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61 pages 2 hours read

Bernard Malamud

The Magic Barrel

Fiction | Short Story Collection | Adult | Published in 1958

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Symbols & Motifs

Clothes

In “The Magic Barrel” stories, Malamud often uses either a change or an exchange of clothing to symbolize a spiritual change or a dual nature. In “The Mourners,” for example, the landlord Gruber becomes overwhelmed by remorse for his poor treatment of Kessler and wraps himself in a sheet from his tenant’s bed, becoming in that instant “a mourner.” Gruber has had an epiphanic vision of himself as dead, and of Kessler mourning him; for Gruber, Kessler’s bedsheet thus becomes a shroud—a winding sheet—and Gruber joins him in an all-embracing rite of grief, empathy, and remorse, becoming, in a sense, no longer Kessler’s landlord but his double.

In “The Last Mohican,” clothing serves again as a symbol of a divided nature. Arthur Fidelman brings two suits with him to Rome—one of them hidden in a suitcase—and this signifies his bifurcated history: the clean-cut American scholar of the Renaissance, and the turbulent Jewish ancestry that he has tried to suppress and forget. Susskind, a ghostly revenant of Fidelman’s Jewish past, asks him for the extra suit, as if for acknowledgment of his other, secret half, but Fidelman denies Susskind’s claim to it. Finally, upon either seeing himself in Susskind or Susskind in himself, Fidelman begs the man to take the suit. And in “Angel Levine,” Levine the angel, breaking his “probation” and losing himself in the more disreputable establishments of Harlem, trades in his tattered, ill-filling attire for new, flashy, gangster-like duds that symbolize his progressive fall from grace. After Manischevitz’s leap of faith validates Levine’s divinity, the angel promptly changes back into his old clothes, then earns his wings by performing a miracle for Manischevitz and his wife. In each case, the spiritual change signified by the exchange of clothes flows from an act of charity or empathy.

Food

In his stories, Malamud often uses the sharing of food to symbolize a deeper sharing—of empathy and understanding, a communion of hearts and minds. In “The Girl of My Dreams,” for example, Olga shares a cornucopia of food with Mitka, the frustrated writer with whom she has been corresponding, and she even tells him that eating is “self-expression.” Meanwhile, she expresses her tender belief in him and in his talents. As a result, the bitter “hollow” that has been seared in him by others’ rejections is filled and nourished; he imagines passing on this tenderness to his landlady, thereby regaining his creative faculties and his self-expression, of which empathy for others is a vital part. In “The Magic Barrel,” the rabbi-in-training Finkle shows that he may finally have found a pathway to God and the human heart, when, as preamble to asking for the wayward Stella’s hand, he finally offers her father something to eat: fish, his favorite food. In “The Loan,” the compassionate Lieb, who is generous to his friends, works the daily miracle of baking his own tears into magical bread that delights his customers.

Equally, the failure to share food in the stories always corresponds with a breaking down of generosity or sympathy. In “The Loan,” Lieb’s tightfisted wife, refusing to lend money to Kobotsky, carelessly burns her husband’s magical loaves. Likewise, in “Take Pity,” Eva’s refusal to allow Rosen to feed her or her children deepens the stubborn misunderstanding between them, leading to death and eternal bitterness.

Dreams and Visions

In “The Magic Barrel,” visions, whether waking or dreaming, offer stark insights into the characters’ lives and deeper feelings, sometimes leading to revelation. In “The Mourners,” the beset, self-pitying Gruber is plagued by waking nightmares of his tenement toppling down and of himself lying dead at the bottom of the stairs. Desperate for human sympathy, he discovers his tenant Kessler crying in his filthy room, and has a beatific vision of sweetness and light that leads to a transcendent act of remorse. In “The Girl of My Dreams,” the lonely writer Mitka has fervid dreams of Madeleine Thorn, a woman he knows only through her writings, and these visions stoke his fiery determination to meet her. In “Angel Levine,” the skeptic Manischevitz has a dream in which the alleged Black angel Levine preens “small decaying opalescent wings,” which convinces him that “it is possible he could be an angel” (51). In “The Last Mohican,” the scholar Fidelman suffers recurring nightmares of the Jewish gadfly Susskind, whom he pursues through Rome’s mazelike Jewish catacombs, trying vainly to club him with a menorah; through these dreams, Fidelman’s guilty suppression of his Jewish obligations erupts into the forefront of his mind. Since many of the stories in “The Magic Barrel” feature a fantastic element of one kind or another, the true nature of these visions remains ambiguous: They could be purely psychological events—or else truly mystical visions meant to lead the characters to a deeper knowledge of themselves and of humanity.

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