Galgut’s prose has a spare beauty, suggesting volcanic emotions held rigorously in check. A remarkable achievement.
This fine, bleak tale about a fugitive’s crack-up was written ten years ago, while South African Galgut’s The Good Doctor (2004) made the shortlist for the Man Booker Prize.
A very tall white man is walking along an empty road across the veldt. Unnamed, the man is a fugitive, although from what we don’t know. He has managed to lose the police helicopters. A car passes. The driver, a minister on his way to a new job in a township, gives him a ride and buys him breakfast. In his way, the minister is as desperate as the fugitive. When he propositions the fugitive, the fugitive kills him with a rock, then buries him in a quarry. He drives to the township, claims to be the minister, and is taken in by the woman in the mission house. A complication ensues when the car is burgled and one of the thieves, Valentine, is arrested, while his brother, Small, is found hiding in the quarry, alongside the corpse. The police captain, Mong, has the two put on trial for murder. The guilt-stricken fugitive confesses that he’s not the minister and takes to the road again. Valentine, too, is on the run, having escaped custody. A vigilante mob screams for vengeance and a solar eclipse adds an apocalyptic touch. Mong pursues the fugitive on foot, obsessively, across a parched landscape, and in this dance of death, the men’s identities seem to merge. The fugitive looks “haggard and mad and remarkable.” Mong is “ragged and reeking.” Valentine appears “crazed and messianic.” In the end, it scarcely matters that the fugitive is shot dead by Mong while Valentine survives, for we know that his fate will be as miserable as that of the dead man. The legal niceties of criminal punishment pale beside the solitary despair that these men cannot escape.
Galgut’s prose has a spare beauty, suggesting volcanic emotions held rigorously in check. A remarkable achievement.Pub Date: Feb. 1, 2005
ISBN: 0-8021-4161-7
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Black Cat/Grove
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 2004
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.
Written with quiet dignity that builds to a climax of tragic force, this book about the dissolution of an African tribe, its traditions, and values, represents a welcome departure from the familiar "Me, white brother" genre.
Written by a Nigerian African trained in missionary schools, this novel tells quietly the story of a brave man, Okonkwo, whose life has absolute validity in terms of his culture, and who exercises his prerogative as a warrior, father, and husband with unflinching single mindedness. But into the complex Nigerian village filters the teachings of strangers, teachings so alien to the tribe, that resistance is impossible. One must distinguish a force to be able to oppose it, and to most, the talk of Christian salvation is no more than the babbling of incoherent children. Still, with his guns and persistence, the white man, amoeba-like, gradually absorbs the native culture and in despair, Okonkwo, unable to withstand the corrosion of what he, alone, understands to be the life force of his people, hangs himself. In the formlessness of the dying culture, it is the missionary who takes note of the event, reminding himself to give Okonkwo's gesture a line or two in his work, The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger.
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.Pub Date: Jan. 23, 1958
ISBN: 0385474547
Page Count: 207
Publisher: McDowell, Obolensky
Review Posted Online: April 23, 2013
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 1958
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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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