had to admit, gaps in my knowledge. Ruthy filled the hole with Freud,
Fanny Hill, Partisan Review
, Trotsky, Auden, and others. They became an inseparable campus couple and, the day after graduation, were married. A civil ceremony of course.
Bone married Ruthy because:
(1)This, he hoped, would prove his ultimate liberation from a provincial anti-Semitic family.
(2)Let’s face it, the girl, being a Jewess, would be forever in his debt. She could never be unfaithful. On the contrary. She would be respectful, grateful.
(3)He had come to adore Jewish cooking even more than bananas.
Ruthy married Bone because:
(1)She wished to give her family a final slap in the face.
(2)It would prove – especially to sceptical friends who predicted she would end up married to a dentist with a house in the suburbs – that she wasn’t ghetto-bound.
(3)Being a
goy
, he couldn’t be as smart as she was. She could direct and control him.
Bone, who had expected to feast nightly on herrings, knishes, cholent, pastramis and briskets, was served hard-boiled eggs or, on special occasions, sea food.
‘I’m not a chauvinist,’ Ruthy said.
Sea food made her vomit but she was battling to overcome this, like other narrowing prejudices she had inherited.
‘I admire your spirit,’ Bone said.
Ruthy, who had looked forward to sharing her bed with a bullish
goy
, a brute, a destroyer, a rape artist, instead of an inhibited good-Jewish-boy, found that Seymour was a once-a-week rabbit.
Each time this unconventional marriage wasabout to break up it was saved by the couple’s conventional families. Ruthy’s father would say, ‘A mixed marriage can never work,’ and thereby drive her back into Seymour’s arms. Seymour’s mother would say, ‘If you leave her we will forgive all and take you back,’ and send him lumbering back into her arms.
And meanwhile Seymour struggled. Because he liked going to plays and sleeping in late, he decided to become a drama critic, but nobody would hire him. So Seymour Bone, investing the last of his inheritance, decided to put out a critical journal of his own written entirely by himself and Ruthy:
The Genius
. It did not do well the first year, even as a give-away to actors, writers, and producers. But the second year a miracle happened. Within one week, both
Time
and the London
Spectator
decided to do humorous columns about culture in Canada and chose Bone’s journal as a logical take-off point. Very few people in Canada realized that their struggling, no-saying critic was being ridiculed. On the contrary. Most people were impressed.
‘It doesn’t matter what we think,’ a realistic CBC producer said. ‘If the London
Spectator
feels he’s worth writing about, we ought to give him an opportunity.’
‘How come
Time
never quotes our drama critic?’ a newspaper publisher asked.
So Seymour Bone, critic, was born. He overate so much before attending his first play for the
Standard
that, though he was enjoying himself immensely, he simply had to flee before the end of the first act.
BONE STOMPS OUT , one newspaper headline boomed over a four-column photograph of the critic seated in the second row, his face a map of suffering and distaste. C ANADA’S RUDEST DRAMA CRITIC , another headline ran. The story was picked up by Canadian Press and ran across the country. Bone went to the theatre constipated and woke up a national figure. But his newly-won reputation was also to ruin his pleasure for years to come. For the truth was that Bone was delighted by most plays, specially if they were full of salty jokes or good-looking girls, but he felt that if he didn’t walk out on every second one people would say he was going soft. So walk out he did, often returning in disguise the next night to surreptitiously enjoy the rest of the play.
Bone, now a national figure, was immediately offered a CBC television panel show,
Crossed Swords
. He blossomed forth as a sort of reverse Liberace. The Rudest, Most
Fanny Hill, Partisan Review
, Trotsky, Auden, and others. They became an inseparable campus couple and, the day after graduation, were married. A civil ceremony of course.
Bone married Ruthy because:
(1)This, he hoped, would prove his ultimate liberation from a provincial anti-Semitic family.
(2)Let’s face it, the girl, being a Jewess, would be forever in his debt. She could never be unfaithful. On the contrary. She would be respectful, grateful.
(3)He had come to adore Jewish cooking even more than bananas.
Ruthy married Bone because:
(1)She wished to give her family a final slap in the face.
(2)It would prove – especially to sceptical friends who predicted she would end up married to a dentist with a house in the suburbs – that she wasn’t ghetto-bound.
(3)Being a
goy
, he couldn’t be as smart as she was. She could direct and control him.
Bone, who had expected to feast nightly on herrings, knishes, cholent, pastramis and briskets, was served hard-boiled eggs or, on special occasions, sea food.
‘I’m not a chauvinist,’ Ruthy said.
Sea food made her vomit but she was battling to overcome this, like other narrowing prejudices she had inherited.
‘I admire your spirit,’ Bone said.
Ruthy, who had looked forward to sharing her bed with a bullish
goy
, a brute, a destroyer, a rape artist, instead of an inhibited good-Jewish-boy, found that Seymour was a once-a-week rabbit.
Each time this unconventional marriage wasabout to break up it was saved by the couple’s conventional families. Ruthy’s father would say, ‘A mixed marriage can never work,’ and thereby drive her back into Seymour’s arms. Seymour’s mother would say, ‘If you leave her we will forgive all and take you back,’ and send him lumbering back into her arms.
And meanwhile Seymour struggled. Because he liked going to plays and sleeping in late, he decided to become a drama critic, but nobody would hire him. So Seymour Bone, investing the last of his inheritance, decided to put out a critical journal of his own written entirely by himself and Ruthy:
The Genius
. It did not do well the first year, even as a give-away to actors, writers, and producers. But the second year a miracle happened. Within one week, both
Time
and the London
Spectator
decided to do humorous columns about culture in Canada and chose Bone’s journal as a logical take-off point. Very few people in Canada realized that their struggling, no-saying critic was being ridiculed. On the contrary. Most people were impressed.
‘It doesn’t matter what we think,’ a realistic CBC producer said. ‘If the London
Spectator
feels he’s worth writing about, we ought to give him an opportunity.’
‘How come
Time
never quotes our drama critic?’ a newspaper publisher asked.
So Seymour Bone, critic, was born. He overate so much before attending his first play for the
Standard
that, though he was enjoying himself immensely, he simply had to flee before the end of the first act.
BONE STOMPS OUT , one newspaper headline boomed over a four-column photograph of the critic seated in the second row, his face a map of suffering and distaste. C ANADA’S RUDEST DRAMA CRITIC , another headline ran. The story was picked up by Canadian Press and ran across the country. Bone went to the theatre constipated and woke up a national figure. But his newly-won reputation was also to ruin his pleasure for years to come. For the truth was that Bone was delighted by most plays, specially if they were full of salty jokes or good-looking girls, but he felt that if he didn’t walk out on every second one people would say he was going soft. So walk out he did, often returning in disguise the next night to surreptitiously enjoy the rest of the play.
Bone, now a national figure, was immediately offered a CBC television panel show,
Crossed Swords
. He blossomed forth as a sort of reverse Liberace. The Rudest, Most
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