In some Jewish circles, it's taboo to admit to having read Portnoy's Complaint, given its raunchy content and negative portrayal of Judaism. But it cannot be denied that Philip Roth's 1969 novel is still compelling and relevant more than 40 years later. Roth, one of the most respected authors in 20th century American Jewish literature, made his name known nationally with the publication of Portnoy's Complaint, a novel that details a fictional account of the difficulties of growing up Jewish in 1960s America.

Alexander Portnoy, the title character, narrates the entire story from a therapist's couch and details, usually quite explicitly, his sexual escapades with gentile women, his (believed-to-be) difficult childhood with his family and his challenge in fulfilling his perceived social expectations as an American Jew.

The book begins by chronicling Portnoy's conventional but traumatic youth, where he describes his mother "threatening" him with a knife when he wouldn't eat his dinner, and follows this trajectory through his teenage years and into the turmoils of his adult life, in which he develops an unfulfilling sexual relationship with a former prostitute whom he calls "the Monkey." Given that the story could easily become dull as a 270-page monologue, Roth has interwoven into the book several clever remarks and introspective musings, ranging from the offensive to the hilarious. In one scene, Portnoy, obsessing over the ramifications of contracting syphilis, imagines his penis falling off in his family home. This thought is complete with dialogue and vivid imagery as Portnoy's father screams in panic that nobody should touch it and they should call the humane society. "Like for a rabies dog?" his mother sobs incredulously.

Roth paints a dark picture of American Judaism in this book: a simultaneous envy and distaste for Christianity, a persistent anxiety about anti-Semitism and a validation of negative Jewish stereotypes. The introduction of these themes in the late 1960s, very soon after the Holocaust, angered many members of the American Jewish community who felt that Roth was airing dirty laundry and, consequently, labeled him a self-hating Jew. Furthermore, Roth's inclusion of sexually explicit material that would still be considered risqu?(c) by today's standards made the book controversial among the mainstream public. It almost goes without saying that the book quickly became a bestseller as a result of this controversy.

Regardless of its reception at the time of its publication, Portnoy's Complaint has several qualities that make it relevant to contemporary society. Almost all readers can relate to Portnoy's anxiety of fulfilling his parent's expectations while developing his own independent identity and interests (albeit his independent identity is based in an unhealthy sexuality). Similarly, Portnoy's occasional longing for Christianity speaks to a more universal desire to conform and fit into the majority, especially if the majority is perceived as a better alternative to the current state. The candidness and directness with which Portnoy approaches these topics and others is quite refreshing in comparison to approaches in other literature.

The book does have some flaws. For those who do not enjoy Roth's style of writing, which involves a substantial amount of cynicism, the book can feel like a long and unnecessary rant about Portnoy's personal problems. In fact, by the end, the voice of the same narrator for 250 plus pages began to get a bit tiring. Portnoy's attitude toward women and sexuality is offensive and, a few times, horrifying, which makes some readers uncomfortable.
Nonetheless, the book offers a provocative angle on what it means to be Jewish. Roth impressively weaves different themes and conflicts together into a package that surprisingly works and poses important questions about American religious identity that no one wanted to ask.

Editor's Note: This book is being read in NEJS 176A: Seminar in American Jewish Fiction: Philip Roth and Cynthia Ozick. Philip Gallagher is a former editor of The Justice.