Postmodern mysteries from Paul Auster to Martin Amis have generally been dark and despairing. But noted critic Bayley’s American fiction debut is lightly, brightly comic—that is, if it really is a comedy, or indeed a mystery. Three artsy Brits are in The Hague to stare at some Vermeers. Charles Martin, who teaches fine arts at the University of London, is gay, but he’s fighting his biological inclinations on behalf of Cloe Winterbotham, perennial gallery secretary, who’s straight. Cloe’s friend Nancy Deverell, who narrates the first half of this urbanely playful story, doesn’t seem entirely convinced that she’s a girl. Neither does the man in the hotel elevator who masterfully takes her (or maybe him) on his lap, and later turns up in her room, identifying himself as a policeman, for a marathon night of sex. Nancy compares herself to Vermeer’s girl in the red hat, who’s obviously not a girl at all despite her earrings. This coy bit of gender confusion is the signal that every melodramatic contrivance Bayley can spring on (and through) Nancy may be more, or less, than it seems. Has Cloe really been kidnaped by Palestinian terrorists? Is the elevator policeman truly a Mossad agent? Does he actually return to Nancy’s bed and nearly strangle her in her sleep? Finally—as Nancy later claims to Cloe’s friend Roland, who’s gone to the sleepy French village of Mouriez in search of Nancy and the possible significance lurking beneath the banalities of her cryptic postcard home—does she end up marrying him, preparing for still another dozen turns of the screw? In true postmodern fashion, Bayley declines to use the larger units of narrative to build suspense, and Nancy’s adventures with Roland in France manage to be even more delicately inconsequential (think Claire’s Knee with spies) than the intrigue that may never have happened in Holland. For readers in the right mood, a giddy dose of helium; for others, a farrago of tediously precious folderol.
Pub Date: May 18, 1998
ISBN: 0-312-18658-4
Page Count: 192
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 1998
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
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.
A lonely postman learns that he’s about to die—and reflects on life as he bargains with a Hawaiian-shirt–wearing devil.
The 30-year-old first-person narrator in filmmaker/novelist Kawamura’s slim novel is, by his own admission, “boring…a monotone guy,” so unimaginative that, when he learns he has a brain tumor, the bucket list he writes down is dull enough that “even the cat looked disgusted with me.” Luckily—or maybe not—a friendly devil, dubbed Aloha, pops onto the scene, and he’s willing to make a deal: an extra day of life in exchange for being allowed to remove something pleasant from the world. The first thing excised is phones, which goes well enough. (The narrator is pleasantly surprised to find that “people seemed to have no problem finding something to fill up their free time.”) But deals with the devil do have a way of getting complicated. This leads to shallow musings (“Sometimes, when you rewatch a film after not having seen it for a long time, it makes a totally different impression on you than it did the first time you saw it. Of course, the movie hasn’t changed; it’s you who’s changed") written in prose so awkward, it’s possibly satire (“Tears dripped down onto the letter like warm, salty drops of rain”). Even the postman’s beloved cat, who gains the power of speech, ends up being prim and annoying. The narrator ponders feelings about a lost love, his late mother, and his estranged father in a way that some readers might find moving at times. But for many, whatever made this book a bestseller in Japan is going to be lost in translation.
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.Pub Date: March 12, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-250-29405-0
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Flatiron Books
Review Posted Online: Feb. 16, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2019
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