This exploration of the damage fathers can do to sons, and sons to fathers, is more Woodrell than Palahniuk, more hillbilly...
Whitmer (Pike, 2010, etc.) offers dark literary fiction delving into incalculable loss mirrored by the vagaries of father-son relationships.
Physician error killed Patterson Well’s son, a boy he loved beyond words. Refusing to let his memory die, Patterson writes his son letters, uncensored and pain-filled. He grief-counsels himself with alcohol, pain pills and the dangerous work of clearing disaster debris, amid crews so rough and places so perilous he’s never without his father’s Model 1911 Colt pistol. Symbolic that, for Patterson’s father self-medicated his own post-Vietnam PTSD in alcoholic parallel. Now Patterson’s driving home to Colorado, stopping near St. Louis to meet a co-worker, only to discover him in meth-meltdown. There’s also a woman tied up in the bathtub. He fights his friend, frees the woman, and forgetting no good deed goes unpunished, heads home to an off-the-grid cabin in Colorado’s San Luis Valley among wild horses, aspen and Brother Joe, a conspiracy-spouting radio personality. Nearby lives Henry, a broken-down ex–rodeo rider, whose son, Junior, is a sociopathic drug courier. To keep Henry safe, Patterson confronts Junior only to find himself involved in more than one of Junior’s violent capers—"Chase sinks his teeth into Patterson’s forearm. He wraps his arm around Patterson and gnaws." Peripheral characters are superb, especially Laney, Patterson’s former wife, whose love cannot salve Patterson’s rage, and intellectual Vincente and colossal Eduard, Denver drug dealers. With realistic gunplay matching any ol’ Western shoot'em-up, Whitmer’s deft descriptions of biker bars, greasy spoons and mean streets are as spot-on as his clear, clean appreciation of the high country where the "peaks...look like earth torn out of the sky."
This exploration of the damage fathers can do to sons, and sons to fathers, is more Woodrell than Palahniuk, more hillbilly noir than existentialist nihilism.Pub Date: Sept. 16, 2014
ISBN: 978-1-4767-3435-4
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Gallery Books/Simon & Schuster
Review Posted Online: Aug. 13, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 2014
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
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.
A lonely postman learns that he’s about to die—and reflects on life as he bargains with a Hawaiian-shirt–wearing devil.
The 30-year-old first-person narrator in filmmaker/novelist Kawamura’s slim novel is, by his own admission, “boring…a monotone guy,” so unimaginative that, when he learns he has a brain tumor, the bucket list he writes down is dull enough that “even the cat looked disgusted with me.” Luckily—or maybe not—a friendly devil, dubbed Aloha, pops onto the scene, and he’s willing to make a deal: an extra day of life in exchange for being allowed to remove something pleasant from the world. The first thing excised is phones, which goes well enough. (The narrator is pleasantly surprised to find that “people seemed to have no problem finding something to fill up their free time.”) But deals with the devil do have a way of getting complicated. This leads to shallow musings (“Sometimes, when you rewatch a film after not having seen it for a long time, it makes a totally different impression on you than it did the first time you saw it. Of course, the movie hasn’t changed; it’s you who’s changed") written in prose so awkward, it’s possibly satire (“Tears dripped down onto the letter like warm, salty drops of rain”). Even the postman’s beloved cat, who gains the power of speech, ends up being prim and annoying. The narrator ponders feelings about a lost love, his late mother, and his estranged father in a way that some readers might find moving at times. But for many, whatever made this book a bestseller in Japan is going to be lost in translation.
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.Pub Date: March 12, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-250-29405-0
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Flatiron Books
Review Posted Online: Feb. 16, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2019
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