Women readers (and what male would read this book?) will want to strangle Linc by his story’s self-congratulatory end.
A first novel whose self-impressed narrator takes on househusbanding with a vengeance and makes a better wife and mother than any woman could.
When his wife Jo accepts a job as a hospital administrator, landscape architect Linc Menner moves with her and their three-year-old daughter, Violet, from California to Rochester, New York. Having agreed to stay home with Violet until he makes his next career move, Linc immediately becomes that supermom most real housewives and mothers hate. He is a wonderful cook, as the recipes included at the end of several chapters seem intended to prove. He keeps the house immaculately clean, cleaner than the average housewife does (as he more than once says with some pride), and he fills the high-ceilinged, many-windowed rooms of the house with plants. (Cynical readers may wonder about astronomical heating bills for those curtainless rooms in upstate New York, but money never becomes an issue in this family.) Precocious, adorable, and beautifully behaved Violet is proof of Linc’s extraordinary parenting skills since, as he points out, Jo has little input. Linc does miss adult companionship—especially since the other stay-at-home moms shun him for being a man—until he becomes friends with his neighbor Marilyn. Although she’s attractive and obviously attracted to him, he stays loyal to Jo, who appreciates Linc’s domestic efforts even while she does resent them a little. Besides, Marilyn lets her kids eat junk food and watch too much TV, issues about which the much more strict Linc is a stickler. In fact, the first hint that the new babysitter is evil occurs when she commits the unpardonable sin of giving Violet a Malibu Barbie. Linc struggles to maintain his masculinity as he identifies increasingly with the wives and mothers in his life. He succeeds, naturally, with Jo’s second pregnancy emerging as the physical proof.
Women readers (and what male would read this book?) will want to strangle Linc by his story’s self-congratulatory end.Pub Date: May 1, 2001
ISBN: 0-345-45126-0
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Ballantine
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2002
BOOK REVIEW
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.
The time is the not-so-distant future, when the US's spiraling social freedoms have finally called down a reaction, an Iranian-style repressive "monotheocracy" calling itself the Republic of Gilead—a Bible-thumping, racist, capital-punishing, and misogynistic rule that would do away with pleasure altogether were it not for one thing: that the Gileadan women, pure and true (as opposed to all the nonbelieving women, those who've ever been adulterous or married more than once), are found rarely fertile.
Thus are drafted a whole class of "handmaids," whose function is to bear the children of the elite, to be fecund or else (else being certain death, sent out to be toxic-waste removers on outlying islands). The narrative frame for Atwood's dystopian vision is the hopeless private testimony of one of these surrogate mothers, Offred ("of" plus the name of her male protector). Lying cradled by the body of the barren wife, being meanwhile serviced by the husband, Offred's "ceremony" must be successful—if she does not want to join the ranks of the other disappeared (which include her mother, her husband—dead—and small daughter, all taken away during the years of revolt). One Of her only human conduits is a gradually developing affair with her master's chauffeur—something that's balanced more than offset, though, by the master's hypocritically un-Puritan use of her as a kind of B-girl at private parties held by the ruling men in a spirit of nostalgia and lust. This latter relationship, edging into real need (the master's), is very effectively done; it highlights the handmaid's (read Everywoman's) eternal exploitation, profane or sacred ("We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices"). Atwood, to her credit, creates a chillingly specific, imaginable night-mare. The book is short on characterization—this is Atwood, never a warm writer, at her steeliest—and long on cynicism—it's got none of the human credibility of a work such as Walker Percy's Love In The Ruins. But the scariness is visceral, a world that's like a dangerous and even fatal grid, an electrified fence.
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.Pub Date: Feb. 17, 1985
ISBN: 038549081X
Page Count: -
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin
Review Posted Online: Sept. 16, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 1985
SEEN & HEARD
BOOK TO SCREEN
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.
Written with quiet dignity that builds to a climax of tragic force, this book about the dissolution of an African tribe, its traditions, and values, represents a welcome departure from the familiar "Me, white brother" genre.
Written by a Nigerian African trained in missionary schools, this novel tells quietly the story of a brave man, Okonkwo, whose life has absolute validity in terms of his culture, and who exercises his prerogative as a warrior, father, and husband with unflinching single mindedness. But into the complex Nigerian village filters the teachings of strangers, teachings so alien to the tribe, that resistance is impossible. One must distinguish a force to be able to oppose it, and to most, the talk of Christian salvation is no more than the babbling of incoherent children. Still, with his guns and persistence, the white man, amoeba-like, gradually absorbs the native culture and in despair, Okonkwo, unable to withstand the corrosion of what he, alone, understands to be the life force of his people, hangs himself. In the formlessness of the dying culture, it is the missionary who takes note of the event, reminding himself to give Okonkwo's gesture a line or two in his work, The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger.
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.Pub Date: Jan. 23, 1958
ISBN: 0385474547
Page Count: 207
Publisher: McDowell, Obolensky
Review Posted Online: April 23, 2013
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 1958
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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