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TRYING TO SAVE PIGGY SNEED

An uneven miscellany of fiction, autobiography, and commentary from the author of, most recently, A Son of the Circus (1994). The title essay, about a retarded pigkeeper mocked and harassed by the young John Irving and his pals (in Exeter, New Hampshire, the author's hometown), is presented as a meditation on the writer's need to give his attention, and his heart, even to the unlikeliest of subjects. A long autobiographical sequence is brightly written and offers interesting details about Irving's youth and young writing life, but bogs down in redundant and tendentious accounts of his adventures as a wrestler, wrestling coach, and referee (an avocation that, Irving cheerfully concedes, he's taken beyond the point of obsession) and that rather flaunts a somewhat politicized remembrance of "My Dinner at the White House." A section of six short stories (all Irving has produced) includes some forgettable pieces (which their author has the good grace to dismiss as unimportant) from Playboy and Esquire, but also two of Irving's most skillful fictions: "The Pension Grillparzer," a witty tale of Americans in Europe that was first published as part of Garp, and "Interior Space," a complex portrayal of a young marriage endangered by pettiness and sheer foolishness, as well as mortality. A concluding trio of essays written in homage to writers Irving admires includes a pedestrian "Introduction to A Christmas Carol" (written for a Modern Library reprint) and a longer piece in praise of "The King of the Novel," which attractively (if unoriginally) acknowledges the deeply formative influence of Charles Dickens. The concluding essay, on Irving's friendship with G(infinity)nter Grass and the latter's embattled celebrity in his native Germany, is considerably more interesting. Irving is a heartfelt and headlong writer who doesn't spare the horses, or the fireworks. The many who cherish his energy and generosity as a novelist will find much here to whet their appetites for his next big tale.

Pub Date: Feb. 1, 1996

ISBN: 1-55970-323-7

Page Count: 448

Publisher: Arcade

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 1995

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THE SECRET HISTORY

The Brat Pack meets The Bacchae in this precious, way-too-long, and utterly unsuspenseful town-and-gown murder tale. A bunch of ever-so-mandarin college kids in a small Vermont school are the eager epigones of an aloof classics professor, and in their exclusivity and snobbishness and eagerness to please their teacher, they are moved to try to enact Dionysian frenzies in the woods. During the only one that actually comes off, a local farmer happens upon them—and they kill him. But the death isn't ruled a murder—and might never have been if one of the gang—a cadging sybarite named Bunny Corcoran—hadn't shown signs of cracking under the secret's weight. And so he too is dispatched. The narrator, a blank-slate Californian named Richard Pepen chronicles the coverup. But if you're thinking remorse-drama, conscience masque, or even semi-trashy who'll-break-first? page-turner, forget it: This is a straight gee-whiz, first-to-have-ever-noticed college novel—"Hampden College, as a body, was always strangely prone to hysteria. Whether from isolation, malice, or simple boredom, people there were far more credulous and excitable than educated people are generally thought to be, and this hermetic, overheated atmosphere made it a thriving black petri dish of melodrama and distortion." First-novelist Tartt goes muzzy when she has to describe human confrontations (the murder, or sex, or even the ping-ponging of fear), and is much more comfortable in transcribing aimless dorm-room paranoia or the TV shows that the malefactors anesthetize themselves with as fate ticks down. By telegraphing the murders, Tartt wants us to be continually horrified at these kids—while inviting us to semi-enjoy their manneristic fetishes and refined tastes. This ersatz-Fitzgerald mix of moralizing and mirror-looking (Jay McInerney shook and poured the shaker first) is very 80's—and in Tartt's strenuous version already seems dated, formulaic. Les Nerds du Mal—and about as deep (if not nearly as involving) as a TV movie.

Pub Date: Sept. 16, 1992

ISBN: 1400031702

Page Count: 592

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1992

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OF MICE AND MEN

Steinbeck is a genius and an original.

Steinbeck refuses to allow himself to be pigeonholed.

This is as completely different from Tortilla Flat and In Dubious Battle as they are from each other. Only in his complete understanding of the proletarian mentality does he sustain a connecting link though this is assuredly not a "proletarian novel." It is oddly absorbing this picture of the strange friendship between the strong man and the giant with the mind of a not-quite-bright child. Driven from job to job by the failure of the giant child to fit into the social pattern, they finally find in a ranch what they feel their chance to achieve a homely dream they have built. But once again, society defeats them. There's a simplicity, a directness, a poignancy in the story that gives it a singular power, difficult to define.  Steinbeck is a genius and an original.

Pub Date: Feb. 26, 1936

ISBN: 0140177396

Page Count: 83

Publisher: Covici, Friede

Review Posted Online: Oct. 5, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 1936

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