Welcome to the Jewish novel. This is where all the girls are perfect aidel Bais Yaakov girls, heaven forbid they forget to make a bracha (and it’s not explicitly written in the book every time they eat something, because how else would you know if they made a bracha.) All the boys shteig, and if they don’t, they’re working, only because they HAVE to, but are really Tzaddikim Nistarim, learning into the wee hours of the night, saving the world from greasy hair. All others (there are others?) are unmentionable, forbidden, taboo.
The Jewish novel takes place in Paris, London Johannesburg, India, Pakistan, dark side of the moon, and any other place where you are unlikely to find a Jewish person. Never New York, which is only the largest Jewish community in America.
In the Jewish novel, the intrigue is the letter on the counter, which appears to frame the Rav of the town as a counterfeiter, only to find out later it was an overdue bill (the irresponsibility, a shanda, how could he be a Rav?!) The interstate is between Montana and North Dakota. New Jersey and New York? Unheard of.
This is the Jewish Novel, where you know what will happen on the next page because this happened in the last Jewish novel and the one before, and the one before that (or from a much better secular version)…They all live happily ever after.
This is the Jewish novel. If you’re reading it, you need a better hobby, like davening harder for moshiach. Be’meharah, beymainu, amen.