Ari Lieberman​

 

Born in Mexico and raised in Israel, Ari Lieberman turned to fiction after an early infatuation with the visual arts. He has a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from Princeton University and currently teaches at the University of Georgia. He is the author of three novels, as well as multiple short stories and essays. His 2022 novel Samson the Silent was shortlisted for the Sapir Prize for Literature.​

 

Happiness

Novel

256 pp.

Publisher: Achuzat Bayit

Year: 2024

 

Translation rights: World 

Audio visual rights: World

Translations: Complete English available

 

One morning, Osher (meaning happiness in Hebrew) Carlebach, a 44-year-old divorced and lonely man, receives devastating news: he has a malignant tumor in his brain and his death is fast approaching. Faced with this dark discovery and the short time he has left, he undergoes a transformation. We follow him over the course of one day, as he wanders the streets of Jerusalem, pursues forgotten dreams, rekindles old loves, seeks closure, and at times behaves recklessly, as expected of someone with no future. This absolute present in which Osher decides to live places him - and us - face to face with experiences that are at times humorous, at others deeply moving, awe-inspiring, and even chilling. The doomed protagonist is joined by an unforgettable gallery of supporting characters, each adding their unique shades to Osher’s life. He becomes a kind of later-day Ecclesiastes, and within this dramatic day lies the essence of the entire biblical scroll. Like Ecclesiastes, Osher explores the purpose of human existence in a world of futility, both in tragicomic moments and in the face of absurdity. He examines everything around him in an attempt to uncover the secret of life and the meaning of death and returns with a surprisingly definitive answer.

 

 

Critical Praise

 

Lieberman’s third novel breathes life into an old literary and philosophical cliché… The protagonist’s awakening to his own mortality directs him to live properly; and with sudden urgency, he attains the spiritual, mental and sexual freedom necessary to celebrate what little time he has left… on his final day he is finally free from his crippling mortal anxiety: in the shadow of death, life becomes simple… He cherishes the joy of his living body, his liberty and the total absence of fear. Although these may seem predictable outcomes, Lieberman’s main achievement is the avoidance of the cliché nature of these ideas, which he accomplishes by portraying them with kindness and a sense of humor…

 

Osher chooses to experience his last day through the vitality of storytelling, rather than the melancholy of a doomed fate. Similarly, the novel does not take itself too seriously; it knowingly frees itself from heavy-handed reflection on the meaning of life. Instead of engaging with grand themes, the novel wanders through the small and mundane. The city of Jerusalem, whose streets the protagonist roams throughout that day, takes on the role of the goddess of fate - it orchestrates encounters and memories on the streets of the Rechavia neighborhood and the alleyways of Machneh Yehuda market. Freed from the fear of death, Osher lingers for the first time in his life, on the minutiae of the everyday: he breathes the air deeply, notices the scents, and takes pleasure in them. The protagonist rediscovers the world’s details, filling his consciousness with everything that the bustling activity of life had erased. Similarly, the novel itself wanders through works of literature - from the Jewish prayer book, through Sholem Aleichem, to Melville’s Bartleby, the Scrivener…

 

Thankfully, there are almost no didactic moments. The narrative avoids attempting to frame the protagonist’s experiences as a comprehensive spiritual stance, where every sign or encounter carries meaning. On the contrary, the tapestry of randomness and profound significance takes on a tragicomic form - a form that recognizes within the hum of forgiving laughter the silence that inevitably awaits at the end of the road.

Omry Herzog, Haaretz

 

Lieberman is a quintessential postmodernist. Not only does his language constantly switch from the lofty to the mundane, sampling different linguistic registers and creating paraphrases of canonical texts, he also deliberately constructs impossible, even absurd coincidences throughout Osher’s final day. It almost seems as if these events could not happen in reality, as if they are intentionally unrealistic, or perhaps the entire novel, like a stream of consciousness, actually takes place only in Osher’s sick mind. A man who spent his whole life consumed by an all-encompassing fear of death, and now, as he faces it and knows this day has come, he is serene and calm. The pure childhood memory, the pivotal moment of Osher’s life, is breathtakingly beautiful and masterfully written, and it is impossible not to be moved by its description. It is during this pivotal moment that Osher loses his happiness, as awareness and the stifling burden of consciousness enter and replace the joy of his idyllic childhood. It is impossible not to see in this moment some symbolic element reflecting our lives in Israel, though the author handles it casually, subtly, and with symbolism that doesn’t feel heavy-handed. To this space, Osher will return on his last day, like a criminal revisiting the scene of the crime, partly in the flesh, partly within his consciousness.

Ran Yagil. Israel Hayom

 

Death is the true protagonist of this novel, and it is the thing that gives life meaning, drives us to act, and mostly frees us from inhibitions and submissions to all sorts of insignificant ambitions, ranging from the wish to placate other people and the pursuit of respect and credit to the false promise of a successful career.

Dafna Levi, Israel Hayom

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