by Jamie O’Neill ‧ RELEASE DATE: March 23, 2005
In a story by turns chilling and rib-tickling, O’Neill (Kilbrack, 2003, etc.) brilliantly invokes absurdism only to relocate...
The first US publication of the Irish author’s debut novel, an ingenious psychological whodunit.
Sixteen-year-old Nilus, growing up in a ramshackle house in a row of “tradesman-like” cottages in an unnamed Irish town, has his share of problems. His invalid father drags him to Mass every day, when he’s not drilling him in Italian vocabulary. His 50,000-piece matte-black jigsaw has to be continually undone and remade to maintain order in the world. Mercenary uncle Frank, meanwhile, is intent on demolishing Nilus’ family home to build office buildings. And the death of his mother lurks behind it all, at once the result and cause of the pervasive disturbance that characterizes his world. Now his father has taken to his bed, where his daily bread is brandy. At the same time, he’s opened the family home as a boardinghouse—a child-molesting priest, a blind beggar, and a mad gypsy woman move in. Close on their heels comes heavily pregnant cousin Ira. The world of the novel becomes progressively more absurd, a Flann O’Brien-ish whirlwind of illogic and thoughtless cruelty. But the grotesquerie is brilliantly revealed not to be a trick of genre but, instead, of the narrator’s mind: We slowly realize that it’s only Nilus, not the world, gone mad. The boarders are figments; the obsessive attendance of Mass and study of Italian are his own brainchildren; his father has long been dead and has begun to petrify and stink on his pillows. The real cousin Ira is locked by Nilus in an upstairs room to give birth to her child in a psychotic reenactment of his own birth. O’Neill’s masterful control of this twisting plot, and his ability to transform comedy into terror and terror back into comedy, make for a compelling read.
In a story by turns chilling and rib-tickling, O’Neill (Kilbrack, 2003, etc.) brilliantly invokes absurdism only to relocate it in the mind.Pub Date: March 23, 2005
ISBN: 0-7432-5596-8
Page Count: 224
Publisher: Scribner
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 15, 2004
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by Margaret Atwood ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 10, 2019
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.
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Atwood goes back to Gilead.
The Handmaid’s Tale (1985), consistently regarded as a masterpiece of 20th-century literature, has gained new attention in recent years with the success of the Hulu series as well as fresh appreciation from readers who feel like this story has new relevance in America’s current political climate. Atwood herself has spoken about how news headlines have made her dystopian fiction seem eerily plausible, and it’s not difficult to imagine her wanting to revisit Gilead as the TV show has sped past where her narrative ended. Like the novel that preceded it, this sequel is presented as found documents—first-person accounts of life inside a misogynistic theocracy from three informants. There is Agnes Jemima, a girl who rejects the marriage her family arranges for her but still has faith in God and Gilead. There’s Daisy, who learns on her 16th birthday that her whole life has been a lie. And there's Aunt Lydia, the woman responsible for turning women into Handmaids. This approach gives readers insight into different aspects of life inside and outside Gilead, but it also leads to a book that sometimes feels overstuffed. The Handmaid’s Tale combined exquisite lyricism with a powerful sense of urgency, as if a thoughtful, perceptive woman was racing against time to give witness to her experience. That narrator hinted at more than she said; Atwood seemed to trust readers to fill in the gaps. This dynamic created an atmosphere of intimacy. However curious we might be about Gilead and the resistance operating outside that country, what we learn here is that what Atwood left unsaid in the first novel generated more horror and outrage than explicit detail can. And the more we get to know Agnes, Daisy, and Aunt Lydia, the less convincing they become. It’s hard, of course, to compete with a beloved classic, so maybe the best way to read this new book is to forget about The Handmaid’s Tale and enjoy it as an artful feminist thriller.
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.Pub Date: Sept. 10, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-385-54378-1
Page Count: 432
Publisher: Nan A. Talese
Review Posted Online: Sept. 3, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2019
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edited by Margaret Atwood & Douglas Preston
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SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
by Chinua Achebe ‧ RELEASE DATE: Jan. 23, 1958
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
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