Shalom Auslander’s Feh is a masterpiece of wit, despair, and, surprisingly, hope. It stands out as one of the most impactful books I’ve read in recent memory.
I first encountered Auslander through an episode of This American Life where he read an excerpt from his earlier memoir, Foreskin’s Lament. The excerpt was hilarious, irreverent, and immediately captivating. However, when I picked up the book itself, I found it repetitive despite its engaging moments. Had I not already reserved both his memoirs from the library, I might have skipped Feh. I’m glad I didn’t.
While Foreskin’s Lament examines Auslander’s life leading up to the birth of his first child, Feh dives headfirst into his struggles with middle age. The book resonated with me, perhaps because Auslander’s lens on life mirrors my own. At the heart of this memoir is the Yiddish word “Feh,” which Auslander defines as “Yuck.” To him, everything is Feh—his surroundings, his circumstances, even himself.
Living with a worldview steeped in “Feh” is as torturous as it sounds. Auslander’s world has few bright spots. His wife and children are among the rare un-Feh parts of his life, but even they are not immune to the taint of his bleak perspective and his insecurities. Yet, amidst this existential gloom, Auslander weaves moments of absurd comedy, finding humor in the human condition, the absurdities of religion, and the wrath of a vengeful God. His critiques are undoubtedly shaped by his strict Orthodox Jewish upbringing, a source of deep scars and rich material.
One of the memoir’s most poignant arcs recounts Auslander’s friendship with Philip Seymour Hoffman, whom Auslander casts as a kindred spirit—a fellow “Feh.”. When Hoffman died just as the project was green-lit, Auslander was left grappling with grief, anger, and guilt—devastated by the loss of his friend yet burdened by the financial and emotional fallout. This raw, conflicted reflection showcases Auslander’s ability to face profound loss with honesty.
Feh is a tighter, more polished work compared to Foreskin’s Lament. It benefits from meticulous editing, avoiding the repetition that bogged down its predecessor. Just as the narrative begins to feel like it might circle back on itself, Auslander pivots and offers a surprising ending. His conclusion carries a glimmer of optimism—a rare and hard-won lightness that suggests the possibility of choosing joy in a world that often feels irredeemably grim. It’s a powerful shift, handled deftly, and it left me rooting for him.
As someone who often finds themselves stuck in their own Feh-ness, Auslander’s memoir felt like a mirror. His ability to articulate despair with humor and honesty is a testament to his talent as a writer. And while the journey to un-Feh feels far for many of us, Auslander’s story reminds us that it may not be an impossible destination.