Readers may find it hard to make head or tail of this novella—which, believe it or not, may be the secret of its perverse...
A brief novel about an ambitious man that’s different from the usual fare.
Harnisch (Freaks, 2016, etc.) introduces readers to John Marshall (born Juan Marcinal), a young man who’s seduced in the prologue by a prostitute, Chantal. She gives him a picture of Che Guevara, who is, in her view, the archetypal seducer, and encourages John to follow in Che’s footsteps. John, who survived a miserable childhood, means to escape his station in life by seducing well-connected women and winding up at the top of the heap. He’s introduced to Clyde and Maribelle Roman as a tutor to their children and to a woman named Lauren; later, John seduces Maribelle. Also in John’s life are two priest, Father Padric and Father Peter, who help him in his rise. The author seems to be asking readers to see John as a religious figure, but this status is never really made clear. From the Romans, John moves on to the Sinclair family. Mr. Sinclair is a hotel magnate, and John becomes his secretary, aiming to turn himself into a gentleman. John seduces (and impregnates) the Sinclair daughter, Claudia, and then shoots Maribelle before other, unexpected story developments occur. There’s enough plot to fill twice the number of pages in this slim book, but there are also many questions: what’s the significance of the Che Guevara business? What is John’s (or Juan’s) background? Readers aren’t told, and they’re left adrift in so many parts of the narrative that it’s very hard to characterize the story as a whole. It seems to be set in the present day (for example, there are laptop computers), but, on the other hand, there are archaic notes (carriages, a highly structured society) which evoke, perhaps, the 18th century. The end of the book is so Dickensian, in fact, that readers may suspect that it’s a sendup of that style and will wonder if Harnisch has just been teasing them. If readers enjoy that sort of thing, then they will like this.
Readers may find it hard to make head or tail of this novella—which, believe it or not, may be the secret of its perverse charm.Pub Date: Feb. 5, 2016
ISBN: 978-1-5238-7838-3
Page Count: 106
Publisher: CreateSpace
Review Posted Online: April 1, 2016
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.
Atwood goes back to Gilead.
The Handmaid’s Tale (1985), consistently regarded as a masterpiece of 20th-century literature, has gained new attention in recent years with the success of the Hulu series as well as fresh appreciation from readers who feel like this story has new relevance in America’s current political climate. Atwood herself has spoken about how news headlines have made her dystopian fiction seem eerily plausible, and it’s not difficult to imagine her wanting to revisit Gilead as the TV show has sped past where her narrative ended. Like the novel that preceded it, this sequel is presented as found documents—first-person accounts of life inside a misogynistic theocracy from three informants. There is Agnes Jemima, a girl who rejects the marriage her family arranges for her but still has faith in God and Gilead. There’s Daisy, who learns on her 16th birthday that her whole life has been a lie. And there's Aunt Lydia, the woman responsible for turning women into Handmaids. This approach gives readers insight into different aspects of life inside and outside Gilead, but it also leads to a book that sometimes feels overstuffed. The Handmaid’s Tale combined exquisite lyricism with a powerful sense of urgency, as if a thoughtful, perceptive woman was racing against time to give witness to her experience. That narrator hinted at more than she said; Atwood seemed to trust readers to fill in the gaps. This dynamic created an atmosphere of intimacy. However curious we might be about Gilead and the resistance operating outside that country, what we learn here is that what Atwood left unsaid in the first novel generated more horror and outrage than explicit detail can. And the more we get to know Agnes, Daisy, and Aunt Lydia, the less convincing they become. It’s hard, of course, to compete with a beloved classic, so maybe the best way to read this new book is to forget about The Handmaid’s Tale and enjoy it as an artful feminist thriller.
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.Pub Date: Sept. 10, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-385-54378-1
Page Count: 432
Publisher: Nan A. Talese
Review Posted Online: Sept. 3, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2019
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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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