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Ark
Ben Arkin, patriarch of the family, is an artist who has never sold a piece. His children, Sondra, Doris, and Oliver run a record label which has never produced a hit, and which Ben and his wife have bankrolled. When Doris strikes out to form her own label, Sondra sues the entire Arkin family, setting about a series of events that ultimately lead to their demise. The story is told primarily from the perspective of Oliver’s daughter, Rebecca, an attorney who might be the only redeeming member of the Arkin family. Rebecca attempts to keep the family from collapsing, while trying desperately to extricate herself from their grasp.
- GenresFiction
232 pages, Kindle Edition
Published September 13, 2016
53 people want to read
About the author
Julian Tepper
8 books27 followersJulian Tepper is the author of four novels, Cooler Heads, Between the Records, Balls, and Ark. His writing has appeared in The Paris Review, Playboy, The Brooklyn Rail, Zyzzyva, The Daily Beast, The Brooklyn Rail, Tablet Magazine, and elsewhere. His essay, "Locking Down with the Family You've Just Eviscerated in a Novel" was a "Notable Essay of 2022" in Best American Essays 2022. He was born and raised on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
July 30, 2016
…“It’s a waste of time for a genius like me to peddle his art. I say get down to the bloody work, make something the world’s never seen, and when you’re dead perhaps they’ll find out about you—if they’re lucky!”
Oftentimes Ben would stop with his work and draw his hand through the air and say, “You see this? These paintings? These sculptures? They are perfectly meaningless things. And yet in making them I have felt what it feels like to be a king. And that stimulus to my brain, that knowledge of creation which I have gained...that, Jerome, is what all this making is about.” (p. 42)
I received a digital ARC of Ark by Julian Tepper back in April, and I found it to be a highly entertaining dark comedy, the plot is familiar and funny, it clips along at a steady, bite-sized pace—it does require a certain mindset to settle into the saddle for the fictional ride—and as with any book, I had trust in the author to tell the story from his unique vision. I say this because it is squirmy in that neurotic Woody Allen movie/ Seinfeld episode world that makes me roll my eyes—preparing myself for absurdities that are unreal, asking myself, “Who in their right mind behaves like this?” Well, people do act-out inappropriately depending on their circumstances—just open the newspaper on any given day and they are out there. The human condition is a curious state of affairs, like the fascination with disasters, people tie up traffic rubbernecking at car accidents; they peruse the front page of the tabloids at the checkout counter—yes, remarkable, we have a fixation on tragedy and scandal, but there wouldn’t be a story without it. I have to point out here, that there’s something special about New York City—the quirky stories about it and its inhabitants; it’s steeped in the American literary tradition. New York City is this big fabulous place constructed onto this small parcel of real estate, it’s jam packed with the human condition, and complex circumstances that can be unbelievable to some, but absolutely normal to those living it. I’m just a small town girl from Upstate New York, so the place alternately fascinates and puzzles me most of the time.
No matter where you’re from, or how wealthy you are (or not) the best of families can disintegrate into petty squabble-fests over things and money in a heartbeat (because someone’s heart ceased to beat)—blood is thicker than water, and then there’s familial shit slinging. The book immediately careens away from Ben’s peaceful and quirky morning routine, which until I viewed Ben from another perspective a few pages later, it was sad to see him differently than how he perceives himself. We’re all guilty of that—there are some days the mirror is unforgiving. Anyway, the true circumstances of the story immediately comes in the form of Ben’s wife, Eliza, as the broader issue of money and needing to acquire money to pay the bills. She suggests going to the Russian to sell diamonds—the suggestion made my core clench—this can only go badly in some form—the human condition bomb is ticking. At times, as I’ve gotten older, I look around me and wonder what I have to sell should things go financially south—I don’t have a clutch of diamonds. Writing books? Nah, no money in that (she laughs.) I do have a ton of artwork that I made, but I know no one will pay what I think it’s worth, so I’m a miser and hang on to most of them, when I’ve sold certain ones I always regret it. I have antiques, lots of bits of this and that from my mother’s house—one massive auction might solve things only if the prices are right—typically, not. I have my house, it’s paid for, but I intend to die here some day in a far off date in the future, so that’s not for sale. See, the magic of books is simply amazing—they get ya thinkin’ about stuff—generating empathy for the characters—so from that point, I was in. Ben and Eliza, the diamonds, the acquisition of funds—the story dominos were properly set up, then the telephone rang within another page, that’s when they all started the rapid clicking fall to the inevitable chaos of a thing called life with the Arkin family. Life can be ugly once the details unfold, family dynamics, damage done—who did what to who, when—the mystery of the human condition bomb, wired up, the timer winding down, ready to blow. The imposition of anxiety pulses through the narrative going from bad to worse, and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does. It was relentless.
Serenity now! (*wink*)
I like to immerse myself into a book, live there, experience it, so when I finished Ark, I was glad it was over—not in a bad way—I needed time. Look at it like this, I’m the awkward little introvert at a party populated by extroverts, all I want to do is sit in a corner drinking wine while playing with the host’s cat, absorbing everything going on around me, waiting for the right time to leave, not wanting to be the first person out the door. If the cat and I are having fun interacting in the corner, I’ll be the last person out the door, tipsy, grinning foolishly at the host and telling them, “I had a wonderful time.” In this book, the cat and I had our brief quality time, but the cat ran off to hide under the bed because someone’s allergy to cats kicked in and the host was trying to catch it. I was ready to leave so I could digest all that I observed while people watching—I wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t sleepy either, I was overwhelmed, which is easy when the story has so much in so few pages, very little room to breathe. My little Upstate brain and I needed to take a turn sitting on the beach with a bottle of wine, tuning out everyone—if Ben and Eliza’s granddaughter, Rebecca, showed up, I’d kindly tell her to go find her own patch of beach. This is mine.
When I finish reading a book, I retrace my steps within a day or two. I return to the parts that I think about or do a random drop in to reread a paragraph or two, sometimes more. I typically dog-ear pages or in the case of e-books bookmark, highlight, and I write notes. Where did I go? I revisited Jerome—he was the cat in the corner. I have to admire Jerome for his genuine concern, his patience, and especially his diligence to finish Ben’s last work of art—it was the most touching interlude because he still had hope—even if it was unpromising and a bit foolhardy—he still possessed enough unscathed innocence to hope. When Rebecca saw what he had been working on in Ben’s studio, she was impressed, Jerome was high on the energy that comes from creation, but she was too punch-drunk from the emotional battery to care about anything more than self-preservation. She did warn him to run, but he had his own vision to make Ben famous. This would mean becoming entangled in the Arkin family war, the fragmented clamoring hoard of the Arkin family goes on—life goes on after the book is done, as it should. It’s a tidy little package, I must say, even with the spite and spit of the bitter family feud.
“…I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again…these are just meaningless objects. It’s the experience of making the work. That’s the thing!” …“Yes, I was there for the creation,” Ben continued. “That’s what it’s about, Jerome. The rest…the rest is all a lot of bullshit.” (p.47)
Oftentimes Ben would stop with his work and draw his hand through the air and say, “You see this? These paintings? These sculptures? They are perfectly meaningless things. And yet in making them I have felt what it feels like to be a king. And that stimulus to my brain, that knowledge of creation which I have gained...that, Jerome, is what all this making is about.” (p. 42)
I received a digital ARC of Ark by Julian Tepper back in April, and I found it to be a highly entertaining dark comedy, the plot is familiar and funny, it clips along at a steady, bite-sized pace—it does require a certain mindset to settle into the saddle for the fictional ride—and as with any book, I had trust in the author to tell the story from his unique vision. I say this because it is squirmy in that neurotic Woody Allen movie/ Seinfeld episode world that makes me roll my eyes—preparing myself for absurdities that are unreal, asking myself, “Who in their right mind behaves like this?” Well, people do act-out inappropriately depending on their circumstances—just open the newspaper on any given day and they are out there. The human condition is a curious state of affairs, like the fascination with disasters, people tie up traffic rubbernecking at car accidents; they peruse the front page of the tabloids at the checkout counter—yes, remarkable, we have a fixation on tragedy and scandal, but there wouldn’t be a story without it. I have to point out here, that there’s something special about New York City—the quirky stories about it and its inhabitants; it’s steeped in the American literary tradition. New York City is this big fabulous place constructed onto this small parcel of real estate, it’s jam packed with the human condition, and complex circumstances that can be unbelievable to some, but absolutely normal to those living it. I’m just a small town girl from Upstate New York, so the place alternately fascinates and puzzles me most of the time.
No matter where you’re from, or how wealthy you are (or not) the best of families can disintegrate into petty squabble-fests over things and money in a heartbeat (because someone’s heart ceased to beat)—blood is thicker than water, and then there’s familial shit slinging. The book immediately careens away from Ben’s peaceful and quirky morning routine, which until I viewed Ben from another perspective a few pages later, it was sad to see him differently than how he perceives himself. We’re all guilty of that—there are some days the mirror is unforgiving. Anyway, the true circumstances of the story immediately comes in the form of Ben’s wife, Eliza, as the broader issue of money and needing to acquire money to pay the bills. She suggests going to the Russian to sell diamonds—the suggestion made my core clench—this can only go badly in some form—the human condition bomb is ticking. At times, as I’ve gotten older, I look around me and wonder what I have to sell should things go financially south—I don’t have a clutch of diamonds. Writing books? Nah, no money in that (she laughs.) I do have a ton of artwork that I made, but I know no one will pay what I think it’s worth, so I’m a miser and hang on to most of them, when I’ve sold certain ones I always regret it. I have antiques, lots of bits of this and that from my mother’s house—one massive auction might solve things only if the prices are right—typically, not. I have my house, it’s paid for, but I intend to die here some day in a far off date in the future, so that’s not for sale. See, the magic of books is simply amazing—they get ya thinkin’ about stuff—generating empathy for the characters—so from that point, I was in. Ben and Eliza, the diamonds, the acquisition of funds—the story dominos were properly set up, then the telephone rang within another page, that’s when they all started the rapid clicking fall to the inevitable chaos of a thing called life with the Arkin family. Life can be ugly once the details unfold, family dynamics, damage done—who did what to who, when—the mystery of the human condition bomb, wired up, the timer winding down, ready to blow. The imposition of anxiety pulses through the narrative going from bad to worse, and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does. It was relentless.
Serenity now! (*wink*)
I like to immerse myself into a book, live there, experience it, so when I finished Ark, I was glad it was over—not in a bad way—I needed time. Look at it like this, I’m the awkward little introvert at a party populated by extroverts, all I want to do is sit in a corner drinking wine while playing with the host’s cat, absorbing everything going on around me, waiting for the right time to leave, not wanting to be the first person out the door. If the cat and I are having fun interacting in the corner, I’ll be the last person out the door, tipsy, grinning foolishly at the host and telling them, “I had a wonderful time.” In this book, the cat and I had our brief quality time, but the cat ran off to hide under the bed because someone’s allergy to cats kicked in and the host was trying to catch it. I was ready to leave so I could digest all that I observed while people watching—I wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t sleepy either, I was overwhelmed, which is easy when the story has so much in so few pages, very little room to breathe. My little Upstate brain and I needed to take a turn sitting on the beach with a bottle of wine, tuning out everyone—if Ben and Eliza’s granddaughter, Rebecca, showed up, I’d kindly tell her to go find her own patch of beach. This is mine.
When I finish reading a book, I retrace my steps within a day or two. I return to the parts that I think about or do a random drop in to reread a paragraph or two, sometimes more. I typically dog-ear pages or in the case of e-books bookmark, highlight, and I write notes. Where did I go? I revisited Jerome—he was the cat in the corner. I have to admire Jerome for his genuine concern, his patience, and especially his diligence to finish Ben’s last work of art—it was the most touching interlude because he still had hope—even if it was unpromising and a bit foolhardy—he still possessed enough unscathed innocence to hope. When Rebecca saw what he had been working on in Ben’s studio, she was impressed, Jerome was high on the energy that comes from creation, but she was too punch-drunk from the emotional battery to care about anything more than self-preservation. She did warn him to run, but he had his own vision to make Ben famous. This would mean becoming entangled in the Arkin family war, the fragmented clamoring hoard of the Arkin family goes on—life goes on after the book is done, as it should. It’s a tidy little package, I must say, even with the spite and spit of the bitter family feud.
“…I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again…these are just meaningless objects. It’s the experience of making the work. That’s the thing!” …“Yes, I was there for the creation,” Ben continued. “That’s what it’s about, Jerome. The rest…the rest is all a lot of bullshit.” (p.47)
May 4, 2020
Julian Tepper’s sophomore novel ARK introduces three generations of the Arkin family torn apart by monetary greed and resorting to lawsuit after lawsuit to one up the other. Tepper’s incomparable ability to introduce and stay true to each one of the many characters in this book captivates the reader. His descriptions dance along the page providing the blueprint for the family’s self-destruction. The character Rebecca is particularly complex and Tepper takes the reader on a journey through her discovery of who her family really is and how much she actually wants to do with them.
Within the pages of Tepper’s prose is a love letter to New York City. From the “international newspapers hanging on wooden rods like drying laundry” at Café Sabarsky to the Morgan Library, the streets of the Diamond District and everywhere in between, Tepper subtly transports the reader to many of New York’s most revered places. Using the same vivid and descriptive language that he uses to describe his characters, Tepper introduces every building, every sidewalk, every heartbeat of the city providing the backdrop to this family’s angst.
Five stars. Highly recommend.
Within the pages of Tepper’s prose is a love letter to New York City. From the “international newspapers hanging on wooden rods like drying laundry” at Café Sabarsky to the Morgan Library, the streets of the Diamond District and everywhere in between, Tepper subtly transports the reader to many of New York’s most revered places. Using the same vivid and descriptive language that he uses to describe his characters, Tepper introduces every building, every sidewalk, every heartbeat of the city providing the backdrop to this family’s angst.
Five stars. Highly recommend.
March 10, 2017
Wen der fater gibt men tsu zun, lachen baiden. Wen der zun gibt men tsu fater, vainen baiden.
—Father gives to his son both laugh; then son gives to the father both cry. Yiddish proverb.
Tolstoy’s famous assertion regarding families, happy or unhappy, is of no use to us here. Tolstoy had no acquaintance with the mythos and ethos of upper middleclass, Jewish New Yorkers who, in a generation or two, rose from poverty to affluence and influence, only to assume a degree of self-regard that invites the wrath of heaven.
Julian Tepper’s ARK introduces us to a family that is broken beyond repair—the sadistic Patriarch, Ben, the ill but controlling Matriarch, Eliza, and their emotionally impaired children. The offspring of this match turned mismatch are a son, feckless Oliver, and two daughters, Doris and Sandra, whose self-loathing is matched only by their mutual loathing.
Early in the book Eliza dies; soon afterwards, Ben, in spite of his vigorous regime to avoid death, follows, but not before we are told their stories. We learn each has grown mad in his or her own way, each willing to feed on the other until death do they part.
Tepper has an unusual gift. No, he doesn’t make us care about, let alone like, this vulgar Jewish version of the Adams family, but he insists we follow them. It is a book I wanted to put down but instead read to its peculiar, if not strangely appropriate ending.
There is no detritus in Tepper’s New York; children, ex-wives and lovers will not, cannot be discarded, while everyone can be used, reused, until they are scraped clean as the chickens devoured by Ben.
One cannot avoid comparisons to Saul Bellow’s "Seize the Day" especially in the case of Oliver, the boy-man sacrificed to his father’s vanity. Tepper, however, writing today, is compelled to introduce women into this Freudian farce. In a delicious parody of demands for equality, all suffer equally, just as each will exploit the other with the same enthusiasm.
There is the promise of an inheritance. The inheritance is at risk. There are lawsuits suggesting Dickens’ Bleak House, but these are merely devices that Tepper uses to play to his readers’ expectations.
Will the villain be exposed: will a settlement be made? Tepper keeps the plot in play, even introducing a granddaughter, Oliver’s daughter. On her obverse, she is a corporate lawyer; on her reverse, a hapless lonely being. Tepper does allow her to break free, but not in a heroic fashion. True to her time and generation, she’ll run away. Yes, she’ll escape, but Tepper, whose pen doesn’t hold so much as a drop of sentimentality, ensures it is not a clean escape. As Shakespeare wrote in a different examination of family, “All are punish’d.”
All suffer while an indifferent New York City whirls and California’s sunny coastline both beckons and repels. No, there is no balm in Gilead.
ARK can be read as shorthand Arkin, the family name, or it can be read ironically as a mockery of the Ark-of-the Covenant—the repository of the “Law”—God’s commandments inscribed on two tablets. Laws that the family individually and collectively break. Or, regarding the decline of the family, the book’s title could suggest a sinking Ark from which Noah and his family abandon ship. While one may find a number of Old Testament symbols at play, this is a family where there is no room for God. Although Ben, in his role of divinely inspired artist, believes he, as only a fanatic can, experience the godhead.
The broken family is a familiar motif of modern life. Contemporary life, with its demonic drive to commodify every aspect of our existence, must destroy the lingering mythic and familial ties that allow one to step outside the concentric circles of consumerism. Tepper dismantles the Arkin family by severing ties once considered sacred. Those ties that once, for better of for worse, held families together are not as strong, or as reliable as credit cards, rental cars and co-ops, houses in South Hampton or Malibu, and other such stuff as dreams are made on.
—Father gives to his son both laugh; then son gives to the father both cry. Yiddish proverb.
Tolstoy’s famous assertion regarding families, happy or unhappy, is of no use to us here. Tolstoy had no acquaintance with the mythos and ethos of upper middleclass, Jewish New Yorkers who, in a generation or two, rose from poverty to affluence and influence, only to assume a degree of self-regard that invites the wrath of heaven.
Julian Tepper’s ARK introduces us to a family that is broken beyond repair—the sadistic Patriarch, Ben, the ill but controlling Matriarch, Eliza, and their emotionally impaired children. The offspring of this match turned mismatch are a son, feckless Oliver, and two daughters, Doris and Sandra, whose self-loathing is matched only by their mutual loathing.
Early in the book Eliza dies; soon afterwards, Ben, in spite of his vigorous regime to avoid death, follows, but not before we are told their stories. We learn each has grown mad in his or her own way, each willing to feed on the other until death do they part.
Tepper has an unusual gift. No, he doesn’t make us care about, let alone like, this vulgar Jewish version of the Adams family, but he insists we follow them. It is a book I wanted to put down but instead read to its peculiar, if not strangely appropriate ending.
There is no detritus in Tepper’s New York; children, ex-wives and lovers will not, cannot be discarded, while everyone can be used, reused, until they are scraped clean as the chickens devoured by Ben.
One cannot avoid comparisons to Saul Bellow’s "Seize the Day" especially in the case of Oliver, the boy-man sacrificed to his father’s vanity. Tepper, however, writing today, is compelled to introduce women into this Freudian farce. In a delicious parody of demands for equality, all suffer equally, just as each will exploit the other with the same enthusiasm.
There is the promise of an inheritance. The inheritance is at risk. There are lawsuits suggesting Dickens’ Bleak House, but these are merely devices that Tepper uses to play to his readers’ expectations.
Will the villain be exposed: will a settlement be made? Tepper keeps the plot in play, even introducing a granddaughter, Oliver’s daughter. On her obverse, she is a corporate lawyer; on her reverse, a hapless lonely being. Tepper does allow her to break free, but not in a heroic fashion. True to her time and generation, she’ll run away. Yes, she’ll escape, but Tepper, whose pen doesn’t hold so much as a drop of sentimentality, ensures it is not a clean escape. As Shakespeare wrote in a different examination of family, “All are punish’d.”
All suffer while an indifferent New York City whirls and California’s sunny coastline both beckons and repels. No, there is no balm in Gilead.
ARK can be read as shorthand Arkin, the family name, or it can be read ironically as a mockery of the Ark-of-the Covenant—the repository of the “Law”—God’s commandments inscribed on two tablets. Laws that the family individually and collectively break. Or, regarding the decline of the family, the book’s title could suggest a sinking Ark from which Noah and his family abandon ship. While one may find a number of Old Testament symbols at play, this is a family where there is no room for God. Although Ben, in his role of divinely inspired artist, believes he, as only a fanatic can, experience the godhead.
The broken family is a familiar motif of modern life. Contemporary life, with its demonic drive to commodify every aspect of our existence, must destroy the lingering mythic and familial ties that allow one to step outside the concentric circles of consumerism. Tepper dismantles the Arkin family by severing ties once considered sacred. Those ties that once, for better of for worse, held families together are not as strong, or as reliable as credit cards, rental cars and co-ops, houses in South Hampton or Malibu, and other such stuff as dreams are made on.
March 1, 2020
a very average book, and at times stressful, which i guess was the point. i didn't particularly enjoy it, but it could be good if perhaps you're looking for a book on a once-wealthy family's financial struggles and why they all hate each other?
June 13, 2017
Meh. The characters were hardly likable and the story arc just never quite made it for me. I like the concept though, just didn't make the cut.
March 11, 2017
Hard to get into, but fascinating once you do with the truly useless people fighting about money. Could have benefited from better editing.
October 19, 2016
A combination of unlikeable characters & an uninteresting story earned this 1 star. Sorry
September 19, 2016
What is "karma"? An on-line dictionary defines "karma" as "the force created by a person's actions that some people believe causes good or bad things to happen to that person." If that's that's a good definition of the word, then "karma" is at work in Julian Tepper's new novel, "Ark". There are a lot of vile, vain, venal, stupid, and useless people in the Benjamin Arkin family who do so much damage to each other that it's no wonder they all live lousy lives. And in this case, "lousy lives" mean the loss of a family fortune.
Ben Arkin and his wife Eliza - both in their early 80's - have badly raised their three children.The children - Doris, Sondra, and Oliver - are locked together in an on-going struggle with their parents over money. They're also fighting with each other over money. With money comes independence which is long sought-after by the three children and the hangers-on in the story. But the five Arkin's are tied together and even the death of the parents can't make the fighting stop.
Oliver Arkin - the only son - has led a particularly useless life, spending emotional coin in finding women who will support him. He's once-divorced with a new wife and this second marriage doesn't seem to be working out too well. He also has girlfriends who are so committed to him that their own sanity might well be in question. In fact, every character in "Ark" seems to be on the far end of the "neurotic" spectrum. The only one who seems semi-sane is Oliver's lawyer daughter, Rebecca, who alone can see how crazy everyone else is but is often stumped on how to deal with these people she's - unfortunately - related to.
The review in today's New York Times compares "Ark" to the "Royal Tennenbaums", I think in terms of the neurotic behavior of the parents and the children. But the characters in the "Tennenbaums" (one of my favorite movies) do not possess the same sheer venality that the characters in "Ark" do. The whole point of the "Tennenbaums" is the way they're all lost in life; even Royal is looking in his own way for a connection to his family. The Tennenbaums find love and connection in the end, but the Arkins don't.
But "Ark" is a fun read and I'm glad I read it. Julian Tepper has put together a good book. I just wish I liked the characters better!
Ben Arkin and his wife Eliza - both in their early 80's - have badly raised their three children.The children - Doris, Sondra, and Oliver - are locked together in an on-going struggle with their parents over money. They're also fighting with each other over money. With money comes independence which is long sought-after by the three children and the hangers-on in the story. But the five Arkin's are tied together and even the death of the parents can't make the fighting stop.
Oliver Arkin - the only son - has led a particularly useless life, spending emotional coin in finding women who will support him. He's once-divorced with a new wife and this second marriage doesn't seem to be working out too well. He also has girlfriends who are so committed to him that their own sanity might well be in question. In fact, every character in "Ark" seems to be on the far end of the "neurotic" spectrum. The only one who seems semi-sane is Oliver's lawyer daughter, Rebecca, who alone can see how crazy everyone else is but is often stumped on how to deal with these people she's - unfortunately - related to.
The review in today's New York Times compares "Ark" to the "Royal Tennenbaums", I think in terms of the neurotic behavior of the parents and the children. But the characters in the "Tennenbaums" (one of my favorite movies) do not possess the same sheer venality that the characters in "Ark" do. The whole point of the "Tennenbaums" is the way they're all lost in life; even Royal is looking in his own way for a connection to his family. The Tennenbaums find love and connection in the end, but the Arkins don't.
But "Ark" is a fun read and I'm glad I read it. Julian Tepper has put together a good book. I just wish I liked the characters better!
September 28, 2016
Repetitive and boring and couldn't care about any of the characters. Gave up a little over half way through
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews