Haphazardly punctuated first novel of middle-class Europeen angst that's less about rock 'n' roll, or pubescent love, than about Anglo-American slacker culture and a bunch of dead-end kids who talk the talk and walk the walk because they have nothing better to do. The story, set in Bologna, veers between impressionistic accounts of 16-year-old Alex's search for love, thrills, and a purpose in life, and transcripts of his annoyingly affected tape-recorded diary. Alex is, of course, alienated from his family, who apparently do nothing but watch television, eat, and drive Alex wherever he can't take himself on his bicycle—this last a relic of his childhood that comes to symbolize his quest for enduring values. When not flying through Bolognese streets on the bike and thinking of himself in rock bands, or as Holden Caulfield, Alex plays the rebel without a clue: sleeping late, scowling menacingly at girls, drinking too much, and nearly failing what few high school classes he doesn't cut. He suffers a brief friendship with Martino—an upper-middle-class teenage nihilist who has all the right clothes and rock 'n' roll posters, and enough money from his divorced parents to spend most of his life intoxicated—that ends when Martino is arrested and commits suicide. The tale's only variation from earlier interpretations of the coming-of-age formula is revealed in Alex's inability to have sexual feelings for Adelaide, who raises him from his gloom like a Beatrice to Dante. Alas, Aidi departs for a year of foreign study in America. Alex tenderly gives her his security blanket as a keepsake and zooms tearfully away on his bike. Numerous '90s pop-culture references (the title refers to a guitarist who abruptly quit the Red Hot Chili Peppers) and insouciance that begins to grate. A big seller in Italy, we're told.
Pub Date: Nov. 1, 1997
ISBN: 0-8021-3521-8
Page Count: 192
Publisher: Grove
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 1, 1997
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
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.
A lonely postman learns that he’s about to die—and reflects on life as he bargains with a Hawaiian-shirt–wearing devil.
The 30-year-old first-person narrator in filmmaker/novelist Kawamura’s slim novel is, by his own admission, “boring…a monotone guy,” so unimaginative that, when he learns he has a brain tumor, the bucket list he writes down is dull enough that “even the cat looked disgusted with me.” Luckily—or maybe not—a friendly devil, dubbed Aloha, pops onto the scene, and he’s willing to make a deal: an extra day of life in exchange for being allowed to remove something pleasant from the world. The first thing excised is phones, which goes well enough. (The narrator is pleasantly surprised to find that “people seemed to have no problem finding something to fill up their free time.”) But deals with the devil do have a way of getting complicated. This leads to shallow musings (“Sometimes, when you rewatch a film after not having seen it for a long time, it makes a totally different impression on you than it did the first time you saw it. Of course, the movie hasn’t changed; it’s you who’s changed") written in prose so awkward, it’s possibly satire (“Tears dripped down onto the letter like warm, salty drops of rain”). Even the postman’s beloved cat, who gains the power of speech, ends up being prim and annoying. The narrator ponders feelings about a lost love, his late mother, and his estranged father in a way that some readers might find moving at times. But for many, whatever made this book a bestseller in Japan is going to be lost in translation.
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.Pub Date: March 12, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-250-29405-0
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Flatiron Books
Review Posted Online: Feb. 16, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2019
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