Without a streamlined plot to push it along, Lerman’s novel feels torn between relishing the fun of its more outlandish...
Combining curiously disparate elements including radios, dogs, aliens and a religious cult, poet Lerman (Strange Life, 2014, etc.) pulls together a novel about a woman rediscovering how to find interest in her own life.
Laurie Perzin is a middle-aged bartender who lives in Queens and works long nights at Kennedy airport. She plods through an unremarkable, routine-bound life, having no close family and a well-honed skill of avoiding things she would prefer not to think about, including a strange childhood memory of a mysterious encounter with “the radioman.” When Laurie was 6, she met a featureless, shadowy figure while listening to her uncle’s homemade radio; after she spends years pretending the meeting was a dream, it sets off a sequence of strange events that drags Laurie into the company of a radio host, a psychic, an unusual dog and the leader of a religious cult that believes aliens—including Laurie’s radioman—are destined to bring humans to enlightenment. The novel begins slowly, indulging in numerous scenes of Laurie’s normal life that force the reader to accompany her through mundane commutes and dissatisfactions that fall flat as an effort to portray character and seem at odds with the many fascinating details that Lerman lavishes on radios and radio history. Once all the characters and elements come into place, the story picks up momentum and grows into its oddball components, though the only characters who develop a believable solidity are Laurie and a dog she acquires under strange circumstances and names Digitaria after a star that may or may not have alien connections.
Without a streamlined plot to push it along, Lerman’s novel feels torn between relishing the fun of its more outlandish components and clutching at an adult refusal of wonder.Pub Date: Jan. 31, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-57962-383-8
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Permanent Press
Review Posted Online: Nov. 5, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2014
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
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
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