An obtuse collection with flashes of genuine fun and humanity.
Callahan offers a debut book of brief works that’s strange but undeniably unique.
It’s an odd fit to call this a collection of short stories. The tales have no rising action as they build to a natural conclusion or some sort of twist; indeed, there’s not much action at all. Instead, the stories are abstract and exist mostly as the interior monologues of particular characters. Many don’t contain much dialogue at all, and what’s there is handled with dashes and infrequent attributions, rather than traditional quotation marks. In “A Gift,” the first story of the bunch, Callahan knocks readers off-kilter from the first line, “The narrator was in pain,” but never explains why this person is called “the narrator.” A first-person voice is added later, meaning that the character of “the narrator” isn’t the narrator of this particular story. Characters are often in some sort of existential crisis and sometimes obsess over well-known, real-world people, such as author Rick Moody or professional basketball player Dirk Nowitzki, whose lives then become part of the narrative. The one constant in these tales, however, appears to be pain itself. The main character in “Cymbalta,” for example, seeks out Moody as a life coach and writes to him of his own struggles with his self-image, his drinking, and even his bowel movements. Readers will find pathos and humor in these exchanges. Too often, though, the prose seems impenetrable. Readers must buy into Callahan’s stream-of-consciousness style from the beginning for the tales to have any impact. He writes in great waves of clauses, sometimes stretching a single sentence over a couple of pages, and there are also times when the stories try too hard to be clever and fall flat. “The Great Challenges the Good to a Duel: Pistols, Dawn,” for example, beats the cliché “the great is the enemy of the good” into the ground by anthropomorphizing “great” and “good” and having them fight it out for 12 pages.
An obtuse collection with flashes of genuine fun and humanity.Pub Date: April 9, 2013
ISBN: 978-0-9837405-7-5
Page Count: 336
Publisher: Starcherone Books
Review Posted Online: Sept. 8, 2015
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
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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