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<text id=91TT0147>
<title>
Jan. 21, 1991: The Source
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
Jan. 21, 1991 January 15:Deadline For War
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
BOOKS, Page 60
The Source
</hdr><body>
<p>By R.Z. SHEPPARD
</p>
<qt>
<l>PATRIMONY</l>
<l>by Philip Roth</l>
<l>Simon & Schuster; 238 pages; $19.95</l>
</qt>
<p> The book on Philip Roth is that he keeps writing the same
book. Not quite so. What he writes about may seem constricted,
but how he writes is risky and liberating.
</p>
<p> Patrimony is an account of how Roth cared for his
86-year-old father during the last stages of the parent's
incurable brain tumor. The trick of it is that there are no
tricks, just a masterly demonstration of narrative control and
emotional clarity.
</p>
<p> There are laughs where only Roth can find them: a nutty
Auschwitz survivor hustling his pornographic Holocaust novel.
But elsewhere, readers may find themselves close to tears.
Looking at the magnetic-resonance images of the growth that is
killing his father, Roth thinks, "This was the tissue that had
manufactured his set of endless worries and sustained for more
than eight decades his stubborn self-discipline, the source of
everything that had so frustrated me as his adolescent son."
And also powered Goodbye, Columbus and Portnoy's Complaint.
</p>
<p> Herman Roth was a retired Newark insurance man. Until his
illness, he was a vigorous and dapper widower, a catch for the
golden girls of West Palm Beach, Fla. He spent part of his
winters there. The rest of the year he lived in a modest
Elizabeth, N.J., apartment where he washed his own socks and
underwear in the bathroom sink rather than use the
coin-operated laundry in the basement.
</p>
<p> The father's unnecessary frugality annoys the successful
son, but it is also the source of affectionate amusement.
"Among the more distressing economies was his refusal to buy
his own New York Times," writes Roth. "He worshiped that paper
and loved to spend the morning reading it through, but now,
instead of buying his own, he waited all day long to have a
copy passed on to him by somebody in his building who had been
feckless enough to fork over the 35 cents for it."
</p>
<p> The disease progresses, and the son becomes parent to the
father. "Maybe you want to go in first and do something about
your socks. You've got two different colors on. And I don't
know if that checked shirt goes with those plaid trousers."
Roth and his brother agonize about whether or not to let the
doctors remove the tumor, an operation that may prolong their
father's life but could also remove whatever it is that made
Herman Roth Herman Roth. "Will I be a zombie?" he asks.
</p>
<p> No, he will become a Mets fan. Roth rules out surgery and
gets the old man interested in baseball. By the end of the 1986
season, he is as enthusiastic as a teenager. When Philip goes
to London, Herman burns up the transatlantic phone system
keeping his son up to the minute on the play-offs. "Hey," he
says, worried about the bill, "I'm giving you this pitch by
pitch to London, it's going to cost you a fortune." Roth's
grand-slam reply: "But pitch by pitch I was enjoying it
enormously, maybe even more than if I had been there. `Go
ahead, Herm. I'm a rich man. Pitch by pitch. Who's up?'"
</p>
<p> The Roths, of course. This is a book about what it means to
keep swinging. During his father's ordeal, the son undergoes
quintuple bypass surgery. His biggest fear is that he will
still be invalided when his father dies. But he holds on, and
the recovered author is at Herman's bedside, watching as "he
fought for every breath with an awesome eruption, a final
display, of his lifelong obstinate tenacity."
</p>
<p> There is a great distance between Portnoy's Complaint, with
its stage-Jewish parents, and Patrimony, the perfect eulogy for
a stiff-necked elder of the tribe. Yet in celebrating his
father, and by implication the source of his own character,
Roth has not strayed from the long path he has cut for himself:
to dramatize the adventure of assimilation in all its anxiety,
humor and fertile illusions. As a writer and a son, he has now
dotted the i's and crossed the t's.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>