“During the Nazi occupation, Jewish theater companies could only perform Jewish plays, if they were allowed to perform at all,” says playwright Paula Vogel. “It was an attempt to demoralize them. Before they were sent to the camps, they could perform only cabaret and skits. That’s always stayed with me.” One play they might have performed was “The God of Vengeance,” whose lesbian kiss — between the daughter of a Jewish brothel owner and a prostitute — roiled Broadway in 1923. The arrests and obscenity trial that followed inspired Vogel’s new play, “Indecent.” After opening to raves at the Vineyard Theatre, it’s inspired the New Yiddish Rep to do a reading of the notorious original at the 14th Street Y June 25-26.
Here’s what’s in Vogel’s library:
The White Hotel by D.M. Thomas
This novel is a fantasia that takes place before, during and after the Holocaust, [charting] a woman’s journey through erotic desire and premonitions of death. The last third of the book takes place in Thomas’ vision of heaven: a resettlement camp in Palestine where the woman finds peace and respite.
The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo
I was asked to look for children’s books for a project and asked my great-nephew and niece for recommendations. I’ve since read all of DiCamillo’s books. This one’s about a brother and sister who lose each other in a war-torn country. I lost my brother 27 years ago, [so I know] the longing to find one’s brother or sister and not accept the facts of death.
The Sot-Weed Factor by John Barth
When I was 15, I stayed home from high school for four days to read this. It’s a bawdy epic of colonial Maryland that concerns tobacco, prostitution and slavery. I wanted to do a musical of it and wrote to John Barth for the rights. He replied with a sum equal to half my yearly income. But I’ll always love this book.
100 Essays I Don’t Have Time to Write by Sarah Ruhl
She was a student of mine, and I’m now a lifelong student of hers. I’ve loved her work since the short play she wrote at 19, about her dog being left home during her father’s funeral. These essays were written by a woman with three children who embraces the messiness of being a mother with three children.