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| Photo by Ilya Melnikov |
Eli Zuzovsky is the author of the new novel Mazeltov. He is also a filmmaker and a playwright.
Q: What inspired you to write Mazeltov, and how did you create your cast of characters?
A: Mazeltov started as my senior thesis in college. It was inspired by my love for coming-of-age narratives—my obsession with works like François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows and James Baldwin's Giovanni's Room—alongside my feeling that many of these Bildungsromane were narrow.
Being the products of a culture that increasingly foregrounds the individual, often at the expense of the community, these stories tend to hone in on one person and one moment.
This focus didn’t feel true to my own growing pains which, to this day, are deeply intertwined with those of others in my life. I was eager to write something capacious that reflected my experience of growing up as a lifelong and communal journey, where interconnectedness played a crucial role.
Rituals and rites of passage fascinate me; I was especially intrigued by the idea of liminality—being on the threshold of something—introduced by the ethnographer Arnold van Gennep.
I wanted to challenge the bar mitzvah, almost cheekily. What does it even mean, to become a man—or an adult, for that matter—overnight? I celebrated my bar mitzvah 16 years ago, and I still don’t feel like I’ve become a man.
In this sense, it was clear to me from the outset that the cast of characters I’d create was of supreme importance. These people soon became the novel’s spinal cord.
I spent a long time experimenting with different forms and voices, like poetry, a birthday letter, and an impromptu speech. At times, writing Mazeltov felt like composing a symphony for an orchestra, where the different instruments and movements are meant to echo and converse with one another.
I was interested in meditating on how we live together, especially in a place as rife with violence as Israel, and how we make each other.
Because I majored in filmmaking and English literature, while writing the book, I also made a short film version. Working with our spectacular cast, which included some of my favorite actors in Israel and Palestine, taught me a great deal about the characters, their dreams, fears, and obsessions.
Q: The writer Claire Messud said of the book, “By turns hilarious and heartbreaking, Eli Zuzovsky’s brilliantly observed novel offers a kaleidoscopic view of a young queer man’s life, his family and his times, through the lens of his bar mitzvah.” What do you think of that description, and what did you see as the right balance between humor and heartbreak in the book?
A: I’d blush by the sound of these words if they came from anyone, let alone someone like Claire, who is one of my literary heroes. She was my thesis advisor, along with the amazing Chilean filmmaker Dominga Sotomayor, so she read the novel in its early forms.
Claire and Dominga’s generous, constructive feedback helped shape the book and made this project deeply formative. A lot of our conversations revolved around precisely this blend of comedy and tragedy.
I don’t know that there’s a “right” balance here, but I suppose I worked in a tradition of melding the two that, to me, felt very queer and Jewish. This was a huge part of my upbringing; even as kids, my friends and I were obsessed with Holocaust jokes. I love the feeling of not knowing whether something makes me want to laugh or cry (and if I end up doing both simultaneously, I’m completely sold).
This feeling is one that my favorite writers, from Clarice Lispector to Paul Beatty, are experts at engendering. In fact, I find it very hard to relate to works of art—and people—without humor.
Q: As a novelist, filmmaker, and playwright, how do you see those disciplines coexisting in your work?
A: Ever since I can recall, I’ve worked in those three disciplines. I actually can’t think of another way of being in the world. There’s something about the combination of writing and directing that just feels right to me. They kind of balance each other, serving and activating different parts of my soul.
To me, writing at its best is a space of total freedom, where all practical constraints dissolve; to do it, all I need is myself and something to write on. But it’s also very solitary, and I’m a creature of collaboration.
This is where directing, which involves extensive work with others, can be extremely fun and useful. When I spend too much time alone in my studio, I often find myself missing the film set or the rehearsal room (and vice versa).
Besides, I think that working across different media opens up space for experimentation and cross-pollination. One of my favorite reactions to my work is when people describe it by borrowing terms from another medium.
Someone said, for example, that the novel felt very “cinematic,” and another described the short film as “theatrical.” It’s a bit like the condition of synesthesia, where the stimulation of one sense prompts experiences in another one.
Q: How was the novel’s title chosen, and what does it signify for you?
A: I’m afraid I don’t remember how I chose the title. It almost feels like it’s been there from the start, although I don’t think that’s the case.
In Yiddish and Hebrew, “Mazel tov” literally means “good luck,” but it often signifies “congratulations.” It’s an expression that Jews and Israelis turn to frequently, like its Arabic equivalent, “Mabrouk.”
I love how it’s almost like a matrix where past, present, and future collide. You can use it to congratulate someone on a past achievement or celebrate an occasion as it unfolds, but it’s also an auspicious phrase, as it’s oriented toward a better future.
In the novel, it’s used twice, literally and ironically, on two extreme occasions: one very celebratory, the other very violent. I guess this goes back to your question about humor and heartbreak.
Writing this novel made me think of coming-of-age as a breakage of sorts, a growing awareness of the fragility and brokenness of the world. This idea runs throughout the corpus of Jewish thought, from the custom of breaking the glass at weddings (which symbolizes the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem) to the Kabbalistic concept of the breaking of the vessels (which introduced imperfection, evil, and chaos into the world).
Q: What are you working on now?
A: Because of the multidisciplinary nature of my work, I always have to work on a few projects. At the moment, I’m juggling my first feature-length film, a TV show I’m developing, and another novel, while trying to complete my doctoral work.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: I don’t think so. Thank you very much for your interest in the book!
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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