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This is a delightful, tender, affectionate story of a boy growing into manhood in the Jerusalem of Palestine from just before Israel became a state to its establishment through victory over the native Arabs (who retained the city until 1967).

Beginning with a description of his forebears, Oz introduces us to a wide variety of characters both within and around his family, all of them revealed to the reader in their idiosyncrasies, while around them tension rises amid the conflict with the Arabs.

Though the tale is built around the life of the author's beloved mother and ends with her death, we do get placed into the near future beyond that point, where Oz breaks from family tradition and joins a kibbutz, the communal settlements dedicated to manual labor and the raising of children by the community rather than the parents.

As a single child, Amos Oz is in an overwhelming atmosphere of books and scholarship. His father speaks multiple languages and revels in words, never hesitant to tell one and all about the history of this or that word to the point of tedium. This shows one side of Jewry where study and education are vital; the very basis of life punctuated by heated arguments between the highly opinionated determined to stand their ground. Often I was put in mind of another book, Jews Without Money, that I have reviewed.

In sharp contrast to his father, his mother tells him imaginative stories that challenge him because of their unexpected and often anxiety provoking themes. Most of the time, the boy is left to his own imagination, much in the manner of the character Calvin in the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes. Mighty fortifications are built from anything that falls to hand from spillikins (pick-up sticks) to storage boxes, only to be swept away by parents cleaning the room. This writer, raised in a very quiet home without television, readily identified with coming up with activities on one's own.

In keeping with the author's impetuosity, incidents occur where he greatly embarrasses his parents in the way that any parent of a boy will understand. This extends into his older years when he breaks out laughing during a very serious speech being given by Menachem Begin, to the shock of the audience.

His mother develops mental problems leading to long periods of inactivity and sleepless nights spent staring out a window. Everything is done to try to help her as we follow in great intimacy the reactions of spouse and son in their helplessness.

Oz is never hesitant to paint delightful pictures of personalities as we follow him to elementary schools that could not be more different from each other.

Several times I wished for photographs, but realized that none are needed as the book is a vivid series of mental photographs the author brings to life. Near the end of the book is a single simply posed photo of Oz, his mother and his father, placed appropriately only after we have come to know all three of them well.

At times I found it hard to believe that Oz could remember word for word lengthy conversations between adults when he was only 5 or 6 years old, and on subjects which would baffle a small boy, let alone the vocabulary from several languages. But this did not keep me from enjoying the words of wisdom (certainly thought so by the speakers) he overhears or that come to him in the form of lectures on proper behavior. He could not know the thoughts of his mother as she reached her final days, but artistry must be given license and this book is a work of art true to its title.