This vast novel of urban Jewish academic life in the mid-1950s (first published in 1961) is a dark, brooding meditation on birth, death, family, and the inescapable angst of life. Our "hero" Gabe Wallach and Paul and Libby Herz, the married couple his life is entwined with, are at first graduate students in literature in Iowa and then young faculty members at the University of Chicago. Gabe reluctantly and bafflingly becomes more and more involved in the depressing and difficult lives of Paul and Libby. In many ways this is an existentialist novel and reflects the basic ideas of existentialism, which was so popular in the 1950s. Gabe, and the others, are constantly faced with choices, some trivial seeming, others momentous, and must confront their freedom and their inability to ground their choices or even understand their choices.
Among the momentous choices are Gabe's and Paul's rejection of traditional Jewish religion and life. This is a novel of secular Jewish life and its compromises and difficulties. Gabe's mother has just died, and he is drifting away from his New York dentist father. Paul is Jewish, from Brooklyn, but Libby is a Catholic who converts to Judaism. They met and loved as students at Cornell. Both Paul and Libby are shunned by their families, which leads to tragic consequences.
Gabe and his friends are just beginning to explore the leading edges of the Sexual Revolution and are struggling with issues that today seem rather obsolete. Nevertheless these first glimmerings of women's liberation and sexual freedom caused all sorts of turmoil for those in the avant guard. Roth captures the angst, fear, depression, and exhilaration of those exploratory days. In line with the theme of sexual liberation and the existential angst this can cause, the novel is a sensitive examination of the emotional dangers of abortion.
The plot of this novel is structured around the motivations and disastrous emotional effects of Paul and Libby's decision to abort Libby's unexpected pregnancy. Thus this novel can be considered to be a warning and alarm about having an abortion without fully realizing how wide and deep can be the consequences. In this way Letting Go is somewhat like John Barth's Sabbatical. Both of these novels, I think, could fairly be called "anti-abortion novels" but not overbearing, not political--they are sympathetically and complexly anti-abortion.
Letting Go by Philip Roth is not for those who want a quick and easy, entertaining read. The book is long, slow and at times agonizing. There are seemingly endless pages of dialogue, dialogue that circles and circles and does not seem to get anywhere. It reminds me of those French art movies of the 1950s and early 60s where the characters just talk and talk and talk. But Roth is such a fine writer, has such a good ear for dialogue, and is able to marshal so many details that this novel, for me, was gripping, absorbing, and troubling. I grew up in the 1950s and 1960s (Jewish, urban, academic) and the reality of this novel is almost frightening, uncanny.