Wistful but (thankfully) not whimsical. Funny, alarming, and, in a Slavic way, not unlike early Pinter.
A writer is sucked gently into the evil new Ukrainian economy as his penguin flatmate watches.
Soviet Kiev was no place for a thoughtful writer like Viktor Alekseyevich, but the post-Bolshevik city seems little better. Things are so bad that, for example, the Kiev zoo has had to de-access animals to stay within its budget. In an act of either mercy or work-avoidance, Viktor, dumped by his girlfriend, took on the care and feeding of Misha, a newly homeless penguin, who turned out to be not such a bad roomie. Quiet and thoughtful, Misha needs only a few frozen fish a day, and he’s affectionate in a non-fawning way. Perfectly content to stand behind the sofa or out on the balcony while Viktor types extremely short stories that have no market no matter how free that market may now be, Misha is unfazed by the occasional pop of gangster gunfire in the streets. Viktor and Misha’s quiet life peps up a bit when the editor of the Capital News calls to see whether he’s interested in writing what they call obelisks: pre-need obituaries for luminaries in the thriving Kievan underworld. Sure. Why not? The money is good, the work oddly interesting. And Viktor has the touch. He brings a novelist’s sensibility to this obscure, unsung (no byline for Viktor) art form. It’s a bit shaking when his obelisks are in ink and it dawns on Viktor that people are dying out there, thanks to whoever is assigning the work. But there are new complications requiring money and attention. A fleeing acquaintance leaves his young daughter (who adores Misha) with Viktor, and Viktor befriends the city’s expert on penguin care, an embittered academic on his way out of this world. Then Viktor takes on an attractive nanny for little Sonja. Is a nuclear family a possibility? Have to think about that. However well obelisk writing pays, those murders are, after all, murders.
Wistful but (thankfully) not whimsical. Funny, alarming, and, in a Slavic way, not unlike early Pinter.Pub Date: Oct. 1, 2001
ISBN: 1-86046-835-7
Page Count: 230
Publisher: N/A
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2001
PERSPECTIVES
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.
A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.
“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.Pub Date: April 10, 2018
ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018
PROFILES
A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.
Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946
ISBN: 0452277507
Page Count: 114
Publisher: Harcourt, Brace
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946
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