Not noteworthy for either probability or restraint, but Barlow’s lively imagination will carry along those who appreciate...
Another journey into 19th-century Yorkshire baroque from the author of Eating Mammals (2004).
Like T.C. Boyle, to whom he has been appropriately compared, Barlow paints personalities in broad strokes and doesn’t shun melodrama. His latest is the tale of Rhubarilla, a Coca-Cola–like soft drink developed in 1869 by the dysfunctional Brookes family in conjunction with a hunchbacked dwarf named Roderick Vermilion. Despite his novels’ excesses, the author conveys genuine affection for his grotesque characters and situates Rhubarilla’s creation within the shrewdly observed context of Victorian society, culture and business. (Barlow sketches with equal authority a music-hall performance, the workings of the temperance movement and the tentative early stirrings of modern advertising.) Isaac Brookes, age 50, is slightly bored with the wool trade and the time it requires him to spend in France, away from ailing wife Sarah and their two sons, ne’er-do-well Tom and illiterate but oddly gifted George. So when he literally stumbles across Vermilion in a train compartment, he’s ripe for the blandishments of a hunchbacked con artist who might just be a visionary businessman. In London, Roderick spends lavishly on Isaac’s credit, earning the wrath of drunken Tom (who thinks he’s the only one who should waste his father’s money), but also garners the insight that the world needs a refreshing, non-alcoholic drink. Many false starts later, Roderick has perfected the recipe and Isaac has cornered the market in rhubarb, an essential ingredient. But Sarah dies, Isaac suffers a stroke and, in the story’s darkest moment, upright but innocent George seems incapable of protecting Roderick from Tom’s jealous lies. Events improbably improve from this low point in Barlow’s surprisingly genial narrative (even Tom has his good points). The villain gets his comeuppance, George comes into his own, Roderick comes back and Rhubarilla is a smash, after a judiciously solicited plug from a popular singer.
Not noteworthy for either probability or restraint, but Barlow’s lively imagination will carry along those who appreciate risk-taking fiction.Pub Date: Feb. 7, 2006
ISBN: 0-06-059176-5
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Morrow/HarperCollins
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 15, 2005
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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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