Some will grumble, feeling manipulated, while many, many more will shed a quiet tear or two.
Out of Australia’s rough-and-tumble opal country, London-dwelling Rice’s debut extracts a sweet little nougat—or, it might be said, a chunk of shameless melodrama.
Ashmol Williamson’s opal-mining father drinks too much; his pretty mother yearns for the beauties of England (and the upper-class marriage prospect) that she left behind in following her husband to Australia (with his distant dream of wealth); and Ashmol’s sister Kellyanne has—well, she has two silent and invisible friends, a girl named Dingan and a boy named Pobby. The toughly boyish Ashmol ridicules Kellyanne’s friends, but his quick-witted sister is ever ready at their defense—when Ashmol punches the empty air where Dingan is supposed to “be” and asks why he gets no punches back, Kellyanne retorts, “Cos Dingan is a pacifist, stupid.” The same is true with the children’s father, whose skepticism borders on the cruel—until, that is, his wife castigates him fiercely (“You haven’t found any opal in two years. Not a glimpse of it. And opal’s real enough for you”), humiliating him so badly that he makes amends in any way he can, even including the offer to take Pobby and Dingan with him for a working day at his claim. Which he does, the only trouble being that he forgets them there. Kellyanne’s distraction at the loss of her friends sends her into a serious decline—physical? psychological?—and Ashmol into action (“And then I figured out something else. I didn’t like to admit it, but it seemed to me the only way to make Kellyanne better would be to find Pobby and Dingan”). Ashmol’s activities and the tale’s unwindings from there on are comprised of approximately equal parts of, let us say, Dickens, Twain—and Disney.
Some will grumble, feeling manipulated, while many, many more will shed a quiet tear or two.Pub Date: Oct. 5, 2000
ISBN: 0-375-41127-5
Page Count: 80
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 2000
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
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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