Welcome to OPEN BOOK, where we open the book on our authors and discover their literary stories!
In this edition, we'd like to introduce Yale Strom, author of The Autobiography of the Offenbacher
What was your planning process for writing this novel like?
During COVID, like many people, I suddenly found myself with something that had been in short supply for decades time. After writing sixteen nonfiction books based on my ethnographic research, I thought, "Why not finally try my hand at a novel?" After more than forty years traveling throughout Eastern Europe documenting Jewish life, klezmer and Romani musicians, and the region's changing political and cultural landscape, I realized I had accumulated not only historical knowledge but hundreds of unforgettable stories that didn't fit comfortably into academic writing. Fiction would allow me to bring those worlds to life in a different way.
My planning began with a single question: Who could witness two centuries of Jewish history? That led me to make the narrator not a person, but a violin. A finely crafted instrument could pass from hand to hand, country to country, and generation to generation. It could survive when its owners did not, witnessing weddings, revolutions, pogroms, exile, the Holocaust, and the fall of the Berlin Wall while remaining a silent observer whose voice I could finally give life to.
Once I had the narrator, I created a historical timeline before writing a single chapter. I mapped the violin's journey from eighteenth-century Germany through the Russian Empire, Poland, Galicia, Bessarabia, Romania, Hungary, France, and eventually America. I wanted every stop to coincide with real historical events, so history became an active force shaping each owner rather than merely serving as background.
Although the characters are fictional, nearly all were inspired by people I met during my fieldwork or by stories shared with me in kitchens, synagogues, cafés, village homes, and musicians' gatherings throughout Eastern Europe. Many are composites, blending the lives and personalities of several remarkable people.
Music also shaped my planning. As a klezmer musician, I wanted the novel to have a musical architecture. Themes appear, disappear, and return transformed, much like variations in a klezmer performance. The violin itself becomes the melody connecting generations of lives.
I never wanted to write a history lesson disguised as fiction. My goal was to immerse readers so completely in each place and time that they would experience history through the intimate lives of ordinary people the sounds of marketplaces, the workshops of violin makers, the terror of persecution, and the humor, resilience, romance, and creativity that sustained Jewish communities through centuries of upheaval.
The planning was probably the longest part of the process. I spent months organizing timelines, tracing family relationships, and determining how each owner would influence the next chapter of the violin's life. Once that foundation was in place, the writing became surprisingly organic, as though the characters themselves were leading me forward.
Looking back, I don't think I could have written this novel earlier in my life. It required decades of field research, thousands of conversations, years of performing the music, and a deep familiarity with Eastern Europe. COVID simply gave me the uninterrupted time to weave those experiences together. In many ways, The Autobiography of the Offenbacher is the culmination of everything I've learned as an ethnographer, historian, photographer, filmmaker, and musician. It is fiction, but it is built upon a lifetime of lived experience.
What is the story behind the title?
People often ask why I chose the title The Autobiography of the Offenbacher. It sounds unusual because, of course, violins don't write autobiographies.
That was precisely the point.
Early in the planning process, I realized that no single person could realistically witness more than two centuries of Jewish history. I needed a narrator who could cross borders, survive wars, outlive generations, and connect lives that would otherwise never intersect. A violin could do exactly that.
The "Offenbacher" is the violin itself, named for the master luthier who crafted it in Offenbach, Germany, in the late eighteenth century. As it passes from musicians and merchants to refugees and survivors, it absorbs their stories. It becomes far more than an object—it becomes a witness and the keeper of memory.
The title invites readers to see history through the violin's eyes. It cannot change events, but it remembers the hands that played it, the celebrations it enlivened, the tragedies it endured, and the cultures it helped preserve.
There's another layer to the title. Like millions of Jews over the centuries, the violin is forced to leave its birthplace and begin a long journey across Europe and eventually to America. In many ways, its autobiography becomes the autobiography of Eastern European Jewry itself.
That's why The Autobiography of the Offenbacher felt like the only possible title. It captures the novel's central idea: that cherished objects carry history, memory, and identity long after their owners are gone. People preserve heirlooms because they hold memories. I simply imagined what one of those heirlooms would say if it could finally tell its own story.
Who or what inspired your characters?
The characters in The Autobiography of the Offenbacher came from many sources. Some were inspired by historical figures, others by memoirs and archival documents, but most grew out of the extraordinary people I met during more than forty years of ethnographic fieldwork throughout Eastern Europe.
As an ethnographer, I wasn't just collecting klezmer melodies and Yiddish songs I was collecting lives. While documenting the remnants of Jewish culture, I met elderly musicians, Holocaust survivors, Romani performers, rabbis, artisans, and countless others who generously shared their memories of love, loss, humor, faith, and resilience. Those conversations stayed with me long after I left.
None of the major characters is based on a single individual. Most are composites, blending a life story, a personality, or a memorable moment from several people, combined with historical research and my own imagination. That allowed me to remain faithful to the emotional truth of the lives I encountered while creating believable fictional characters.
The settings are equally rooted in experience. I've walked through abandoned synagogues, forgotten cemeteries, former shtetls, bustling marketplaces, and villages where only a few people still remembered their Jewish neighbors. Those places gave the novel an authenticity that no history book alone could provide.
Ultimately, the characters represent far more than the individuals who inspired them. Together, they reflect the richness, resilience, humor, and humanity of Jewish life across Eastern Europe. Though fictional, each character carries a small piece of someone I met, someone I read about, or someone whose story deserved to be remembered.
Where do find your writing inspiration?
I've always believed that stories are one of the most powerful ways we preserve memory. Whether I'm writing a book, composing music, performing, making films, taking photographs, or writing a play, I'm doing the same thing: telling stories that give voice to people who might otherwise be forgotten.
My inspiration comes from more than forty years of ethnographic fieldwork throughout Eastern Europe. While searching for unpublished klezmer melodies, Yiddish songs, and the remnants of Jewish culture, I wasn't just collecting music I was collecting lives. Every conversation, village, synagogue, cemetery, and family story became part of a much larger mosaic.
One of my greatest inspirations has been the Holocaust survivors who chose to return to their hometowns after the war and rebuild their lives. Their courage, resilience, and determination reminded me that history is rarely black and white. I'm equally inspired by ordinary people musicians, shopkeepers, artists, and families whose creativity and perseverance kept Jewish culture alive through the darkest times.
As an artist, I don't separate history from emotion. Facts tell us what happened, but stories help us understand what it felt like to live through those moments. That's what I strive to capture in all my work.
Ultimately, my inspiration comes from the belief that every person has a story worth telling. If my writing helps readers experience history through the lives, music, humor, heartbreak, and hope of real people, then I feel I've accomplished something worthwhile.
Where do you find it easiest to write?
I do my best writing in my home office, just across the hall from my wife Elizabeth's office. It gives us the perfect balance of companionship and quiet. My window overlooks a backyard filled with flowers and trees, and that view creates a calm, reflective atmosphere that's ideal for writing.
Our dog also played an important role, reminding me to step away from the computer for a walk. Those breaks often led to solutions for scenes or passages that had been giving me trouble.
Music was equally important. Whenever I got stuck, I'd pick up my violin and practice. As both a musician and writer, I've found that music unlocks a different part of my imagination.
While writing The Autobiography of the Offenbacher, it sometimes felt as though the violin itself was speaking or singing to me. A melody might suggest the rhythm of a sentence, the mood of a scene, or reveal something new about a character. Writing and music became inseparable. I wasn't just writing about a violin I was in conversation with one.
That combination of a quiet workspace, nature, family, my dog, and the constant presence of music created the perfect environment for writing this novel.
Where and when do you get most of your writing done?
Most of the writing took place in my home office, and mornings were by far my most productive time. Because I'm usually juggling several creative projects writing, composing, performing, filmmaking, and teaching I give each one its own dedicated time. While working on The Autobiography of the Offenbacher, I treated the novel like an appointment I couldn't miss, writing from about 9:00 to 11:00 every morning.
Afterward, I'd take a break walk the dog, have a snack, or get some fresh air before turning to another project. I've found that moving between different artistic disciplines doesn't drain my creativity; it actually keeps it fresh.
Many of my best ideas, however, came away from my desk while walking, driving, visiting a museum, sitting in a café, or talking with friends. Whenever inspiration struck, I'd pull out my smartphone and dictate a line of dialogue, a scene, or a new idea before it disappeared. Those voice memos often became important parts of the novel.
Although I sometimes wrote in the evenings, mornings remained my creative anchor. Over the years, I've learned that inspiration is unpredictable, but discipline is something you can control. Writing The Autobiography of the Offenbacher was a balance between routine and spontaneity showing up every day while remaining open to those unexpected moments when the story revealed where it wanted to go next.
What piece of writing advice have you found the most helpful during your writing career?
The best writing advice I ever received wasn't really about writing it was about perseverance. Simply put: never give up, even when it feels as though the story has stalled or you've lost your way.
Every writer has days when nothing seems to work. I've certainly had them. But I've learned that if you keep showing up, something unexpected often happens: a solution appears, a character comes to life, or a scene finally falls into place.
That mindset comes from my years as a competitive long-distance runner in high school and on the cross-country team at San Diego State University. Distance running taught me that success isn't about speed; it's about pacing yourself, trusting the process, and discovering a second wind just when you think you're finished.
Writing a novel is much the same. It's a marathon, not a sprint. While writing The Autobiography of the Offenbacher, I set aside dedicated time each morning and focused on steady progress. Some days I wrote several pages; other days I revised a single paragraph. Both mattered because they kept the story moving forward.
Looking back, I realize that finishing a novel isn't one great burst of inspiration. It's the result of hundreds of small decisions not to quit. That's the lesson running taught me, and it's the lesson that carried me through writing this book.
Did you encounter Writers Block? If so, how did you overcome it?
I don't really think of it as writer's block. Whenever I felt stuck, I'd tell myself, "The muse just isn't here today," and I'd step away from the computer take the dog for a walk, practice my violin, or work on another creative project. Sometimes I'd even take a day or two away from the manuscript because I wasn't under a deadline, and almost without fail I'd return with fresh ideas and renewed energy for the story.
Are there any books which have inspired your writing?
Absolutely. Four writers have profoundly influenced me: Aharon Appelfeld, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Anzia Yezierska, and Joseph Roth.
From Appelfeld, I learned the power of restraint that the deepest emotions often lie in the quietest moments. Singer showed me how folklore, humor, mysticism, and everyday life could illuminate universal truths. Yezierska gave voice to the immigrant experience with honesty, compassion, and emotional depth. Roth revealed how sweeping historical change is ultimately experienced through the lives of ordinary people.
Although The Autobiography of the Offenbacher has its own voice, I hope readers will recognize the influence of these remarkable writers. They taught me that history is most powerful when told through compelling characters, and that even in times of tragedy there is always room for music, humor, love, and hope.
And finally… Why should people read your book next?
I hope people will read The Autobiography of the Offenbacher because I love telling stories. Whether I'm writing nonfiction, composing music, making films, or performing, my goal is always the same: to transport readers into a world they may never have experienced.
I write with deep conviction because the people, places, and history in this novel have been part of my life for more than forty years. The story draws on my ethnographic research throughout Eastern Europe and conversations with Holocaust survivors, klezmer musicians, Romani musicians, and many others. Although the novel is fiction, its emotional and historical foundation is real.
I want readers to laugh, be moved, and feel as though they're traveling alongside the Offenbacher through two centuries of Jewish history. At the same time, I don't shy away from difficult truths. History is complicated, and I believe a writer has an obligation to portray it honestly, without sanitizing the past.
Ultimately, I hope readers finish the novel not only having enjoyed a compelling story, but with a deeper appreciation for the resilience, creativity, humor, and humanity of the generations whose lives are woven into the Offenbacher's remarkable journey.
