When the book first came out, my father told me, that like a great many Jews, he was deeply offended by it. Of course, he was even more upset by the film, which boasted the tagline, “Every father’s daughter is a virgin,” and he refused to see it. The nouveau richeness of the Patimkins, with their refrigerator super-stocked just with fruit, the over-the-top opulence of Brenda’s brother’s wedding, which was more of a feeding frenzy, insulted him. Reading the story now, I find it funny and moving—because the excess is seen through Neil’s eyes, worked up into a lather of equal parts disapproval and overwhelming yearning.
Rereading the story, it’s interesting to me how completely unlikable both the characters are—and that’s revolutionary. Yes, it’s a love story, but it’s bigger than just about Neil and Brenda. In a funny way, it’s a love story about culture clash and value clash. Mr. Patimkin started out like Neil, with just about nothing, but he grew rich, and to him, giving his kids anything their hearts desire, be it coats or dresses, or a way out of an affair that was meant to wound them, is his pleasure. And because of Roth’s genius, it becomes the reader’s pleasure as well.