conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled The Marrying of Chani Kaufman about Chani, Baruch, Kaufman with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Literary.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Perhaps the most surprising and intriguing novel on the Man Booker Prize longlist The Marrying of Chani Kaufman is a debut originally published by a small independent Scottish press that is already garnering significant attention worldwide London 2008 Chani Kaufman is a nineteen-year-old woman betrothed to Baruch Levy a young man whom she has seen only four times before their wedding day The novel begins with Chani standing like a pillar of salt wearing a wedding dress that has been passed between members of her family and has the yellowed underarms and rows of alteration stitches to prove it All of the cups of cold coffee and small talk with men referred to Chanis parents have led up to this moment But the happiness Chani and Baruch feel is more than counterbalanced by their anxiety about the realities of married life about whether they will be able to have fewer children than Chanis mother who has eight daughters and most frighteningly about the unknown unspeakable secrets of the wedding night As the book moves back to tell the story of Chani and Baruchs unusual courtship it throws into focus a very different couple Rabbi Chaim Zilberman and his wife Rebbetzin Rivka Zilberman As Chani and Baruch prepare for a shared lifetime Chaim and Rivka struggle to keep their marriage alive-and all four together with the rest of the community face difficult decisions about the place of faith and family life in the contemporary world
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Marrying of Chani Kaufman
  The bride stood like a pillar of salt, rigid under layers of itchy petticoats. Sweat dripped down the hollow of her back and collected in pools under her arms staining the ivory silk. She edged closer to The Bedeken Room door, one ear pressed up against it.
  She heard the men singing. Their shouts of 'lai-lai-lai!' rolled down the dusty synagogue corridor. They were coming for her. This was it. This was her day. The day her real life started. She was nineteen and had never held a boy's hand. The only man to touch her had been her father and his physical affection had dwindled since her body had curved and ripened.
  Her mother's face had turned grey. The wrinkles gleamed as the make-up slid towards her collar. The plucked brows gave her a look of permanent surprise. Her mouth was compressed into a frosty pink line. Mrs Kaufman sagged under the weight of her mousy wig. An old woman at forty-five: tired. Chani was her fifth daughter, the fifth to stand in a Bedeken Room, the fifth to wear the dress. Nor would she be the last. Like Babushka dolls, three younger daughters had emerged after her.
  From mother to daughter, from sister to sister, the dress had been a faithful friend, shrinking and growing with each bride's need. The silver embroidery and countless pearls concealed a thousand scars and jagged seams that chafed the skin. Every alteration marked another bride's journey, delineating her hopes and desires. The yellowed underarms that had been dry-cleaned so many times, spoke of her fears. The cold prickle of anxiety, the flash of white sheets and the enormous waiting bed loomed in each bride's mind. How will it be? How will it be? The question pulsed inside Chani's head.
  The hot air throbbed with the mingling of perfume, masking the stink of body odour and stale breath. Their parched mouths were sticky with drying lipstick, their rumbling stomachs hidden under layers of clothing. Some wore two-piece suits consisting of long skirts with matching jackets buttoned up to the hilt. Others paired the compulsory long skirt with a white high-necked shirt underneath a plain navy blazer. The colours were purposely dull, enlivened only by a small brooch, or perhaps cream piping around the pocket. A self-imposed uniform, lending a dowager air to even the youngest in the room.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Beneath.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Marrying of Chani Kaufman
  The bride stood like a pillar of salt, rigid under layers of itchy petticoats. Sweat dripped down the hollow of her back and collected in pools under her arms staining the ivory silk. She edged closer to The Bedeken Room door, one ear pressed up against it. 
  She heard the men singing. Their shouts of 'lai-lai-lai!' rolled down the dusty synagogue corridor. They were coming for her. This was it. This was her day. The day her real life started. She was nineteen and had never held a boy's hand. The only man to touch her had been her father and his physical affection had dwindled since her body had curved and ripened. 
  Her mother's face had turned grey. The wrinkles gleamed as the make-up slid towards her collar. The plucked brows gave her a look of permanent surprise. Her mouth was compressed into a frosty pink line. Mrs Kaufman sagged under the weight of her mousy wig. Beneath, her hair was grey and wispy. An old woman at forty-five: tired. Chani was her fifth daughter, the fifth to stand in a Bedeken Room, the fifth to wear the dress. Nor would she be the last. Like Babushka dolls, three younger daughters had emerged after her. 
  From mother to daughter, from sister to sister, the dress had been a faithful friend, shrinking and growing with each bride's need. The silver embroidery and countless pearls concealed a thousand scars and jagged seams that chafed the skin. Every alteration marked another bride's journey, delineating her hopes and desires. The yellowed underarms that had been dry-cleaned so many times, spoke of her fears. The cold prickle of anxiety, the flash of white sheets and the enormous waiting bed loomed in each bride's mind. How will it be? How will it be? The question pulsed inside Chani's head. 
  The hot air throbbed with the mingling of perfume, masking the stink of body odour and stale breath. Their parched mouths were sticky with drying lipstick, their rumbling stomachs hidden under layers of clothing. Some wore two-piece suits consisting of long skirts with matching jackets buttoned up to the hilt. Others paired the compulsory long skirt with a white high-necked shirt underneath a plain navy blazer. The colours were purposely dull, enlivened only by a small brooch, or perhaps cream piping around the pocket. A self-imposed uniform, lending a dowager air to even the youngest in the room.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: They sat next to each other at the small pine table in the kitchen. Shola had wrapped a grey woollen cardigan over her dress. She was leaning on the table, warming her hands on her mug of tea. Her flat-mates were out and the place was quiet and dark. Avromi held his head in his hands. He still felt very wobbly. All he really wanted to do was to sleep. His mug of tea lay untouched.
  Avromi blew on his tea and swallowed thoughtfully. Shola was right; he would be transgressing but it was more palatable than the truth. He would just have to daven extra hard for forgiveness. He hated the thought of lying to his parents. But he had already lied to them about where he was going tonight. One more lie would not make much difference now.
  She laughed. 'Don't be silly! There's a first time for everyone to get legless. It happens to all of us. In fact, I think the others might see it as you being a bit more normal, fitting in with us sinners.'
  She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. He did not let go. Avromi leant forward slowly and kissed her. She tasted of hot, sweet tea. Shola wrapped her leg around his, pulling him closer. His hands cupped her waist then slid towards her hips, driven by an instinct he had been trying to suppress ever since he had first met her.
  When Baruch came home, his parents were already waiting for him in the lounge. They sat side by side on the cream leather sofa, two consuls supreme in their power. The curtains had been drawn and the standing lamp bathed the pair in golden light.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Shola had wrapped a grey woollen cardigan over her dress. She was leaning on the table, warming her hands on her mug of tea. Her flat-mates were out and the place was quiet and dark. Avromi held his head in his hands. He still felt very wobbly. All he really wanted to do was to sleep. His mug of tea lay untouched.
  Avromi blew on his tea and swallowed thoughtfully. Shola was right; he would be transgressing but it was more palatable than the truth. He would just have to daven extra hard for forgiveness. He hated the thought of lying to his parents. But he had already lied to them about where he was going tonight. One more lie would not make much difference now.
  She laughed. 'Don't be silly! There's a first time for everyone to get legless. It happens to all of us. In fact, I think the others might see it as you being a bit more normal, fitting in with us sinners.'
  She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. He did not let go. Avromi leant forward slowly and kissed her. She tasted of hot, sweet tea. Shola wrapped her leg around his, pulling him closer. His hands cupped her waist then slid towards her hips, driven by an instinct he had been trying to suppress ever since he had first met her.
  When Baruch came home, his parents were already waiting for him in the lounge. They sat side by side on the cream leather sofa, two consuls supreme in their power. The curtains had been drawn and the standing lamp bathed the pair in golden light.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A shocking pink bra. It could only be Chani's. He thought of her wearing it under her prim nightgown and began to feel aroused. He wished he had seen her in it. Perhaps he could ask her to wear it again for him sometime.
  The Rebbetzin crept up the back stairs leading to the women's gallery. The men's voices could be heard through the thick walls. A violin whined the first notes announcing the Kallah's entrance. She sprang nimbly up the last steps and found a discreet seat against the back wall. No one had observed her entrance. She fervently hoped that would remain the case. The first two rows of the gallery were crowded. Women craned forward, straining to catch a glimpse of the bride. Some had risen from their wooden seats and dared to lean over the balcony. Chani had entered the shul but the Rebbetzin's view of her progress to the wedding canopy was obscured.
  Chaim would be somewhere beneath the chuppah. She wondered how he was, how he was feeling. How he looked. He usually enjoyed officiating at weddings and she hoped her behaviour had not spoilt his joy. A sense of shame and guilt spread through her. Of course it must have done. She shook her head, as if to eject the negative thoughts, trying to focus solely on Chani.
  The Rebbetzin wished she could see her. Closing her eyes, she sent up a passionate prayer for Chani's future happiness, hoping that Chani's marriage would fare better than her own. And then, having done her duty, she slunk quickly from the gallery before she could be noticed.
  The Sunday crowds surged like a sea in front of her. Taking a deep breath, the Rebbetzin plunged into the swaying tide. Her feet quickened and soon she kept pace. An onlooker could have just made out the familiar rigidity of her back and shoulders under her husband's old raincoat, her hair fluttering as she walked. And then her figure grew gradually smaller until finally she became an indistinct blur, one of the masses, alone in her ordinariness, pursuing her freedom.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: And then her figure grew gradually smaller until finally she became an indistinct blur, one of the masses, alone in her ordinariness, pursuing her freedom. It could only be Chani's. He thought of her wearing it under her prim nightgown and began to feel aroused. He wished he had seen her in it. Perhaps he could ask her to wear it again for him sometime.
  The Rebbetzin crept up the back stairs leading to the women's gallery. The men's voices could be heard through the thick walls. A violin whined the first notes announcing the Kallah's entrance. She sprang nimbly up the last steps and found a discreet seat against the back wall. No one had observed her entrance. She fervently hoped that would remain the case. The first two rows of the gallery were crowded. Women craned forward, straining to catch a glimpse of the bride. Some had risen from their wooden seats and dared to lean over the balcony. Chani had entered the shul but the Rebbetzin's view of her progress to the wedding canopy was obscured.
  Chaim would be somewhere beneath the chuppah. She wondered how he was, how he was feeling. How he looked. He usually enjoyed officiating at weddings and she hoped her behaviour had not spoilt his joy. A sense of shame and guilt spread through her. Of course it must have done. She shook her head, as if to eject the negative thoughts, trying to focus solely on Chani.
  The Rebbetzin wished she could see her. Closing her eyes, she sent up a passionate prayer for Chani's future happiness, hoping that Chani's marriage would fare better than her own. And then, having done her duty, she slunk quickly from the gallery before she could be noticed.
  The Sunday crowds surged like a sea in front of her. Taking a deep breath, the Rebbetzin plunged into the swaying tide. Her feet quickened and soon she kept pace. An onlooker could have just made out the familiar rigidity of her back and shoulders under her husband's old raincoat, her hair fluttering as she walked.A shocking pink bra.