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Book Review  by Ida Nasatir

The City Boy by Herman Wouk

May 1949—Ida Nasatir, book review—The City Boy by Herman Wouk—Southwestern Jewish Press, page 6: It happened in a strange way that Abe (Nasatir, her husband) and I met Herman Wouk. One Friday afternoon not too long ago, Al Hutler phoned me asking whether I would take an unknown gentleman for the Sabbath.  This "gentleman" called his office and asked for a home where he could observe the Sabbath as well as the dietary laws. I said to Hutler "Of course, send him over." He came, and I was most surprised to greet a handsome, quite young man. He reminded me very muchof the movie actor, Robert Taylor. I found him to be utterly charming, keen witted, and as observant of Jewish orthodox life as we both are. He and my husband walked to schul Saturday morning, and because it was a muggy, warm day, they came home wilted. Altogether, it was a jolly wonderful Shabbos, we spent with Mr. Wouk. The latter attributes his love for things Jewish to his elderly grandfather, a rabbi, in New York City, whom he adores. Mr. Wouk's first novel was a satire on advertising and radio called, Aurora Dawn. He wrote that two years ago, and it was met with much acclaim. This novel, The City Boy, published in 1948 makes one think of a Bronx Tom Sawyer. The author dug back into what must have been his own boyhood—just as Twain did into his youth—and came up with this affectionately written, enormously entertaining story of a Bronx-raised boy and his adventures. And it has almost exactly what Tom Sawyer had, with allowances for time, place and customs. A note or two will show you. Herbie Bookbinder, Wouk's 11 year old hero, was just promoted to the eight grade in public school No. 50 in the Bronx. Herbie was a fat boy; his answer to any problem was food. No anguish was so sharp that eating could not allay it. He lived a city boy's life; vacant lots took the place of fields and woods, and the East river was always there, dark and oily and mysterious. This was Herbie's world, and he got along well enough in it. There wee some times when he wished he were thinner, and that he wasn't quite so far ahead in school for his age—though there were compensations in that, too. Then Herbie discovered a new world, the world of Camp Manitou, to which his parents sent him for the summer. Mr. Wouk has been careful to keep a main story-thread running throughout the book. More, Herbie's doings are of the Tom Sawyer kind if not of their setting. Just as Tom did something he shouldn't have done, in exploring the cave with Becky, so did Herbie get himself in over his head in an enterprise too big for him. As with Tom, Herbie found that he had accidentally done something good, something helpful to that other remote world, inhabited by adults. Like Tom, Herbie has a boon companion, wiser in the ways of the world, than himself; like Tom again, Herbie is in a moony romantic state about a girl. Most of all Mr. Wouk is like Twain, however, in that he never makes you laugh at Herbie. You're with Herbie every minute, and you find, with some astonishment, perhaps that you're as happy as Herbie himself could possibly be when things come out all right. Mr. Wouk was born in New York in 1915 and obviously in much of The City Boy, he is writing from memory. It is an excellent memory, and combined with a mature sense of humor, builds a sharp, light hearted picture of public school life in the Bronx twenty years ago. Herbie, fat though he may be, is any boy, a half-sized man, riddled with longing, loneliness, appetite, dreams and ideals—and affected between fits of melancholy and regular spasms of hunger, with a curious, persistent hope.  He may not be the stuff of historical footnotes, but whoever makes his acquaintance will find much of himself dwelling in Herbie. I consider City Boy a minor classic.