An ambitious effort that, despite its imperfections, will keep readers riveted.
Kirby’s assured debut depicts the travails of a displaced daughter in Victorian England.
Born to Mary Burns, a prisoner in Birmingham Gaol, infant Cora Burns is consigned to the local workhouse. She grows up there, makes one friend, Alice Salt, and excels at school, but then Alice drives her to commit a terrible crime. Her youth excuses her from prosecution, and at 16, Cora is sent to work at a nearby asylum, not knowing her mother is committed there. Like her mother, Cora has a child out of wedlock and is confined in Birmingham Gaol. Her child is also removed by authorities. This is only one of many parallels in Kirby’s multilayered narrative of grim coincidence, origin mysteries, and severed pairs, symbolized by the half medal Cora wears around her neck. Cora is determined and resourceful due to the hardships of her upbringing, but she is also capable of rage, which she mostly keeps contained—except on those unpredictable occasions when she doesn’t. Thomas Jerwood, the master of the house where Cora, upon release, is referred as a housemaid, is an amateur scientist whose treatises on nature and nurture appear every few chapters. Mrs. Jerwood is a bedridden madwoman who, when she spots Cora, upbraids her by another name, Annie. Meanwhile, Dr. Farley, resident physician at the asylum, is attempting to treat Mary Burns with hypnotherapy. His scientific observations are also interspersed in the narrative. Jerwood’s young ward (and guinea pig), Violet, befriends Cora but at times seems unusually distant, her appearance and accent slightly altered. The convoluted plot promises a thematic bombshell that never drops, although a Marxist gloss is attempted. Kirby makes no concessions to sentimentality even at the risk of alienating readers with an unappealing protagonist: Cora’s personality approaches the sociopathic as she guiltlessly exploits those around her. Still, the language is atmospheric and perfectly pitched, and the dialogue is spare and evocative.
An ambitious effort that, despite its imperfections, will keep readers riveted.Pub Date: March 19, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-945814-84-6
Page Count: 344
Publisher: Dzanc
Review Posted Online: Dec. 22, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2019
Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.
Hannah’s new novel is an homage to the extraordinary courage and endurance of Frenchwomen during World War II.
In 1995, an elderly unnamed widow is moving into an Oregon nursing home on the urging of her controlling son, Julien, a surgeon. This trajectory is interrupted when she receives an invitation to return to France to attend a ceremony honoring passeurs: people who aided the escape of others during the war. Cut to spring, 1940: Viann has said goodbye to husband Antoine, who's off to hold the Maginot line against invading Germans. She returns to tending her small farm, Le Jardin, in the Loire Valley, teaching at the local school and coping with daughter Sophie’s adolescent rebellion. Soon, that world is upended: The Germans march into Paris and refugees flee south, overrunning Viann’s land. Her long-estranged younger sister, Isabelle, who has been kicked out of multiple convent schools, is sent to Le Jardin by Julien, their father in Paris, a drunken, decidedly unpaternal Great War veteran. As the depredations increase in the occupied zone—food rationing, systematic looting, and the billeting of a German officer, Capt. Beck, at Le Jardin—Isabelle’s outspokenness is a liability. She joins the Resistance, volunteering for dangerous duty: shepherding downed Allied airmen across the Pyrenees to Spain. Code-named the Nightingale, Isabelle will rescue many before she's captured. Meanwhile, Viann’s journey from passive to active resistance is less dramatic but no less wrenching. Hannah vividly demonstrates how the Nazis, through starvation, intimidation and barbarity both casual and calculated, demoralized the French, engineering a community collapse that enabled the deportations and deaths of more than 70,000 Jews. Hannah’s proven storytelling skills are ideally suited to depicting such cataclysmic events, but her tendency to sentimentalize undermines the gravitas of this tale.
Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.Pub Date: Feb. 3, 2015
ISBN: 978-0-312-57722-3
Page Count: 448
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: Nov. 19, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2014
BOOK TO SCREEN
SEEN & HEARD
BOOK TO SCREEN
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
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