Yona Silverman's introduction to Cynthia Ozick:
I have been trying to piece Cynthia Ozick together since I was fourteen
years old. At that point, I hadn't read any of her work, but her name
was familiar. Like many of my then classmates, she resided in
Westchester's New Rochelle. People who I knew had met her! Some had even
prayed with her at the High Holidays! But unlike most well known people
to whom I felt somehow connected during my childhood, I did not find
that her apparent accessibility detracted from her mystique in any way.
When an acquaintance bragged to me during gym class that Cynthia Ozick's
niece was one of her friend's from camp, I felt shamed and awed: awed
because of this girl's proximity to fame, and shamed because in terms of
actual Ozick knowledge, I had little. I knew she was an author, and I
knew she was a Jew, but more than that, I did not know. I needed to get
on that, and so I did.
In the ensuing years I have avidly read my way through much of
Ms. Ozick's work, and though her reputation preceded her writing, I have
never once felt that it exceeded it. My image of her keeps expanding -
from a recent e-mail one of my closest friend's sent, in which she
wrote, "I saw Cynthia Ozick read and she has the most girlish, engaging
voice (not what I'd imagined), and now I'm dying to read her," to
conversations I've had with my mentor and close friend Max Apple about
Ms. Ozick, who is in fact a friend of his, to the discussions of her
work in the Fellow's seminar over this past semester - discussions which
are themselves the most heated and contentious that have occurred in the
class under my watch. And as Ms. Ozick is the fifth Writers House
Fellow's visit I have been a part of while studying at Penn, this is no
small statement.
And all of this is true because Ms. Ozick is not simply an
eminent writer, but
one of the eminent writers, with all of the emphasis replacing that "an"
with a "the" can muster. I was not wrong as a young teen, when I
semi-naively placed her in a category that was both of my world and far
from it, because Cynthia Ozick's fiction - and her essays too - are
transcendent. Like the Golem Xanthippe, made of dirt of the earth but
also a life-giving spark of God, Ms. Ozick brings the flesh and blood of
well-chosen words and captivating narratives into the realm of the idea.
She is so able and adept an author and a thinker that our last class
discussing her work ended with Al Filreis, among others, admitting to
being, at least for that moment, ideologically conservative. While
Cynthia Ozick herself cannot realize the astonishing significance of
that, I'm sure there are others in this room who can. As I said, Ms.
Ozick is the writer to be reckoned with.
In a passage from Philip Roth's American Pastoral that I
particularly liked, one that Ms. Ozick was quoted in an interview as
saying she likes as well, Roth wrote, " The fact remains that getting
people right is not what living is all about anyway. It's getting them
wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then,
on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That's how we know
we are alive: we're wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being
right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you
can do that-well, lucky you."
So, it is with great honor, excitement and longstanding awe that
I introduce to you Cynthia Ozick this evening, because I truly believe -
and as some people may attest, I am not wont to giving steadfast
opinions often - there is no author I will ever be luckier to be given
an opportunity to spend a lifetime getting wrong and wrong and wrong and
then, on careful reconsideration, getting wrong again. Now please help
me give a very warm welcome to . . . Cynthia Ozick.