A haunting, original meditation that engages all the senses.
A teenager living in a dwindling Indiana commune takes care of an old man, grieves her brother’s death, and delivers a newcomer’s baby.
Van Eerden's (Glorybound, 2012) second novel continues probing the lives of small-town residents with sentences that crackle as if broadcast by radio waves. “Even my sad thoughts might be beautiful ones. Maybe they’re the most beautiful of all,” says Omi Ruth. The commune, Dunlap Fellowship of All Things in Common, intended for sharing life as Jesus’ disciples did, has shrunk from 22 families until hardly anyone remains. It’s teetering on the brink of extinction—“the Common Purse that never has enough in it to go around”—when Tracie, an itinerant pregnant woman, shows up seeking shelter and fueling Omi’s imagination. An avid National Geographic reader and mosaic maker, Omi wants her name “in a poem, not a Bible encyclopedia.” Her characterization of experiences she feels unprepared for—of her first period she says, “the light doesn’t reach where I am. And another drop of my womb’s blood leaves me. The bright thick red leaves”—contrasts with ordinary desires. Living in a house called Solomon’s Porch, she wishes for “a real wraparound porch, a real swing to swing on alone”—the stuff of mainstream Americana. These desires shape her interactions with young men outside Solomon’s Porch and help form her close bond with her brother, Wood. His death punctuates her loneliness, and so when elderly Northrup is carried home to convalesce, Omi spends days in one-way conversation until he, too, dies. To honor Wood, she breaks the Common Purse’s rules, ordering an elaborate tombstone “engraved in cursive that moves like waves of water.” Omi and Tracie’s friendship grows into a sisterhood when Omi learns that both women shared a love for Wood.
A haunting, original meditation that engages all the senses.Pub Date: April 1, 2016
ISBN: 978-1-943665-08-2
Page Count: 160
Publisher: Vandalia Press/West Virginia Univ.
Review Posted Online: Aug. 2, 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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