Poignant, but unsatisfying.
A story of sacrifice, silence and forgiveness from Jones (Dreams of Speaking, 2006, etc.).
Perdita Keene is a little girl growing up in the Australian bush in the late 1930s. Her parents are English. Her father is an anthropologist, but his studies of Australia’s native people are never going to produce bold, revelatory theories about primitive humans, and he is never going to return to Oxford as a renowned scholar. Her mother had no idea, when she got married, that her husband would take her to the remote ends of the world. Her only consolation is Shakespeare. He is her religion, and she knows whole plays and sonnets by heart. The Keene marriage is a loveless one, and they make no effort to shield their daughter from the knowledge that she was a mistake. The only kindness Perdita has ever known is that of Aboriginal caretakers, and her only friends are misfits. Billy is deaf and mute—generally considered to be an idiot—and Mary is a native and an orphan. The fulcrum around which this novel revolves is the murder of Perdita’s father. The narrative returns to it again and again, each time revealing new information. When Perdita finally understands what really happened, when she struggles to find a proper response to her new and horrible knowing, the story resolves into an allegory about Australia, about the lopsided and lamentable relationship between white settlers and natives. Allegory is not, of course, a form known for its rich character development, and readers seeking narrative intimacy will be disappointed. Jones has a cool, ornate style. She always chooses the philosophical over the mawkish, the universal over the particular. This keeps her tale of neglect, abuse and murder from descending into melodrama, but it also keeps the reader at a distance. Jones’s rhetorical flourishes are often arresting, but her psychological insights tend toward the trite.
Poignant, but unsatisfying.Pub Date: June 1, 2008
ISBN: 978-1-933372-55-6
Page Count: 240
Publisher: Europa Editions
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2008
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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