The Banquet of Esther Rosenbaum by Penny Simpson

Despite being a proud Welsh woman who loves Welsh culture, I admit to not being that well-versed in Anglo-Welsh literature. I think this has come from being more interested in reading better known books in my university days and from having a horror of reading dreary tomes about sheep farms in the valleys or depressed copper smelting families. Which is terribly prejudiced of me, I know.  I’m not about to embark on a project to read Anglo-Welsh novels at the moment, but I came across this one in the library and thought I might give it a go, especially as I enjoy reading about the period when it’s set. 

The Banquet of Ether Rosenbaum is about a seven-foot tall Jewish (female) chef living in Germany during the Weimar Republic. It’s an odd book that I found difficult to rush through despite being quite short. It seemed to be more character driven rather than plot driven, and is populated with a variety of colourful characters including Brecht. The characters are well-drawn, but I found it difficult to engage with them and I didn’t find it that much of an emotional read despite the setting. 

I did think it would be a bit more evocative, but that was not entirely the style that she was writing in. As it was a magic realist book, there was an assumption that the reader would be able to place the period and the historical aspects were pared away. The choice of the period was largely dictated in that it needed to be set against a backdrop of political turmoil and war but also a period of creativity and conflict between creative people and fascists. As a magic realist novel it works well, but I would’ve found it disappointing as a historical novel. 

Esther Rosenbaum was a good narrator, and generally I liked the style that the book was written in. Time is played with, body transformation is representative of the state of Germany at the time and Esther makes elaborate symbolic dishes. The food is not described in that much detail. I suppose I have been spoiled by books such as Like Water for Chocolate, but here the descriptions seem skimmed-over. There is a slight sense of an extended short story rather than a novel. 

Perhaps it suffers a little from the dreaded Curse of the Literary Fiction That is Too Literary where it wins prizes but it loses something at the same time through being a bit too experimental or ambitious. Or maybe I just wasn’t concentrating enough on it. I did enjoy it and thought that it was good, but it was more of a three star than a four star and I was quite glad I got it from the library. I think it’ll encourage me to be less prejudiced about Anglo-Welsh novels though.