Aaron Hamburger was awarded the Rome Prize by the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the American Academy in Rome for his short story collection THE VIEW FROM STALIN'S HEAD, published by Random House in March of 2004. The View from Stalin's Head was also nominated for a Violet Quill Award.

His next book, a novel titled FAITH FOR BEGINNERS, was published (also by Random House) in October 2005 and was nominated for a Lambda Literary Award.

His writing has appeared in The Village Voice, Poets and Writers, Details, Nerve, Out, The Forward, and Time Out New York.

He has won a fellowship from the Edward F. Albee Foundation, as well as first place in the David J. Dornstein Contest for Young Jewish Writers, and has taught creative writing at Columbia University.

Currently he is working on a novel set in contemporary Berlin.

Q&A WITH AARON HAMBURGER ON FAITH FOR BEGINNERS

Why did you want to write about Israel?

Israel was a fundamental part of my growing up. My family has Israeli cousins near Tel Aviv. Two of my brothers moved there temporarily and one of them married an Israeli woman. Also, my father used to go to conferences there for his work, and for a while when I was growing up we’d visit Israel every summer. I also went to a Jewish day school where I had more than my share of imperious Israeli teachers whose pedagogical method was to scream their heads off at us when we talked out of turn.

When I became a teenager, our family visits to Israel stopped. I quit day school, turned away from all things Jewish, and didn’t go back to Israel for ten years. When I did go back, in 1998, I was surprised how different the country was from my memory of it. It was much more modern and American, and surprisingly diverse ethnically. I think my childhood memories were tinged by all the Bible studies I was doing. Back then, I paid more attention to the camels and ruins than the fast food shacks and pop music.

Also, I thought it was interesting that a country which has inspired so much print hasn’t inspired that many defining works of literary fiction in the way India, for example, has inspired books ranging from A Passage to India to Midnight’s Children. This is especially odd when you think of how many outstanding Jewish American writers we have. I think when people try to write fiction about Israel, they get caught up in the politics of the place and lose their story. So I wanted to write something that would be strongly story-based, though of course it would intersect with politics.

What kind of research did you do?

I read a lot, but the most important research I did was in the summer of 2000, when I flew to Israel and spent a month seeing places and talking to people. I had no idea that I would be there at such a historically momentous time.
My original plan was to focus on Israel’s gay community, but the people I met, even the ones who were gay, didn’t seem as interested in Israel’s gay community as they were on the potential breakdown of the peace process and Camp David II, which was filling the papers while I was there. Also, everyone kept talking about war, which surprised me.

Where did you get the idea for this book?

By the end of my research trip, I felt like an idiot and a failure. I’d just spent three weeks and over a thousand dollars on a trip that had produced absolutely nothing, or so I thought. For my last few days in Israel, I played the tourist, which ironically produced most of the fodder for this novel. One afternoon I sat on a bench by the Western Wall and overheard a middle-aged couple talking about their trip. The husband was asking his wife, “So has this trip been an inspirational experience for you?” His wife took a few seconds to reply, and then said reluctantly, “Yeeeaaaah,” as if it weren’t the true answer, but the one she should have provided. That couple gave me the thematic spark that was central to this novel: the difference between the concept of Israel and the actual place. As a tourist in Israel, you often find yourself staring at a pile of rocks and you’re expected to feel inspired, but all you see is a pile of rocks. That disjunction interested me.

Another important source of inspiration was that while I was in Israel, an American friend of mine happened to be there on a singles’ mission. I visited with her and her group, which gave me the idea of exploring these mass groups of visitors from America who are being guided through Israel as if it’s a theme park they’ve invested in from across the ocean.

How autobiographical is Faith for Beginners?

I suppose everyone will think that the young man is me and the parents are my parents and nothing I can say will dissuade them. What actually is autobiographical in the book is the father’s illness. My father was diagnosed with cancer when I was in college and has been living with it for more than ten years now. It’s a terrible burden for him to suffer, though thankfully he’s been in relatively good health lately. Still, the shock of seeing a parent being potentially mortally ill has been difficult for me as his child to accept, especially because my father has been such a forceful presence in our family. Also, it’s hard watching him try to manage the discomforts of his disease as he gets older. In writing this book, I wanted to explore how a son or daughter deals with the idea of his or her parents’ mortality, and then by extension, one’s own mortality.
My father was also responsible for how I shaped the character of Mr. Michaelson in a different way. When I was a very young writer and used to write a lot of things directly inspired by my family. My father would read my work and complain, “You always make me the villain. Just once can’t you make me look good?” Of course I can’t tailor my fiction to suit every reader’s feelings, but my father did tap into something there. We’re not used to reading about gentle fathers in fiction. The Gruff Old Dad Knows Best model, both as an object of veneration and scorn, is much more comforting. (How else to explain the re-election of George W. Bush?) But in this book, it’s the mother, Mrs. Michaelson, who drives this family, economically as well as spiritually.

What stylistic decisions did you make in writing the book?

I wanted to highlight how as a tourist, the dream of Israel always informs the daily reality that passes in front of your eyes. That’s why each chapter begins with a small anecdote or list that gives the reader a sense of the centuries-old chatter that’s been going on about Israel. As the book progresses, the anecdotes become less amusing and more violent.

Also, if you track the action of the novel closely, you’ll see the story literally slides downhill. There’s a slow downward descent from the heights of the New City toward the Silwan Valley where the Palestinians live, until Mrs. Michaelson literally hits bottom in Hezekiah’s tunnel.

On a prose level, I was conscious of drawing out my sentences a bit more than in my first book, The View from Stalin’s Head, to suggest the dramatic epic-like quality of the landscape of Israel. At the same time, I wanted to contrast the natural beauty with an argumentative, challenging narrative voice, for obvious reasons.

The alternating point of view (between Mrs. Michaelson and her son) emerged naturally, so I went with it, only breaking out of that dual-lens twice, at crucial plot and thematic peaks halfway through the book and at the end.

Why do you refer to the main character as "Mrs. Michaelson" and not "Helen"?

To suggest the importance of formality and good manners, which are Mrs. Michaelson’s guiding principles. She believes that everyone would just behave and say please and thank you, we’d have a better world. Of course she’s right. If everyone obeyed the rules, we wouldn’t have terrorism, drug abuse, or murder or other unpleasantness. Her problem is she can’t comprehend why it is that so many people choose not to say please and thank you, or even choose to engage in behavior that’s harmful to himself or to others.
Another reason was that I enjoy the elegance of formality in fiction. I love that there are certain characters we think of only as “Mr. Darcy” or “Madame Bovary.” Fitzwilliam and Emma just don’t have the same ring to them.

What's your opinion on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict?

I’m well aware whatever I say will land me in hot water with someone. As I’ve said before regarding Stalin’s Head, I’m a firm believer in the radical proposition that all people are equal. It’s not an easy belief to cling to, but I have to because it’s true. There are no Jews, no Palestinians, no women, no men, no gays or straights, no homeless or wealthy people, no black people, no left-handed people, no construction workers and corporate executives. All these identity labels correspond to our actions or beliefs but not to our essences. Because of my radical belief in equality, I look at much of our politics and history as illusions, though they’re powerful illusions that we need to contend with.

The problem I have with the current system in Israel is that the checkpoints and settlements have turned the Palestinians into prisoners based not on their actions but on their identities. People who commit evil acts should be put in prison, but I don’t think you should put an entire group of people in a virtual prison because they are Palestinian or even because they believe Israelis and Jews deserve to burn in eternal hell-fire. At the same time, the culture of hatred fostered in Palestinian schools and the society at large makes it difficult for Israelis to live in peace, making them prisoners as well.

I think that at this point in this crazy struggle, the best hope for peace lies with separation. The Israelis and Palestinians are tired, tired of talking, tired of fighting, tired of each other. Maybe they ought to just separate into two corners of the same room, and when they’ve gotten a chance to take a break from fighting and talking, they can figure out a way to live side by side.

As I say this, however, I realize how simplistic and naïve I sound, as does just about anyone who ventures an opinion on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. That’s why we haven’t been able to solve this problem for so long: there’s no easy answer, even in separation with a nice big fence to keep the two sides apart. Imagine if Manhattan suddenly went to war, East Side versus West Side. Who would get the water? The electricity? The garbage trucks? The snow removal? How much of Central Park should go to each side? In Israel, even the basic systems of everyday life are so linked that you’re talking about dividing things by microscopic hairs.

I do have hope, however. While working on this book, I supported myself by teaching English to immigrants. One of my students, a Russian grandmother named Svetlana, objected strongly when a young Palestinian woman joined our class. “Palestinians no good,” declared Svetlana, who always managed to express herself forcefully in English even if her choice of words was limited. “Palestinians, bang, bang!” But by the end of the year, at our class party, Svetlana put her arm around this same Palestinian woman and said to me, “This is my friend Karam. Do you know she has seven sisters?”

I’ve never met anyone more conservative than Russian Jewish grandmothers. If they can make peace with the Palestinians, then it ought to be a snap for the Israelis.

What is your attitude toward religious Jews?

They should be free to do whatever they want, as long as they don’t try to stop me from doing what I want. I’m unnerved by evangelicals of any religious stripe because I believe in teaching by example rather than coercion. Yet I don’t think an evangelical can convert anyone who isn’t already susceptible to being converted.

Increasingly, I feel a separation from many religious people, and I wish that weren't the case. I believe religion is important and necessary in our lives because it creates a space for moral questioning. My problem is that some people who practice religion spend too much time moralizing and not enough questioning. Incidentally, this problem isn’t unique to Orthodox Jews or Southern Baptists or Wahabi imams. New Age gurus, Reconstructionist Rabbis, and Unitarian clergy suffer from the same tendencies. It may be a problem that has more to do with the institutionalization of any belief than the belief itself.

Are you religious?

I don’t know any more. But I believe strongly in the value of religion and I have an intense spiritual connection with God that I sometimes express through traditional religious rituals.

What surprised you in writing the novel?

That I had so much more personally in common with the mother, Mrs. Michaelson, than I did with Jeremy, who was closer to me in age, gender, and sexual orientation.

Which literary works influenced Faith for Beginners?

I always have to laugh a little when people ask how autobiographical my work is because when I write I’m much more conscious of the books I’ve read than people I’ve known. This book is my love letter to upper middle-class literary heroines like Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway and Evan S. Connell’s Mrs. Bridge, and E. M. Forster’s Mrs. Wilcox, Miss Schlegal, and Mrs. Moore. I value their common sense and good will as well as their earnest desires for everyone to play fairly with each other. That impulse seems all the more noble to me because most people don’t want to play fair. They’d rather get the upper hand than play fair, and these middle class women have benefited from their husbands’ investment in the class system. But instead of just enjoying their good fortune, the women above try to, within certain bounds, rectify injustice. With Mrs. Bridge, it’s more of an internal struggle, yet all the women grapple seriously with morals and ethics and in their own limited ways try to build a better world.

When will you write something set in America?

I’m often asked if I’ll ever write something set in America, but I feel as if everything I write is set here. Even if my stories don’t take place within American borders, all my books take place in American spaces, informed by our culture, our values, our money, and our power.

My next book is a novel set in contemporary Berlin, and is about an American expatriate couple who become involved with Berlin’s growing Jewish community. I see the book as the third in a trilogy concerned with religion, history, and sexuality. After that, I may come home, so to speak, but maybe not in the way you’d expect.

Q&A WITH AARON HAMBURGER ON THE VIEW FROM STALIN'S HEAD

Why did you decide to move to Prague?

Like many Americans who lived there in the `90s, I was running away from something. In my case, I was escaping San Francisco, where I'd been dumped by this guy I'd considered the love of my life and was holding down a stressful, demanding job while trying to eke out time to write. I had a friend in New York who was unhappy in her situation and so we put our heads together and decided to go on an adventure. We chose Prague because we'd visited the city as tourists and loved it. Also we knew its reputation as a magnet for young people from around the world. Originally I applied to go through a program that placed you in a school to teach English, but then the program went out of business, so I simply bought a plane ticket and went.

My first day in Prague was a fairly rude shock. Here I was, twenty-three and fairly alone in a large city where I barely spoke the language, and somehow I was supposed to find a job and a
place to live. I remember wanting to burst into tears at this local pub where I was eating lunch when I accidentally ordered three glasses of hot tea because I didn't understand the waitress. Eventually I got hold of a list of language schools and cold-called them all. I got four interviews which all resulted in job offers. A friend of mine and I found an apartment together through an antique shop very similar to the one that appears in the book's title story, and after a month, I was pretty much settled.

What was it about Prague that inspired you to write this book?

I didn't set out to write about Prague. My plan had been to do a series of stories about Americans in Europe, but the stories kept setting themselves in Prague, so I followed them there. I'd had in mind a sort of update of Henry James for the end of the twentieth century, his classic theme of naïve Americans bumbling off to Europe to become 'finished,' and in the process
getting manipulated by their worldly European counterparts. Now, however, because of the dominance of pop culture, those tables have turned; the naïve Americans have become sophisticated, while the Europeans by comparison can seem clumsy and out of step. (Hence
the term 'Euro-trash.')

As I continued working on the book, what interested me most about Prague was the clash of American received wisdom and Czech received wisdom that I saw taking place there. That clash often boiled down to American psycho-babble and p.c. truisms versus a traditionally Czech skepticism about any sort of piety combined with a very frank sexual culture. The best example of that I can think of is the Bill Clinton mess. I was there before Monica, when Paula Jones sued the President for sexual harassment, and my students looked at me with this expression of utter disbelief, like, 'You have got to be kidding!' What we might call sexual harassment is considered more like banter for many Czechs and you'd be considered odd if you didn't participate in it.

I also wanted to write about the meeting of history and personal life, the moments when the two rub off on each other. I often see people take politics so personally that it blinds them to what's happening in their own lives, like when people say, 'Oh, I hate Hillary Clinton.' Most of these people don't even know Hillary Clinton, but that feeling is as real as if she were a neighbor. Of course, we in America tend to look at politics as a kind of TV show with our favorite and least favorite characters, particularly on a national level, since it doesn't affect our lives as directly as say in Israel or Liberia.

I think the major question I want to address is, how much do we need to involve ourselves in larger causes? When is it appropriate and necessary and when does it become a blind that enables us to avoid looking at the scary depths of our souls? It's much easier to adopt identity labels like 'Jew' or 'Republican' than to really question who we are and what we think, but then if we don't identify as something, what do we stand for?

I don't believe there's an answer. That's the strength of art in comparison to religion or politics. All three delve into problems without answers, but rather than flail around to find answers, art enriches our understanding of the fact that we live in a problematic universe.

What do you think is the biggest misconception of the expatriates-in-Prague experience?

There are two I've noticed, which have been rather ably exploited by writers like Gary Shteyngart in his novel The Russian Debutante's Handbook, for example:

1. The 'ex-pats' wasted all their time getting drunk on cheap beer at parties and in pubs and never did anything else.
2. Several 'ex-pats' grew rich off crazy entrepreneurial schemes involving the mafia, money laundering, trafficking in weapons of mass destruction, etc.

That kind of caricature lends itself to satire, which is why I think Shteyngart chose it, but it doesn't reflect my experience. About everyone I knew in Prague, and I mean the ones who lived there longer than a month or two, had a job and depended on that money to pay their rent and eat. We went to work (which almost always consisted of teaching English), we went grocery
shopping, and we paid our rent. And we drank beer, sometimes to excess, which to my mind doesn't distinguish the young Americans who lived in Prague from the ones who lived in New York City. The only difference was the beer was cheaper in Prague.

The truth about the expatriate experience is much more boring than the fiction that's been spun about it. But what's interesting to me is that these ordinary lives with their typically ordinary American dilemmas (usually involving searching for one's inner Oprah) were taking place in such
extraordinary surroundings, an entire society that had been set on its head. My idea was to focus on that contrast. Caricature didn't interest me as much as juxtaposition. I wanted to put all these disparate elements next to each other and let my readers draw the connections.

Who are some of your major influences?

Right now I'm coming down from an E. M. Forster high, but Christopher Isherwood was probably the biggest influence on this collection. I read his Berlin Stories, (the basis for the musical Cabaret) when I lived in Prague and it struck me how we'd lived mirror experiences. He'd been an expatriate living in a society going into totalitarianism while I was one in a society coming out of it.

What I love about Isherwood and Forster as well as so many other British writers is their dry wit, the clever precision of their word choice, and their cranky intelligence. I like how they treat readers as grown-ups with a wide body of knowledge and insight. They trust us to figure out things for ourselves and don't condescend to spoonfeed us with tortured explanations of history and psychology. They assume that if we as readers don't understand what they're getting at, it's our failing, not theirs.

Are you a gay writer or a Jewish writer?

I am both gay and Jewish but neither of them when I write. As a writer you have to pretend the world is a blank page and reinvent it each time. You are God in the void that existed before there was such a thing as light or dark or gay or Jewish or anything else. You have to forget about labels like gay or Jewish or black or Latino, because each person reacts to the collective
experience of identity in his or her own unique way. It isn't as if there's one set of characteristics called 'gay' or 'Jew' that you can plug in whenever you need that type of character for a story. Everyone is a particular kind of each of those things and hopefully as a writer you can render exactly what kind your character is. That's why I don't think there really is such a thing as a black or gay or Jewish writer, though those terms are convenient and sometimes useful ways to categorize people. I prefer to think of myself and every other person in existence as human, which is a deeply scary concept to a lot of people, but shouldn't be to a writer. When you pick up a book, you don't ask its sexual orientation or religion. Paper doesn't have sex or go to
synagogue. Neither, I might add, does free thought.

What are you working on next?

I'm working on a comic novel that's set in Jerusalem. It's about a middle-aged Jewish housewife with a rebellious gay son who overdoses on a combo of vodka and pills. To cure his wayward lifestyle, she takes him on a Mission to the Holy Land, where she and her son fall in love and get into trouble. It isn't a political book. It's a story in a political setting.

What do you think about the current trends in contemporary literature?

I'm excited that we're in a moment when any kind of writing seems possible. In that way, contemporary literature is much more exciting than contemporary film or fine art or music. We've got everything from flashy 'po-mo' stuff like Dave Eggers to more quiet, traditional writing like Monica Ali's new novel, and that's just what's coming out from the larger, mainstream houses.

What I worry about with contemporary literature is that there's this sense that writers should choose a style the way tennis players choose a type of racket, so that the choice itself seems arbitrary, almost like an accident. Also, sometimes I wish the stories I read could encompass more in them than one person's story movingly told. I don't need to read that many more stories about a lonely person living out west failing to connect or about a lonely person living in the big city failing to connect. I'm not advocating for more thousand page neo-Dickensian tomes either. But why can't we have more books like J. M. Coetzee's Disgrace, a slim but dense dissection of a person, a place, and a historic moment all at once?

In general, I think there's a lot of competence out there, but not enough craft, a lot of stories that happen to get told, but not ones that demand to be told.