"Matalon’s virtuosic novel opens in a standoff: A bride has barricaded herself in a room on her wedding day and will neither emerge nor explain ... The lightness of Matalon’s tale belies its heft. In prose that is both abrupt and tender, she skewers the hydraulics of family and the insensitivities of those who think themselves exquisitely sensitive ... Matalon ... indicts us all."
—The New York Times Book Review
"A moral act ... The language is straightforward, breezy, conversational. And Jessica Cohen’s translation makes it highly accessible ... All of it coheres. Confettied throughout the novel are Matalon’s well-chosen details ... Parallels to Beckett are unavoidable."
—The New York Review of Books
"Reminiscent of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but Jewish, and backwards ... Family secrets bubble to the surface in this deeply felt comedy."
—Kirkus Reviews
"Matalon is a unique literary stylist whose pitch-perfect novel focuses on the spectacle of the big day ... Matalon nails how families relate to each other. Her scenes are cinematic and evocative ... A masterful rendering of a failed wedding day and the embedded failures that individuals, a family, and a culture accrue in the process of trying to manage their circumstances. As complex and chaotic as life."
—Foreword Reviews (Starred Review)
"Ronit Matalon was a giant of Israeli literature: not of the bombast of grand political statements, but rather a master of the private, the intimate, the ambivalent, the human. And the Bride Closed the Door invites us into a single revealing moment in a family's life, and we are right there in the room with them—or rather, right outside the door. It's funny, moving and deeply real."
—Dara Horn, author of Eternal Life
"The reader is gripped from the very first moment ... For readers who have never encountered Matalon, this very fast novel is an extremely accessible place to start, and an opportunity to begin to understand both Matalon’s literary stature and the complexities of contemporary Israel."
—Aviya Kushner, author of The Grammar of God in The Forward
"A riotous satire of wedding-day jitters. Look deeper and it can also stand as a parable of a country divided, and most of all as an absurdist situation comedy of contemporary Israeli family life ... Elusive yet powerful, by turns laugh-out-loud funny and tragically sad."
—The Jewish Week
"One could tout the graces of Matalon’s novella on a number of fronts. Its layered brand of humor—part slapstick, part wit—seeps in and out of darkness with bite, yielding a compact tragicomedy on love and loss."
—Asymptote
"Refreshingly audacious and stirringly sophisticated, And the Bride Closed the Door presents the reader with a sharp-edged piece of social and feminist critique, hidden by a veil of wit and humor. Jessica Cohen's masterful translation further enhances the rare and intricate voice of Ronit Matalon, one of Israel's leading female authors, whose sudden passing shocked and saddened lovers of Hebrew literature worldwide."
—Ruby Namdar, author of The Ruined House
"A triumph, at once humorous and profound, richly imagined and deliciously grotesque ... This book is a marvel, a stunning display of Matalon’s virtuosity and an aching reminder of the tremendous void she left behind."
—Ayelet Tsabari, author of The Art of Leaving
“With seductive wit and light pathos, this brilliant novel makes the reader privy to the inner thoughts of a comically messy family. From there, bigger truths about personal life and the wider culture are exposed and explored.”
—Bethany Ball, author of What to Do About the Solomons
"Brimming with wise and compassionate commentary on a plethora of concerns: culturally-imposed gender roles, the role of public and private memory, and the dysfunctions that drive families apart ... And the Bride Closed the Door offers its readers all the more reason to mourn the loss of Matalon’s bold, uncompromising voice."
—Jewish Book Council
"We should be grateful that New Vessel Press has just brought out Jessica Cohen’s stunning translation of Matalon’s final work, an outrageously funny, perplexing and perhaps universal story ... Matalon manages to squeeze into this very brief story several of Israeli society’s easily recognized blemishes: conspicuous consumption run amok, out-of-control weddings (this one includes 500 guests), marital and in-law relations and more."
—Moment Magazine
“A fable of the Israeli condition … Matalon is one of today’s best Israeli authors, one of the original, intriguing and unique voices now active here. Her writing—the themes, the characters, the way they are shaped—is distinct and unique."
—Haaretz
"Delightful."
—The Jerusalem Post
“A remarkable book. The deep inner structures of Israeli society, the existential tensions of being Israeli, and questions pertaining to the definition of individual identity are dealt with brilliantly and light-handedly”
—The Brenner Prize Committee, 2017
“It remains unclear whether this novel is an allegory of hopelessness or a feminist manifesto. The narrative allows for many interpretations and perhaps most importantly it’s a comedy.”
—Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung
“Ronit Matalon, a major figure in Israeli literature who died in 2017, exposes the contradictions of her country.”
—L’Express
2019-07-01
On her wedding day, a bride locks herself in her bedroom.
Margie and Matti are supposed to be getting married, but Margie has locked the door to her bedroom and won't respond to anyone who tries to speak with her. Matti and his parents gather outside along with Margie's mom, Nadia, her cousin, Ilan, and her grandmother. "Well," says Arieh, Matti's father, "not to worry. So she won't talk. She doesn't have to. The bride does not have to talk, as far as I recall." But Margie won't unlock the door, either, and the hours are passing. The caterer keeps calling, and soon the wedding guests will begin to assemble. Matalon (The Sound of Our Steps, 2015, etc.), an award-winning Israeli writer who died in 2017, describes Margie's situation with great humor as well as pathos. At first, Matti is desperate to get that door open. "Margie!" he shouts. "Do you even care what I'm going through with this whole mess you've made?" But as the hours pass, Matti himself starts to feel more and more ambivalent about their wedding. Margie slips an ambiguous poem under the door, but it does little to clarify things—in fact, throughout the book, Margie is the one character who remains silent. Everyone else, meanwhile, is in an uproar. The chaos is reminiscent of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but Jewish, and backwards: This bride doesn't want to go through with things. Matti's parents call an organization known as "Reluctant Brides," which sends over a psychologist. Darker undertones become visible; apparently Margie had a younger sister, Natalie, who disappeared years earlier. Matalon's last novel is a whirlwind of family chaos and comedy, humor but also great feeling. If the comedy occasionally slips too far into caricature, there's enough charm here to make up for that, and more besides.
Family secrets bubble to the surface in this deeply felt comedy.
