A Heaven of Others

A Heaven of Others

Joshua Cohen

Language: English

Pages: 184

ISBN: 0984213384

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


"Joshua Cohen has created a visionary novel that is terrifying and heartbreaking and humbling in its luminous brilliance. In my view, it firmly places the author on the same level as Kafka."—Michael Disend, author of Stomping the Goyim

"The idea that there are multiple heavens, right ones and wrong ones, white ones and black ones, is pushed to its fantastical limits by Brooklyn writer Joshua Cohen in his dream-world novel of the afterlife. . . . Heaven is a challenging but rewarding read on thematic and formal levels."—The Brooklyn Rail

"A breathless flight of controlled delirium, an exquisitely blasphemous tour of an afterlife where earth's dominion, in all its terror and glory, trumps the miraculous and overturns the world to come. . . . It's a brave book that should earn its young author the reader's profound and enduring admiration."—Steve Stern, author of The Frozen Rabbi

When a ten-year-old Jewish boy is exploded on a Jerusalem street by a ten-year-old Palestinian boy, he wakes up in a heaven no one in his tradition prepared him for, a heaven of others. Joshua Cohen's novel stands at the crossroads of a conflicted city and wordplay that both celebrates and dismantles tradition.

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dreaming, must have and must still, but my struggling, all my fight, was in vain: because I would never wake up, because I wasn’t dreaming, it was never a dream and still isn’t. The camel caravan had arrived and I was awake all the while for all. Alef I am the ass they whoever they ever are would pack with explosives would burden with explosionary material fertilizer bombs, nail- packed explosives until the guards the security the patrolling police and the ordinary everyday

the golden plate that is edgeless, but not wanting in the least to displease, to disappoint either and so get myself ripped into two living halves who would probably, that far apart, never meet again and join together in famished Farmisht fraternity for the meal once known as Time For Dinner I kept myself as still as inhumanly possible and allowed them to tug me zigzaggingly Zephyrusly though never quite gently east to westward all over the sky and its vault until I had had enough of what I say

one long sheep. Arches fallen in, not sandstone but Aba’s. And then the sheep, the lamb, the spotless calf that was me, the healthiest one and the whitest. A sheep with an Aba for an Aba who wore dead cows on his feet he walked dead always more. A knotting of thought. That the heaven my grandAba would say me about was not truly believed in. Probably not. That it was possibly null, in the realm of the not yet existent. And another—as if a scatter of shots. That my parents needed another child

word), Ignore all this rubble, these names and their dates that are only the many other names we use to individuate indivisible Time, Yoni, save them for later, which is never, If not now, when, my little Rav Hillel today (which was the first day before the shoestore and so the last day before the last Monday of life for me, for him and for his shoes as the nail was even then gnawing up) I want you Aba said wincing To observe all these tourists and only the tourists as we walked as Aba talked

every language WEST Aba said WEST WEST WEST WEST WEST. Nakedness Nakedness is the formlessness of the void. In the Genesis of the Torah, in the first chapter of the first book of the first and only Torah (if only in the second “sentence,” perhaps), existence is described as being without form and void. And yet as beingness still. This means that existence before Creation was naked. And that Creation was a covering of this nakedness. Modesty, only. I say this because here where I find

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