I began reading Shalom Auslander’s latest foray into the literary sphere about fifty feet underneath Boston in a dark tunnel. I was taking the subway, and it was not until I knew I was safe from the prying eyes of the Massachusetts Gestapo that I felt comfortable enough to crack a book written by a Jew. Given that Germany invaded the United States when my grandparents were teenagers, I have very little experience reading the works of Jewish writers. J.D. Salinger, Albert Camus, Larry the Cable Guy: all of these have been read secretly by me on the Internet (which I am also using to issue this secret review without fear of being put into the Vermont concentration camps).

I must say, I was quite taken aback by the syntax and vocabulary of Mr. Auslander. Certainly, I’ve taken with a grain of salt all I’ve been taught in school about the common Jew (he is stupid, he is hideous, he feasts upon the blood of our newborn infants). However, I wasn’t prepared for the beautiful, lyrical style of Mr. Auslander’s tale. Because if you think it’s bad living in the United States German Protectorate of America, you should read The Foreskin’s Lament. I mean, it must be pretty awful to be Jewish.

Right away, I was fascinated by the notion of not having a foreskin. I imagine dimly that in some alternate world where America remained independent from Germany, I might not have my foreskin. I might understand what such a loss is like. But that is not the case. This brutal form of torture and coercion may have propagated the Jewish people for millennia, but it certainly could not withstand the brutal measures Grand Chancellor Adolf Hitler imposed on this continent.

However, Auslander does not completely negate the beauty of the Jewish religion. Besides pointing out numerous times that if it wasn’t for the Germans, we’d all be speaking English right now, he spends multiple chapters discussing his upbringing and subsequent fear of a wrathful god. I think I know what that’s like. When I was ten years old, my fourth grade teacher kept trying to convince me that der Fuhrer Hitler’s son and heir, Luftwig was a deity and that I should worship him. I did it for a couple years, but I soon became disenchanted when I found out that he wasn’t actually human. As we all know now (at least, as we radical underground resistance fighters know now), Hitler was sterile and therefore created an android son named Luftwig to carry on his work.

I never had the pleasure of seeing der Fuhrer speak, but I was always under the impression that he was a magnificent speaker and a captivating MC. However, Auslander paints a picture of a short, sweaty man, driven anxious and paranoid by pills and anti-Semitism. I mean, I have my criticisms of der Fuhrer, but I never would have believed he was anything less than the glowing, seven-foot Adonis who graces the front of every elementary school classroom throughout these great Protectorates. I guess I can be naïve sometimes.

If you are ready to have your mind blown (literally!) wide open with revisionist history, read The Foreskin’s Lament. If you are a junky for well-written prose with a lyrical bent, read The Foreskin’s Lament. Should you ever find yourself being a little less than empathetic to the Jewish people on the whole, read The Foreskin’s Lament. If you are a member of the Secret Underground Super-Duper No-Holds-Barred Resistance (S.U.S.D.N.H.B.R.) and you are apprehended by the New England S.S. with a copy of The Foreskin’s Lament on you, simply say that you are doing research for Grand Luftwafte Commandant Mel Gibson’s latest movie.