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Philip Roth's new novel is a candidly intimate yet universal story of loss, regret, and stoicism. The best-selling author of The Plot Against America now turns his attention from "one family's harrowing encounter with history" (New York Times) to one
...(more) man's lifelong skirmish with mortality.The fate of Roth's everyman is traced from his first shocking confrontation with death on the idyllic beaches of his childhood summers, through the family trials and professional achievements of his vigorous adulthood, and into his old age, when he is rended by observing the deterioration of his contemporaries and stalked by his own physical woes.A successful commercial artist with a New York ad agency, he is the father of two sons from a first marriage who despise him and a daughter from a second marriage who adores him. He is the beloved brother of a good man whose physical well-being comes to arouse his bitter envy, and he is the lonely ex-husband of three very different women with whom he's made a mess of marriage. In the end he is a man who has become what he does not want to be.The terrain of this powerful novel -- Roth's twenty-seventh book and the fifth to be published in the twenty-first century -- is the human body. Its subject is the common experience that terrifies us all.Everyman takes its title from an anonymous fifteenth-century allegorical play, a classic of early English drama, whose theme is the summoning of the living to death.(less)
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Source: Everyman, Page: 101
Contributed by: Christian.
Daß er gemalt hatte, kam ihm jetzt wie ein Exorzismus vor. Aber welches Übel hatte er damit austreiben wollen? die älteste seiner Selbsttäuschungen? Oder hatte er sich auf die Malerei gestürzt, um sich von der Erkenntnis zu befreien, daß man geboren wird, um zu leben, und statt dessen stirbt? Plötzlich trieb er im Nichts, im Klang der Silbe “nichts” und in der Nichtigkeit, haltlos trieb er umher, und grauenhafte Angst machte sich breit. Nichts kommt ohne Risiko, dachte er, nichts, nichts - es gibt nichts, das nicht nach hinten losgeht, nicht einmal die blöde Malerei!