With joyless prose about joyless people, Jonathan Safran Foer's 'Here I Am' is kitsch at best

A confession: I cried reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s first novel. I’ve never admitted that before, not even to my wife. Well, it’s true, babe. There I was, on the uptown C train as it rattled through Manhattan, shedding tears into “Everything Is Illuminated” as the shtetl Trachimbrod loses its...