If I were to have to describe this I would say it's an Angela's Ashes for British Jewish people. It's a memoir written by a 96 year old man, Harry Bernstein, growing up in a slum in an industrial town in England before the First World War. His parents were Polish Jews and they live a pretty awful life on a street where one side is Jewish and the other Christian. The father is a monster,an alcoholic, angry man; the mother is who holds the family together. Harry's sister falls in love with a Christian boy from across the street and crosses the 'invisible wall". The writing is good, not as beautiful or as vivid as Angela's Ashes, but still quite good.
When I read about the author in the NYT a long time ago the article talked about the author's wife of 63 (?) years dying and he being so lonely he contemplated killing himself. Instead he wrote this book. Good choice.
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