or she needs to make that shift as well.:

The Revisionist by Helen Schulman, Bloomsbury, pb, 246pp, $14.95