Though plagued by gaps in internal logic, the novel is at least partially redeemed by engaging characters and sheer force of...



A rich fantasy world in the tradition of Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland.

The journey to Blunderland—an alternate world where black goo can render solid surfaces penetrable, and people read and write via handmade crafts (a cheap woven rug being analogous to a paperback book)—begins in an ordinary, unnamed American town. Finley Barrett has just moved in and is eager to build a life for herself after surviving both an incident of domestic violence and the death of her beloved mother. Exploring with her puppy Zipper (whose antics fill a perhaps unduly large portion of the book), Fin is drawn to a sculpture garden in a nearby park, particularly its giant mosaic arch that turns out to be a portal to Blunderland, a place that seems entirely alien until its residents help Fin remember that she has been there before. Blunderland is being terrorized by a brutal race nicknamed Creeps and some of the populace hope Fin is the answer to their troubles while others blame her for not helping before. Fin eventually discovers that she is the only one who can keep the Creeps where they belong, and so she sets off to find a magical throne that will help her fulfill her destiny. While Fin’s developing role as reluctant savior is compelling, the exact details surrounding her previous trip to Blunderland, and the fact that she gained entry to it from the exact same town she has just moved to yet doesn’t remember at all, strain believability. Many fantastic elements of the story are captivating and well imagined, such as the town of Soluna where the residents are bitterly divided by their allegiance to night or day. But the novel would be better served by developing concrete plot details rather than dwelling on Zipper’s favorite chew toy or how often he is fed. Blunderland is also overpopulated, causing characters to be introduced and then quickly left behind. But those that O’Kane does stick with are interesting and charming—particularly Ryan, the Native American (but is Blunderland in America?) who is both wise and wise-cracking.

Though plagued by gaps in internal logic, the novel is at least partially redeemed by engaging characters and sheer force of imagination.

Pub Date: Feb. 3, 2011

ISBN: 978-1450242196

Page Count: 259

Publisher: iUniverse

Review Posted Online: Dec. 20, 2010

Did you like this book?

No Comments Yet

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.


Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z (2006).

A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

Pub Date: June 16, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine

Review Posted Online: Feb. 10, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020

Did you like this book?

Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.


Atwood goes back to Gilead.

The Handmaid’s Tale (1985), consistently regarded as a masterpiece of 20th-century literature, has gained new attention in recent years with the success of the Hulu series as well as fresh appreciation from readers who feel like this story has new relevance in America’s current political climate. Atwood herself has spoken about how news headlines have made her dystopian fiction seem eerily plausible, and it’s not difficult to imagine her wanting to revisit Gilead as the TV show has sped past where her narrative ended. Like the novel that preceded it, this sequel is presented as found documents—first-person accounts of life inside a misogynistic theocracy from three informants. There is Agnes Jemima, a girl who rejects the marriage her family arranges for her but still has faith in God and Gilead. There’s Daisy, who learns on her 16th birthday that her whole life has been a lie. And there's Aunt Lydia, the woman responsible for turning women into Handmaids. This approach gives readers insight into different aspects of life inside and outside Gilead, but it also leads to a book that sometimes feels overstuffed. The Handmaid’s Tale combined exquisite lyricism with a powerful sense of urgency, as if a thoughtful, perceptive woman was racing against time to give witness to her experience. That narrator hinted at more than she said; Atwood seemed to trust readers to fill in the gaps. This dynamic created an atmosphere of intimacy. However curious we might be about Gilead and the resistance operating outside that country, what we learn here is that what Atwood left unsaid in the first novel generated more horror and outrage than explicit detail can. And the more we get to know Agnes, Daisy, and Aunt Lydia, the less convincing they become. It’s hard, of course, to compete with a beloved classic, so maybe the best way to read this new book is to forget about The Handmaid’s Tale and enjoy it as an artful feminist thriller.

Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.

Pub Date: Sept. 10, 2019

ISBN: 978-0-385-54378-1

Page Count: 432

Publisher: Nan A. Talese

Review Posted Online: Sept. 4, 2019

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2019

Did you like this book?

No Comments Yet