Sucker-punching, tongue-in-cheek debut psychokiller tale that spoofs, and tops, the hyper-violent Hollywood genre films that have inspired it. When Wotan, one-eyed FBI puppet-master, decides to put karate-kicking Jade (“shoot first and ask questions later”) Marlow, a former agent who left the fold when his superiors questioned his ludicrously over-the-top—if successful—man-hunting techniques, in particular on the Atlasia case, plucky and pretty FBI Travers, one tough lady, warns Wotan that “it’ll be like letting a fifteen-year-old loose in a whorehouse, if you pardon my metaphor.” “It’s a simile,” Wotan corrects her, “and I want him.” Serial killer Allander Atlasia, an ingenious criminal Åbermensch who speaks in complete sentences and even uses the expression “pray tell” when lecturing fellow inmates of San Francisco’s maximum security Tower prison, has not only flown the coop, but murdered the guards and just about every prisoner there. Marlow, currently self-employed as a bounty hunter specializing in catching bad guys who are wanted DOA, nearly massacres two newspaper reporters when he hears of Atlasia’s escape—and it isn’t long before he and Travers are bickering, bantering, and trying to figure out why Atlasia removed the eyes from his latest series of victims. The chase awakens slumbering demons inside Marlow, whose relentless pursuit of bad guys, we learn, compensates for a traumatic loss suffered in his childhood. But what about Atlasia’s demented upbringing? Was something Oedipal going on with his mother that led him to set squirrels on fire, etc.? Knowing that he’ll have to take Atlasia down himself, Marlow handcuffs Travers’s ankles together and endures enough physical torment to knock out Mike Tyson as he tries to stop Atlasia from planning a “Timothy McVeigh special” that will blow the Tower to smithereens. A breezy, funny first outing whose manically cornball dialogue, gross-out brutality, and preposterous action scenes aim low, shoot lower, and hit the target every time.
Pub Date: April 1, 1999
ISBN: 0-684-85191-1
Page Count: 384
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 1999
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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