A deeply felt coming-of-age story rich with respect for the natural world.


A sequel set in sub-Saharan Africa about a boy who grows to adulthood, becomes a safari guide, and takes a stand against poachers and a childhood nemesis.

In Cousins’ previous novel, Waiting for Bones (2011, etc.), American tourists on a photo safari face a life-or-death struggle to survive in the African wilderness when their guide, Bones, disappears, his fate a mystery. This novel came about, Cousins says in an author’s note, because the question of Bones’ disappearance was “too intriguing to ignore.” Her answer is an inspired, eventful coming-of-age story. It starts with Bones’ remembering his life as an impoverished 10-year-old boy, living on a small farm in his African village; he’s a gifted young carpenter who eventually realizes his dream career as a safari guide. Bones’ passion for knowledge and his soulful connection to nature—especially for elephants, whose populations are being decimated by ruthless poachers armed with military-grade weapons—shape the man he later becomes. So does a loss, chillingly depicted in the book’s first chapter, that affects his whole family; it also presages what’s to come in the unsavory form of a man named Skinner, a sadistic bully-turned–dangerous adversary. A skillful storyteller, Cousins gives weight and color to small events, such as the processes of crafting a wooden drawer and curing and drying impala meat, and to pivotal scenes, such as the horrific slaughter of an elephant herd. The environments of the village and wilderness are keenly observed, as is the book’s rich cast of characters, including Bones’ love interest, Mima Swale; Granny Nobbs and her attack chickens; cousin Squeak, who’s lost to a crocodile (“Death was never far from our world”); nurturing Uncle Stash; and hefty truck driver Chiddy, who has a face “as round and shiny as a kukui nut.” Although it isn’t necessary to have read the previous book, those who have will appreciate how the author gives Bones’ abandonment of the American tourists a sense of high-stakes urgency.

A deeply felt coming-of-age story rich with respect for the natural world.

Pub Date: Jan. 2, 2018

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3544-9

Page Count: 244

Publisher: iUniverse

Review Posted Online: March 26, 2018

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Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.

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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. 23, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018

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The Brat Pack meets The Bacchae in this precious, way-too-long, and utterly unsuspenseful town-and-gown murder tale. A bunch of ever-so-mandarin college kids in a small Vermont school are the eager epigones of an aloof classics professor, and in their exclusivity and snobbishness and eagerness to please their teacher, they are moved to try to enact Dionysian frenzies in the woods. During the only one that actually comes off, a local farmer happens upon them—and they kill him. But the death isn't ruled a murder—and might never have been if one of the gang—a cadging sybarite named Bunny Corcoran—hadn't shown signs of cracking under the secret's weight. And so he too is dispatched. The narrator, a blank-slate Californian named Richard Pepen chronicles the coverup. But if you're thinking remorse-drama, conscience masque, or even semi-trashy who'll-break-first? page-turner, forget it: This is a straight gee-whiz, first-to-have-ever-noticed college novel—"Hampden College, as a body, was always strangely prone to hysteria. Whether from isolation, malice, or simple boredom, people there were far more credulous and excitable than educated people are generally thought to be, and this hermetic, overheated atmosphere made it a thriving black petri dish of melodrama and distortion." First-novelist Tartt goes muzzy when she has to describe human confrontations (the murder, or sex, or even the ping-ponging of fear), and is much more comfortable in transcribing aimless dorm-room paranoia or the TV shows that the malefactors anesthetize themselves with as fate ticks down. By telegraphing the murders, Tartt wants us to be continually horrified at these kids—while inviting us to semi-enjoy their manneristic fetishes and refined tastes. This ersatz-Fitzgerald mix of moralizing and mirror-looking (Jay McInerney shook and poured the shaker first) is very 80's—and in Tartt's strenuous version already seems dated, formulaic. Les Nerds du Mal—and about as deep (if not nearly as involving) as a TV movie.

Pub Date: Sept. 16, 1992

ISBN: 1400031702

Page Count: 592

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1992

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