BKMT READING GUIDES
The Tin Horse: A Novel
by Janice Steinberg
Hardcover : 352 pages
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It has been more than sixty years since ...
Introduction
In the stunning tradition of Lisa See, Maeve Binchy, and Alice Hoffman, The Tin Horse is a rich multigenerational story about the intense, often fraught bond sisters share and the dreams and sorrows that lay at the heart of the immigrant experience.
It has been more than sixty years since Elaine Greenstein’s twin sister, Barbara, ran away, cutting off contact with her family forever. Elaine has made peace with that loss. But while sifting through old papers as she prepares to move to Rancho Mañana—or the “Ranch of No Tomorrow” as she refers to the retirement community—she is stunned to find a possible hint to Barbara’s whereabouts all these years later. And it pushes her to confront the fierce love and bitter rivalry of their youth during the 1920s and ’30s, in the Los Angeles Jewish neighborhood of Boyle Heights.
Though raised together in Boyle Heights, where kosher delis and storefront signs in Yiddish lined the streets, Elaine and Barbara staked out very different personal territories. Elaine was thoughtful and studious, encouraged to dream of going to college, while Barbara was a bold rule-breaker whose hopes fastened on nearby Hollywood. In the fall of 1939, when the girls were eighteen, Barbara’s recklessness took an alarming turn. Leaving only a cryptic note, she disappeared.
In an unforgettable voice layered with humor and insight, Elaine delves into the past. She recalls growing up with her spirited family: her luftmensch of a grandfather, a former tinsmith with tales from the Old Country; her papa, who preaches the American Dream even as it eludes him; her mercurial mother, whose secret grief colors her moods—and of course audacious Barbara and their younger sisters, Audrey and Harriet. As Elaine looks back on the momentous events of history and on the personal dramas of the Greenstein clan, she must finally face the truth of her own childhood, and that of the twin sister she once knew.
In The Tin Horse, Janice Steinberg exquisitely unfolds a rich multigenerational story about the intense, often fraught bonds between sisters, mothers, and daughters and the profound and surprising ways we are shaped by those we love. At its core, it is a book not only about the stories we tell but, more important, those we believe, especially the ones about our very selves.
Advance praise for The Tin Horse
“Steinberg, the author of five mysteries, has transcended genre to weave a rich story that will appeal to readers who appreciate multigenerational immigrant family sagas as well as those who simply enjoy psychological suspense.”—BookPage
“Steinberg . . . has crafted a novel rich in faith, betrayal, and secrecy that explores the numerous ways people are shaped and haunted by their past. . . . A sweeping family saga reminiscent of the writing of Pat Conroy, where family secrets and flashbacks combine to create an engrossing tale of growth and loss. Highly recommended for fans of family drama and historical fiction.”—Library Journal
“Steinberg’s quietly suspenseful novel is compelling by virtue of her sympathetic characters, vivid depiction of WWII-era Los Angeles, and pinpoint illuminations of poverty, anti-Semitism, family bonds and betrayals, and the crushing obstacles facing women seeking full and fulfilling lives.”—Booklist
Editorial Review
A Letter from Author Janice Steinberg
I recently encountered the appealing idea of "watershed books"--books that get you through a rough time. In a study in Britain, people said they chose classics like Pride and Prejudice and One Hundred Years of Solitude. My watersheds were also classics--the noir mystery novels of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, which I read out of a desire to identify with tough, fearless protagonists.
Alas, reading noir fiction did not make me tough. Among the hard-boiled men and fast women, there was just one, very marginal character with whom I felt a kinship: an unnamed woman in Chandler's The Big Sleep. Philip Marlowe, the detective, wants information about a sleazy Hollywood bookseller. He enters a legitimate bookstore and flashes a badge at the woman working there, and she and Marlowe engage in crisp intellectual parrying, in which she gives as good as she gets.
The woman is reading a law book, which is intriguing in itself in a novel published in 1939. And she's described as having "the fine-drawn face of an intelligent Jewess," a phrase that struck me with its profound sense of otherness, as if she lived in a very different Los Angeles than Marlowe. And I felt hungry to know more about this nameless woman. What was her story? What was her Los Angeles?
Like many novelists, I love doing research, and I began by exploring the second question: what was her Los Angeles? I discovered Boyle Heights, a neighborhood east of downtown that, in the 1920s and 30s, was the Jewish part of L.A. As I was researching, I started hearing the woman's voice in my mind--not as the young woman in the bookstore but as a vibrant, opinionated octogenarian. She was talking to a young person--an archivist? So she'd had a life, perhaps related to the law book she was reading, that merited archiving. And I gave her a name: Elaine Greenstein.
Then came the difficult question: what was her story? I'm an outliner by nature. I like to know where I'm going. But Elaine's story resisted my attempts to lay it out in advance. And if that pushed me into a disorienting limbo, it was also liberating. When I started writing about Elaine's childhood, what came out first was her grandfather's story. I discovered that she lived within a fabric of stories, some of dubious veracity, and ultimately that led to the idea at the core of the book: that we construct our reality and give meaning to our lives by the stories we tell--and believe--about ourselves. In a sense, they're our personal watersheds.
Discussion Questions
1. There are a number of very fateful moments all of which involve dramatic departures—when Zayde is chased across the river away from Agneta and his family, when Mama slips out of her childhood home to follow the Fusguyers, when Barbara disappears—why do you suppose all these characters had to leave? What characteristics do they share that made them believe that leaving was their only option?2. Do you think that Zayde, Mama, Barbara and Elaine would have been happier individuals had they not kept so many secrets from their loved ones? How might things have been different if Mama shared the real story about coming to America and meeting Papa? On the other hand, are secrets sometimes necessary? How different (if at all) might Barbara’s choices have been had Mama not told her the truth?
3. Do you think that what happened between Barbara and Danny and Elaine the day before Danny was supposed to leave for Canada changed Barbara’s plans? We know that Barbara had been planning to leave for quite awhile, but do you think she would have left in the same way had the confrontation not occurred?
4. Children of immigrants face the challenge of “negotiating the hyphen,” arriving at an identity that may (or may not) incorporate values and traditions from their family’s culture as well as the values and norms of their new country. What are the different ways in which Elaine, Barbara, and Danny negotiate the hyphen of being Jewish-American? In your own family, is there a hyphenated identity (or perhaps multiple hyphenated identities)? What are the ways in which you and other members of your family have negotiated your hyphen(s)?
5. What do you make of the detective, Philip Marlowe, the famous detective from Raymond Chandler’s THE BIG SLEEP, making an appearance in THE TIN HORSE? Why do you suppose the author chose to give him a cameo?
6. Do you agree with Harriet’s observation, which comes up several times in the novel, that every sibling grows up in a different family? Why or why not?
7. By the end of the novel, who do you think is more affected by the reunion, Barbara or Elaine? Why?
8. How do you imagine that Barbara’s and Elaine’s relationship will move forward after the book ends?
9. Why do you think we ascribe so much meaning to objects? Do you or your family have a talismanic object, like the tin horse, that symbolizes a significant story or person? How has that object traveled through the years? Is it a hidden object or something that is more prominently displayed in your home or elsewhere?
10. Is there anyone in your life, family or other, whom you consider “estranged” and with whom you wish to reconnect? How do you imagine that reunion might unfold?
Notes From the Author to the Bookclub
Letter to the readers: I recently encountered the appealing idea of "watershed books"—books that get you through a rough time. In a study in Britain, people said they chose classics like Pride and Prejudice and One Hundred Years of Solitude. My watersheds were also classics—the noir mystery novels of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, which I read out of a desire to identify with tough, fearless protagonists. Alas, reading noir fiction did not make me tough. Among the hard-boiled men and fast women, there was just one, very marginal character with whom I felt a kinship: an unnamed woman in Chandler's The Big Sleep. Philip Marlowe, the detective, wants information about a sleazy Hollywood bookseller. He enters a legitimate bookstore and flashes a badge at the woman working there, and she and Marlowe engage in crisp intellectual parrying, in which she gives as good as she gets. The woman is reading a law book, which is intriguing in itself in a novel published in 1939. And she's described as having "the fine-drawn face of an intelligent Jewess," a phrase that struck me with its profound sense of otherness, as if she lived in a very different Los Angeles than Marlowe. And I felt hungry to know more about this nameless woman. What was her story? What was her Los Angeles? Like many novelists, I love doing research, and I began by exploring the second question: what was her Los Angeles? I discovered Boyle Heights, a neighborhood east of downtown that, in the 1920s and 30s, was the Jewish part of L.A. As I was researching, I started hearing the woman's voice in my mind—not as the young woman in the bookstore but as a vibrant, opinionated octogenarian. She was talking to a young person—an archivist? So she'd had a life, perhaps related to the law book she was reading, that merited archiving. And I gave her a name: Elaine Greenstein. Then came the difficult question: what was her story? I'm an outliner by nature. I like to know where I'm going. But Elaine's story resisted my attempts to lay it out in advance. And if that pushed me into a disorienting limbo, it was also liberating. When I started writing about Elaine's childhood, what came out first was her grandfather's story. I discovered that she lived within a fabric of stories, some of dubious veracity, and ultimately that led to the idea at the core of the book: that we construct our reality and give meaning to our lives by the stories we tell—and believe—about ourselves. In a sense, they're our personal watersheds.Book Club Recommendations
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