by Javier Cercas & translated by Anne McLean ‧ RELEASE DATE: April 17, 2007
In this game with and against readers, the novelist has tied one artful hand behind his back. Trouble is, the hand in front...
A Spanish novelist writes a novel about a Spanish novelist telling an American Vietnam vet’s story, which may be apocryphal.
“All novels are autobiographical,” writes Cercas. Like his unnamed narrator, Cercas taught at the University of Illinois and published a successful novel about the Spanish Civil War (Soldiers of Salamis, 2004). Eighteen years ago, in Urbana, the narrator met Rodney Falk, a one-eyed, misanthropic survivor of two Vietnam tours. When Rodney disappears, his father gives the narrator three file boxes of Rodney’s letters, implicitly asking the narrator to write Rodney’s life. Back in Spain, the narrator does research, but can’t write. Years later, when the narrator’s Civil War book becomes popular, Rodney shows up in Spain with a warning about success the narrator doesn’t heed, thus losing his wife and child and becoming as catatonic as Rodney used to be. Finally writing The Speed of Light (part autobiography and part biography of Rodney) saves the narrator’s life. To reinforce the illusion of autobiography, Cercas uses a self-limiting nonfiction style—a pedestrian language that tells and analyzes rather than shows. But the guilt of Vietnam as a metaphor for the horror of succumbing to celebrity? Another non-American writer might get away with that, but Cercas doesn’t.
In this game with and against readers, the novelist has tied one artful hand behind his back. Trouble is, the hand in front mostly points at himself, whomever that might be.Pub Date: April 17, 2007
ISBN: 1-59691-214-6
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Bloomsbury
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 15, 2006
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by Yoko Ogawa ; translated by Stephen Snyder ‧ RELEASE DATE: Aug. 13, 2019
A quiet tale that considers the way small, human connections can disrupt the callous powers of authority.
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A novelist tries to adapt to her ever changing reality as her world slowly disappears.
Renowned Japanese author Ogawa (Revenge, 2013, etc.) opens her latest novel with what at first sounds like a sinister fairy tale told by a nameless mother to a nameless daughter: “Long ago, before you were born, there were many more things here…transparent things, fragrant things…fluttery ones, bright ones….It’s a shame that the people who live here haven’t been able to hold such marvelous things in their hearts and minds, but that’s just the way it is on this island.” But rather than a twisted bedtime story, this depiction captures the realities of life on the narrator's unnamed island. The small population awakens some mornings with all knowledge of objects as mundane as stamps, valuable as emeralds, omnipresent as birds, or delightful as roses missing from their minds. They then proceed to discard all physical traces of the idea that has disappeared—often burning the lifeless ones and releasing the natural ones to the elements. The authoritarian Memory Police oversee this process of loss and elimination. Viewing “anything that fails to vanish when they say it should [as] inconceivable,” they drop into homes for inspections, seizing objects and rounding up anyone who refuses—or is simply unable—to follow the rules. Although, at the outset, the plot feels quite Orwellian, Ogawa employs a quiet, poetic prose to capture the diverse (and often unexpected) emotions of the people left behind rather than of those tormented and imprisoned by brutal authorities. Small acts of rebellion—as modest as a birthday party—do not come out of a commitment to a greater cause but instead originate from her characters’ kinship with one another. Technical details about the disappearances remain intentionally vague. The author instead stays close to her protagonist’s emotions and the disorientation she and her neighbors struggle with each day. Passages from the narrator’s developing novel also offer fascinating glimpses into the way the changing world affects her unconscious mind.
A quiet tale that considers the way small, human connections can disrupt the callous powers of authority.Pub Date: Aug. 13, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-101-87060-0
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Pantheon
Review Posted Online: May 12, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 1, 2019
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by Niall Williams ‧ RELEASE DATE: Dec. 3, 2019
A story both little and large and one that pulls out all the Irish stops.
The heart-expanding extremes of life—first love and last rites—are experienced by an unsettled young Dubliner spending one exceptional spring in a small Irish village.
Christy McMahon “walked this line between the comic and the poignant,” and so does Williams (History of the Rain, 2014, etc.) in his latest novel, another long, affectionate, meandering story, this one devoted to the small rural community of Faha, which is about to change forever with the coming of electricity to the parish. Delighting in the eccentricities of speech, behavior, and attitude of the local characters, Williams spins a tale of life lessons and loves new and old, as observed from the perspective of Noel Crowe, 17 when the book’s events take place, some six decades older as he narrates them. Noel’s home is in Dublin, where he was training to become a Catholic priest, but he's lost his faith and retreated to the home of his grandparents Doady and Ganga in Faha. Easter is coming, and the weather—normally infinite varieties of rain—turns sunny as electrical workers cover the countryside, erecting poles and connecting wires. Christy, a member of the electrical workforce, comes to lodge alongside Noel in Doady and Ganga's garret but has another motive: He’s here to find and seek forgiveness from the woman he abandoned at the altar 50 years earlier. While tracing this quest, Williams sets Noel on his own love trajectory as he falls first for one, then all of the daughters of the local doctor. These interactions are framed against a portrait of village life—the church, the Gaelic football, the music, the alcohol—and its personalities. Warm and whimsical, sometimes sorrowful, but always expressed in curlicues of Irish lyricism, this charming book makes varied use of its electrical metaphor, not least to express the flickering pulse of humanity.
A story both little and large and one that pulls out all the Irish stops.Pub Date: Dec. 3, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-63557-420-3
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Bloomsbury
Review Posted Online: Sept. 14, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 1, 2019
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