A haunting portrait of an era that only gets better as it goes along.
Set amid the social upheaval of the 1960s, Kohler’s sensitive debut follows a pair of San Francisco siblings struggling to make sense of the roles that have been set out for them.
After their mother’s sudden death, 20-year-old Jeannie and 14-year-old Kip find themselves existentially and practically adrift. Over the course of the next few years, Jeannie trades secretarial school for a waitressing job, meets a nice doctor (a Goldwater supporter), gets pregnant, and marries him, becoming—on paper, at least—the epitome of 1960s domestic success. Meanwhile, Kip, restless and brooding, gets caught trying to rob a supposedly abandoned liquor store. In court, the judge presents him with two options: finish high school or join the military, and in spite of Jeannie and their World War II–veteran father, Kip decides to enlist in the Marine Corps. Kip and Jeannie have at least one thing in common, though: they’re both trapped in lives that don’t quite fit. In San Francisco, Jeannie—always conventional, even prim—becomes enchanted with a young woman involved in the underground anti-war movement. Across an ocean in Vietnam, Kip—overwhelmed by the extent of the violence and ill-suited to the constant humiliation of Marine life—finds himself accused of a horrific military crime. Against the wishes of her conservative in-laws, Jeannie becomes consumed by the case and, in the process, is forced to come to terms with the life she’s built. Told in alternating perspectives, the novel takes a while to hit its stride, and the first sections nearly buckle under the weight of so many sepia-toned '60s clichés. But if it begins as a somewhat expected family period piece, the book progresses into something wholly original: dark, rich, and morally challenging.
A haunting portrait of an era that only gets better as it goes along.Pub Date: Aug. 23, 2016
ISBN: 978-1-250-08092-9
Page Count: 304
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: May 31, 2016
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2016
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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