Slight, but disarming.
Comic novella from an acclaimed Mexican author (Almost Never, 2012).
The Gamal sisters are twins, and more than twins. After the death of their parents in a car accident—the girls were 13—they began to grow increasingly indistinguishable. Now in their 40s, they live together, they dress the same, they wear their hair in the same style. The slight differences in their personalities are obscured by the fact that they sometimes trade names. Then Constitución meets Oscar Segura, a “slender man of interesting age.” Suddenly, the Gamal sisters are no longer identical. Gloria grows bitter and silent. Constitución considers teasing her hair into a beehive and penciling her eyebrows to make herself into a new person, an individual. She abandons these thoughts, though, as she considers her sister’s heartbreak. Instead, she arrives at a radical solution to their predicament. Oscar has no idea that Constitución has a twin sister. What’s to stop them from taking turns in the role of Oscar’s sweetheart? Thus, both twins enjoy a taste of romance. There are, of course, problems with this plan, practical and existential. What follows is screwball comedy and melodramatic meditations on desire, dreams, and life’s dualities. The plot, like the book itself, is slight, and there is very little action. This tale is composed mostly of rumination, and the narrator emerges as the dominant character. Sada, who died in 2011, was known for his playfully extravagant style, a mix of earthy colloquialisms and fancy syntax. Here, he’s crafted a narrator that’s equal parts town gossip and armchair philosopher, a biographer and a fabulist, a storyteller who recruits the reader as a co-conspirator.
Slight, but disarming.Pub Date: Nov. 3, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-55597-724-5
Page Count: 88
Publisher: Graywolf
Review Posted Online: July 28, 2015
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2015
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
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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