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THE SHELL COLLECTOR

STORIES

The best new book of short fiction since Andrea Barrett’s Ship Fever. Keep your eye on Doerr.

This striking debut collection of eight stories offers several boldly imagined and scrupulously detailed explorations of the mysteries inherent in both the natural world and human interconnection.

People who live close to nature (or attempt to) are the protagonists of “A Tangle by the Rapid River,” an anecdote about an adulterous fisherman who can’t keep either his catch or his secrets, and “July Fourth,” a sly parable of America First optimism wrapped in an amusing tale of a bicontinental competition between US and British “sportfishermen.” Doerr strikes deeper in “The Hunter’s Wife,” a carefully developed story filled with fresh imagery about a Montana hunting guide and the free-spirited magician’s assistant whose inexplicable “foreign and keen sensitivity” to the souls of animals slowly drives them apart. People who can’t live where they’re meant to appear in “For a Long Time This Was Griselda’s Story,” in which a high-school volleyball phenom’s love for an itinerant carnival “metal-eater” is poignantly contrasted to her stay-at-home sister’s ordinary life; and “Mkondo,” about an Ohio “fossil hunter’s” troubled marriage to the impulsive Tanzanian girl whom he brings home, only to learn they’re “leveraged apart by the incompatibility of their respective landscapes.” Doerr’s meanings emerge more subtly in the title story, whose unnamed protagonist, a blind man living alone in Kenya, accidentally “cures” the victim of a venomous snail bite, and is mistaken for a great healer. But even this excellent story is dwarfed by “The Caretaker,” the brilliantly compact tale of Joseph Saleeby, a thief and idler who is uprooted and transformed by Liberia’s appallingly violent civil war, makes his way to the Oregon coast, fails in his duties as a literal caretaker, then lives as a recluse seeking atonement for his crimes and a place where he can belong. This is one of the great contemporary stories: an Edenic myth of sin and retribution, and, just possibly, Doerr’s ingenious variation on Flannery O’Connor’s masterpiece “The Displaced Person.”

The best new book of short fiction since Andrea Barrett’s Ship Fever. Keep your eye on Doerr.

Pub Date: Jan. 14, 2002

ISBN: 0-7432-1274-6

Page Count: 224

Publisher: Scribner

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2001

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THE HANDMAID'S TALE

Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.

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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

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THE THINGS THEY CARRIED

It's being called a novel, but it is more a hybrid: short-stories/essays/confessions about the Vietnam War—the subject that O'Brien reasonably comes back to with every book. Some of these stories/memoirs are very good in their starkness and factualness: the title piece, about what a foot soldier actually has on him (weights included) at any given time, lends a palpability that makes the emotional freight (fear, horror, guilt) correspond superbly. Maybe the most moving piece here is "On The Rainy River," about a draftee's ambivalence about going, and how he decided to go: "I would go to war—I would kill and maybe die—because I was embarrassed not to." But so much else is so structurally coy that real effects are muted and disadvantaged: O'Brien is writing a book more about earnestness than about war, and the peekaboos of this isn't really me but of course it truly is serve no true purpose. They make this an annoyingly arty book, hiding more than not behind Hemingwayesque time-signatures and puerile repetitions about war (and memory and everything else, for that matter) being hell and heaven both. A disappointment.

Pub Date: March 28, 1990

ISBN: 0618706410

Page Count: 256

Publisher: Houghton Mifflin

Review Posted Online: Oct. 2, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 1990

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