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SONG OF THE EARTH

At heart a romance (who knows what these well-spoken Cro-Magnons were really like?), rich with gripping escapism and...

Prequel to Dann’s The Song of the Axe (2001), a prehistoric saga that takes place some 30,000 years ago, as the Neanderthals evolve into the Cro-Magnons somewhere in Eurasia.

The story here features the tribe of chieftain Grae before his death and before Neanderthals destroy Grae’s tribe, allowing the bison-hunter Agon, with his whistling-axe mates and golden-haired Eena, known as Spear Woman, to start his own Cro-Magnon tribe. Dann’s smooth-skinned Cro-Magnons are so much like modern man—passionate, spiritual, romantic, intelligent—that one questions whether they evolve from the hairy Neanderthals or are a separate species that displaces the Neanderthals (the Multiregional hypothesis). We follow a number of chieftains named Grae through several generations as the family treks in a great exodus from Africa into Eastern Europe and finds itself in a new land where great rivers overflow with glacial ice melt. For a time, it’s paradise. The figure of the vile Lilith in the present story makes clear that Agon and Eena are our forebears—though not in a Creationist sense—Adam and Eve. When a volcano erupts, the tribe of bulbous-headed Grae is killed but Grae escapes with seven sisters, each of whom he impregnates. Once tree-nesters and more or less vegetarians, they must now be meat eaters, killing birds and animals at a watering hole, and, for safety, turning into cliff dwellers. But as they grow, the smart, bulbous-headed children of Grae, including one difficult child, Ka, cause dissension, and the tribe splits up, with Grae and some of his wives and kids heading north. Grae dies, but the tribe reaches the Promised Land foretold by spirits, and young Grae becomes leader. The tribe meets friendly people and becomes masterful bison hunters, though it must also face enemies.

At heart a romance (who knows what these well-spoken Cro-Magnons were really like?), rich with gripping escapism and comparable to Jean Auel’s Earth’s Children trilogy.

Pub Date: Feb. 1, 2005

ISBN: 0-765-31193-3

Page Count: 384

Publisher: Forge

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2004

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THE NIGHTINGALE

Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.

Hannah’s new novel is an homage to the extraordinary courage and endurance of Frenchwomen during World War II.

In 1995, an elderly unnamed widow is moving into an Oregon nursing home on the urging of her controlling son, Julien, a surgeon. This trajectory is interrupted when she receives an invitation to return to France to attend a ceremony honoring passeurs: people who aided the escape of others during the war. Cut to spring, 1940: Viann has said goodbye to husband Antoine, who's off to hold the Maginot line against invading Germans. She returns to tending her small farm, Le Jardin, in the Loire Valley, teaching at the local school and coping with daughter Sophie’s adolescent rebellion. Soon, that world is upended: The Germans march into Paris and refugees flee south, overrunning Viann’s land. Her long-estranged younger sister, Isabelle, who has been kicked out of multiple convent schools, is sent to Le Jardin by Julien, their father in Paris, a drunken, decidedly unpaternal Great War veteran. As the depredations increase in the occupied zone—food rationing, systematic looting, and the billeting of a German officer, Capt. Beck, at Le Jardin—Isabelle’s outspokenness is a liability. She joins the Resistance, volunteering for dangerous duty: shepherding downed Allied airmen across the Pyrenees to Spain. Code-named the Nightingale, Isabelle will rescue many before she's captured. Meanwhile, Viann’s journey from passive to active resistance is less dramatic but no less wrenching. Hannah vividly demonstrates how the Nazis, through starvation, intimidation and barbarity both casual and calculated, demoralized the French, engineering a community collapse that enabled the deportations and deaths of more than 70,000 Jews. Hannah’s proven storytelling skills are ideally suited to depicting such cataclysmic events, but her tendency to sentimentalize undermines the gravitas of this tale.

Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.

Pub Date: Feb. 3, 2015

ISBN: 978-0-312-57722-3

Page Count: 448

Publisher: St. Martin's

Review Posted Online: Nov. 19, 2014

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2014

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CIRCE

Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.

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A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.

“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.

Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.

Pub Date: April 10, 2018

ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7

Page Count: 400

Publisher: Little, Brown

Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018

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