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A Horse Walks into a Bar
Cover of A Horse Walks into a Bar
A Horse Walks into a Bar
A novel
Borrow Borrow
WINNER OF THE MAN BOOKER INTERNATIONAL PRIZE • From the bestselling author of To the End of the Land comes a searing story of loss and survival.
In a dive bar in a small Israeli city, Dov Greenstein, a comedian a bit past his prime, takes the stage for his final show. Over the course of a single evening, Dov’s patter becomes a kind of memoir, taking us back into the terrors of his childhood. And in the dance between comic and audience, a deeper story begins to take shape as Dov confronts the decision that has shaped the course of his life—a story that will alter the lives of several of those in attendance.
A Horse Walks Into a Bar is a poignant exploration of how people confront life’s capricious battering.
WINNER OF THE MAN BOOKER INTERNATIONAL PRIZE • From the bestselling author of To the End of the Land comes a searing story of loss and survival.
In a dive bar in a small Israeli city, Dov Greenstein, a comedian a bit past his prime, takes the stage for his final show. Over the course of a single evening, Dov’s patter becomes a kind of memoir, taking us back into the terrors of his childhood. And in the dance between comic and audience, a deeper story begins to take shape as Dov confronts the decision that has shaped the course of his life—a story that will alter the lives of several of those in attendance.
A Horse Walks Into a Bar is a poignant exploration of how people confront life’s capricious battering.
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Excerpts-
  • From the book Good evening! good evening! Good evening to the majestic city of Ceasariyaaaaaah!”
     
    The stage is empty. The thundering shout echoes from the wings. The audience slowly quiets down and grins expectantly. A short, slight, bespectacled man lurches onto the stage from a side door as if he’d been kicked through it. He takes a few faltering steps, trips, brakes himself on the wood floor with both hands, then sharply juts his rear end straight up. Scattered laughter and applause from the audience. People are still filing into the club, chatting loudly. “Ladies and gentlemen!” announces a tight-lipped man standing at the lighting console. “Put your hands together for Dovaleh G!” The man onstage still crouches like a monkey, his big glasses askew on his nose. He slowly turns to face the room and scans it with a long, unblinking look.
     
    “Oh, wait a minute,” he grumbles, “this isn’t Caesarea, is it?” Sounds of laughter. He slowly straightens up and dusts his hands off. “Looks like my agent fucked me again.” A few audience members call out, and he stares at them in horror: “Say what? Come again? You, table seven, yeah, with the new lips—they look great, by the way.” The woman giggles and covers her mouth with one hand. The performer stands at the edge of the stage, swaying back and forth slightly. “Get serious now, honey, did you really say Netanya?” His eyes widen, almost filling the lenses of his glasses: “Let me get this straight. Are you going to sit there and declare, so help you God, that I am actually for real in Netanya at this very minute, and I’m not even wearing a flak jacket?” He crosses his hands over his crotch in terror. The crowd roars with joy. A few people whistle. Some more couples amble in, followed by a rowdy group of young men who look like soldiers on furlough. The small club fills up. Acquaintances wave to one another. Three waitresses in short shorts and neon-
    -purple tank tops emerge from the kitchen and scatter among the tables.
     
    “Listen, Lips”—he smiles at the woman at table seven—“we’re not done yet. Let’s talk about it. I mean, you look like a pretty serious young lady, I gotta say, and you certainly have an original fashion sense, if I’m correctly reading the fascinating hairdo that must have been done by—let me guess: the designer who gave us the Temple Mount mosque and the nuclear reactor in Dimona?” Laughter in the audience. “And if I’m not mistaken, I detect the faint whiff of a shitload of money emanating from your direction. Am I right or am I right? Heh? Eau de one percent? No? Not at all? I’m asking because I also note a magnificent dose of Botox, not to mention an out-of-control breast reduction. If you ask me, that surgeon should have his hands cut off.”
     
    The woman crosses her arms over her body, hides her face, and lets out shrieks of delight through her fingers. As he talks, the man strides quickly from one side of the stage to the other, rubbing his hands together and scanning the crowd. He wears platform cowboy boots, and as he moves the heels make a dry tapping sound. “What I’m trying to understand, honey,” he yells without looking at her, “is how an intelligent lady like yourself doesn’t realize that this is the kind of thing you have to tell someone carefully, judiciously, considerately. You don’t just slam someone with ‘You’re in Netanya.’ Bam! What’s the matter with you?...
About the Author-
  • David Grossman was born in Jerusalem. He is the author of numerous works of fiction, nonfiction, and children’s literature. His writing has appeared in The New Yorker and has been translated into more than forty languages. He is the recipient of many prizes, including the French Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, the Buxtehuder Bulle in Germany, Rome’s Premio per la Pace e l’Azione Umanitaria, the Premio Ischia international award for journalism, Israel’s Emet Prize, and the Albatross Prize given by the Günter Grass Foundation.
     
    Jessica Cohen was born in England, raised in Israel, and now lives in the United States. She has translated contemporary Israeli fiction, nonfiction, and other creative works, including David Grossman’s To the End of the Land and Falling Out of Time.
Reviews-
  • Publisher's Weekly

    February 27, 2017
    Grossman (To the End of the Land) masterfully balances the neuroses and hard-earned insight of veteran stand-up comedian Dov Greenstein with a defining memory that’s 40 years in the shaping. The story of Dov’s life—his worship of a mentally ill mother who survived the Holocaust, his contentious relationship with his father, his awkward adolescence, and a brief stay at a military camp in Gadna—unspools over one evening in a basement club in the small city of Netanya, Israel, related through the observations of Avishai Lazar, a boyhood friend of Dov’s and, later, a respected judge. As Dov immerses himself in his act, the audience—many of whom eventually walk out in bewilderment or anger at Dov’s deeply personal (and often decidedly grim) revelations—come to understand that, amid the self-deprecating humor and good-natured banter, the comedian is, for the first time, recounting the formative event of his life. “For an instant, when he looks up, the spotlight creates an optical illusion,” Avishai muses as he watches Dov discover what has lain hidden for decades, “and a fifty-seven-year-old boy is reflected out of a fourteen-year-old man.” Grossman wrestles with questions of faith and friendship, fate and family, with empathy, wisdom, and acerbic wit.

  • Kirkus

    November 15, 2016
    Take my life. Take my life, please....Dov Greenstein is on stage in Caesarea--Hello, is this microphone working?--or somewhere, at any rate, any of a hundred dusty Israeli towns, marking time before the spotlights in a tiny bar. "Looks like my agent fucked me again," he says, and the audience laughs appreciatively. He throws out a few insults, a few jibes, and asks them, "Why are you dumbasses laughing? That joke was about you!" But he's no Don Rickles, not Dovelah. He's on the stage, it seems, to work out some personal issues and not a little bit of existential angst. To that end, he's invited an old friend, Avishai Lazar, a former judge, to attend. Avishai, the narrator, has known Dov since childhood and summer camp, and he's amazed at the amount of hurt the comedian has stowed away, the better to make jokes out of, perhaps, but enough to keep an army of psychiatrists busy. Besides, there's some payback in the offing for some long-ago slight: "The sweetness of the revenge I am about to be subjected to," Avishai thinks. Along the way, Grossman (To the End of the Land, 2010, etc.) unveils scenes from Israeli history and society: through Dov, he jokes that one woman's hairdo was designed by the same engineer who built the nuclear plant at Dimona, and it's not long before the Holocaust is dusted off and worked into the bit. The comic patter becomes ever more fraught, ever less funny; as one audience member protests, "People come here to have a good time, it's the weekend, you wanna clear your head, and this guy gives us Yom Kippur." Yes, and not a little Freud, too. The book is an assault on the reader, a provocation and a challenge; Grossman takes great risks, but in the end there is reward in a kind of redemption-- and in any event, thank the heavens, the bad jokes stop.Another thoughtful, if odd and caustic, story from one of Israel's greatest contemporary writers.

    COPYRIGHT(2016) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • Library Journal

    September 15, 2016

    Slightly faded comedian Dov Greenstein still holds the crowd at the joint he's working in a small Israeli city, taking his monolog closer and closer to the bone as he recalls his anguished Holocaust survivor mother, a deeply unempathetic father, and the crucial week he spent at a military camp for youth. From multi-award-winning Israeli novelist Grossman.

    Copyright 2016 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

  • Library Journal

    November 1, 2017

    .Winner of the 2017 Man Booker International Prize, this harrowing story takes place in the span of only two hours and unfolds during the final show of stand-up comedian Dovaleh Gee. (LJ 9/15/16)

    SEE ALSO: Grossman's Falling Out of Time (2014), To the End of the Land (2010), Lion's Honey (2006), Her Body Knows (2005), Someone To Run With (2004)

    Copyright 2017 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

  • Judges' Citation, Man Booker International Prize, 2017 "Astounding. . . . [A] magnificently comic and sucker-punch-tragic excursion into brilliance."
  • Gary Shteyngart, The New York Times Book Review (front cover) "Unsettling and mesmerizing. . . . As beautiful as it is unusual, and it's nearly impossible to put down."
  • Michael Schaub, NPR "Bewitching. . . . Brilliant, blistering."
  • Ken Kalfus, The Washington Post "[Grossman] has transcended genre; or rather, he has descended deep into the vaults beneath. . . . This isn't just a book about Israel: it's about people and societies horribly malfunctioning."
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    Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
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A Horse Walks into a Bar
A Horse Walks into a Bar
A novel
David Grossman
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