Diary of an Old Man

New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1967. First Edition [stated], presumed first printing. Hardcover. Very good/Good. Format is approximately 5 inches by 7.5 inches. DJ has some wear and soiling. 191, [1] pages. Inscribed by the author on the fep. Inscription follow a Hebrew notation at the top right corner. Inscription reads: To Dick a colleague & a friend. with best wishes from Chaim Bermant. Diary of an Old Man covers one winter month in Cyril's life as he struggles to survive on his almost nonexistent pension. The everyday events which are recounted--keeping warm, finding lodging, cooking, reading the papers in the local library--conceal an extraordinary feat of imagination on the part of the author. Cyril, the diarist, is cantankerous, voluble, mean and human...Through small incidents and with an acute ear for backchat, Mr. Bermant conveys Cyril's refusal to be defeated, and the humor as well as the tragedies of old age. This is a delightful and unusual novel about a rascally old age pensioner who lives in a single room without much to do but extracts a fair mount of malicious glee from the misfortunes of his contemporaries. Chaim Icyk Bermant (26 February 1929 - 20 January 1998) was a British-based journalist, and author. Born in Braslav, Belarus, he spent part of his childhood in Scotland. He was educated at Glasgow University, where he graduated in economics, and the London School of Economics. He contributed regularly to The Jewish Chronicle and to the national press, particularly The Observer. An Orthodox Jew and supporter of Israel, he was freely critical of both. He wrote several novels and non-fiction works, mostly on the quirks of British Jewish society. Derived from a Kirkus review: If you live 100 years, that's 5,200 weeks and, according to young Chaim Bermant, the first 4,368 weeks are the hardest. At diary's end of this novel, 84-year-old Cyril is chirpier than he's felt in decades. One reason is that his best friend George, another octogenarian, has just died and Cyril inexplicably doesn't feel a sliver of sadness (until a week later). Cyril is a Londoner who lives in a ratty old room he's come to love. His two-burner gas stove is a great companion. The highlights of Cycil's day are his morning library visit with George and sipping tea to "Choral Evensong" on the wireless. Occasionally, Cyril will lose his way only a block from his boardinghouse, and twice a week he and George accompany each other to the clinic to have George's bladder and Cyril's game leg rebolstered. Their conversation runs to quite funny inanities about longevity, the times, and why they've outlived all their friends and relatives. Cyril's wife died over thirty years ago and he can barely remember her, though memories do return. Probably what kills George is the death of his beloved rubber plant, which he only survives by a few weeks. The novel is carried off with cheerful compassion that is never morbid.