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Delightful may not be the word, but this is certainly lots of fun. Despite the odds, Tennant’s story works perfectly,...

After two sequels to Pride and Prejudice (Pemberley, 1993; An Unequal Marriage, 1994) and one to Emma (1998), Tennant retells Jane Eyre from the perspective of, mainly, Rochester’s daughter Adèle.

The nice thing about being narrator is that it lets you look better than you might really be; and, if Adèle Varens is to be believed, Jane Eyre was not the gracious soul she made herself seem. Adèle, we recall, was the illegitimate daughter of Edward Rochester and Céline Varens, the Parisian actress and acrobat who was Rochester’s great tragic love. Brought to England as a girl, when her mother abandoned her for an Italian musician, Adèle (who had spent her childhood in the company of the greatest artists and actors of France) found life in the Rochester household unbearably dull and dreary—and looked down on her governess Jane as “this little, ill-educated nun.” In chapters narrated by different characters, we discover that Rochester’s family is an even greater nest of duplicity and madness than Brontë herself made it out to be. All Adèle wants is to run back to the Continent and find her mother again—a normal enough sentiment, perhaps, except that Adèle knows perfectly well her mother is dead. Rochester, meanwhile, detests himself for having murdered Céline’s lover—but seems not too bothered about keeping his mad wife Bertha locked in a closet upstairs. Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper from hell, is trying to bump off Jane and Bertha alike so that Rochester can marry Blanche Ingram—an uncanny double of the young Bertha who may actually be Rochester’s daughter. And Adèle eventually learns that she has a twin brother who was fathered by another man. No, it’s not the Addams family—just the dark underside of a Victorian one.

Delightful may not be the word, but this is certainly lots of fun. Despite the odds, Tennant’s story works perfectly, creating a genuine modern sequel to Brontë’s tale that’s neither a parody nor a cheap imitation.

Pub Date: Jan. 1, 2003

ISBN: 0-06-000454-1

Page Count: 240

Publisher: Morrow/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 2002

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The mother of all presidential cover-ups is the centerpiece gimmick in this far-fetched thriller from first-novelist Baldacci, a Washington-based attorney. In the dead of night, while burgling an exurban Virginia mansion, career criminal Luther Whitney is forced to conceal himself in a walk-in closet when Christine Sullivan, the lady of the house, arrives in the bedroom he's ransacking with none other than Alan Richmond, President of the US. Through the one-way mirror, Luther watches the drunken couple engage in a bout of rough sex that gets out of hand, ending only when two Secret Service men respond to the Chief Executive's cries of distress and gun down the letter-opener-wielding Christy. Gloria Russell, Richmond's vaultingly ambitious chief of staff, orders the scene rigged to look like a break-in and departs with the still befuddled President, leaving Christy's corpse to be discovered at another time. Luther makes tracks as well, though not before being spotted on the run by agents from the bodyguard detail. Aware that he's shortened his life expectancy, Luther retains trusted friend Jack Graham, a former public defender, but doesn't tell him the whole story. When Luther's slain before he can be arraigned for Christy's murder, Jack concludes he's the designated fall guy in a major scandal. Meanwhile, little Gloria (together with two Secret Service shooters) hopes to erase all tracks that might lead to the White House. But the late Luther seems to have outsmarted her in advance with recurrent demands for hush money. The body count rises as Gloria's attack dogs and Jack search for the evidence cunning Luther's left to incriminate not only a venal Alan Richmond but his homicidal deputies. The not-with-a-bang-but-a-whimper climax provides an unsurprising answer to the question of whether a US president can get away with murder. For all its arresting premise, an overblown and tedious tale of capital sins. (Film rights to Castle Rock; Book-of-the-Month selection)

Pub Date: Jan. 18, 1996

ISBN: 0-446-51996-0

Page Count: 480

Publisher: N/A

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 1995

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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 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1992

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