A truly gratifying recovery of Jones' reputation after a long slump since the holding action of The Thin Red Line (1962). Whistle was conceived almost 30 years ago as the capstone of his WW II trilogy begun with From Here to Eternity (1951). The last few pages were dictated from his deathbed last May. Readers will miss the final effects that polish would have brought to these pages, but the story is finished—masterfully finished, with the authority of a clanging manhole cover grinding into place. Once more we are with Eternity's Pvt. Robert E. Lee Prewitt, 1st Sgt. Warden, and Mess Sgt. Stark, who were renamed Witt, Welsh, and Storm for The Thin Red Line, and here become Bobbie Prell, Mart Winch, and John Strange, survivors of Guadalcanal. We follow these three—plus nonRA Sgt. Marion Landers—as their hospital ship arrives at Golden Gate, through their pain-laden trainride from California to Luxor, Tennessee, their hospital ordeals in which hero Prell refuses to give permission to amputate his unhealing legs; we follow the fatherly acts of Top Sgt. Winch (who is dying of congestive heart failure), the carnival of sex and booze in fancy hotels, the men's reassignment back to regular duty—and their final Stateside horrors. If the Prell/Winch/Strange trio represents the spirit of the Regular Army, here that spirit crumbles, goes tragically berserk as the men tear apart from within. They are not victims. Like the knights of the roundtable, they are part of the ritual crucifixion of an outworn fellowship, an idealism bastardized by draftees and mere timeservers. This is at its best an almost mystical book in which the inner psychology of soldiering is much like that of the doom-driven warriors of Homer who hear the gods whistling up their spines—and Jones' dense, long-lined prose has never been more Homeric. Those who have found him crude and verbose in the past will probably not change their minds over Whistle. But admirers of Eternity and Thin Red Line will find him striving to draw the last sparks and puffs from his great single subject—manhood tested by combat—and will feel that he succeeds decisively enough to make this the last third of the great American WW II novel.
Pub Date: March 1, 1978
ISBN: 1453218491
Page Count: 516
Publisher: Delacorte
Review Posted Online: Sept. 26, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 1978
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
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
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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