Violent rock music rendered in prose.
The lives and loves of tormented and booze- and drug-addled teenagers in Newfoundland are examined and revealed to be as chaotic and unpleasant as those of tormented, booze- and drug-addled teenagers in North Dakota or Belarus.
With courteous acknowledgements to a long list of Newfoundland arts-funding entities and many friends, debut novelist Hynes goes digging for his portraits of maritime provincial youngsters, concentrating on the psychic agonies of Keith Kavanagh, dropout, drunk, screwup, passable hockey player, occasional fisherman, vandal and thief. Keith was cute enough as a teen to be taken to bed by an older woman, but whose life after the subsequent seduction of Natasha, a pal’s girlfriend, spirals ever downward until he becomes a candidate for detox. Natasha seems nearly as desperately unpleasant, being an equal participant in the seduction and having nothing against serial shagging under the nose of her irritable parents. Hynes follows the duo around their economically depressed coastal milieu, breaking away at (too-infrequent) intervals to let a couple of their ex-classmates have a say. Some of the few relatively upbeat moments feature well-executed scenes hockey-rink scenes, but even those degenerate into bloody violence. (But then—it is hockey.) There is a particularly gruesome scene of what was to have been the mercy killing of a dying pet cat, an assignment that goes particularly bad for Keith. Then, as the rather violent young couple begin to drift apart, victims of their ages, Natasha’s wispy ambitions and Keith’s violent addictions, Keith runs afoul of the law and is put on probation. The unlovely couple try to set up housekeeping in St. Johns, but they haven’t got the hang of it, and Natasha strikes out for the big city, leaving Keith to self-destruct.
Violent rock music rendered in prose.Pub Date: Oct. 1, 2005
ISBN: 0-7867-1537-5
Page Count: 224
Publisher: N/A
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2005
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
A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.
Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946
ISBN: 0452277507
Page Count: 114
Publisher: Harcourt, Brace
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946
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