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THE TOPOGRAPHY OF HIDDEN STORIES

A strong collection of stories connected by deep Irish American roots.

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Irish Americans deal with challenges and opportunities in the 20th century.

In this short story collection, MacDonnell follows a large cast of Irish American characters through the ups and downs of the second half of the 20th century. In “Whistle-Stop,” a child draws her parents’ ire when she absorbs their adulation of presidential candidate John F. Kennedy. “Red Stain on Yellow Dress” follows a young pregnant woman traveling to get an illegal abortion. In “Diana’s Dresses,” the setting is the late 1990s as a mother and daughter deal with questions of mortality while visiting a traveling exhibition of Princess Diana’s wardrobe. Problems of life and death also appear in “Dancing With NED,” in which a seriously ill woman’s husband and sister accompany her to an oncologist’s office, “a pinnacle of the health care system, a place above bed pans, barf buckets and blood, the stench of unhealing wounds, the fearful cries of the dying.” The author’s characters cover a range of socio-economic classes, but nearly all are of Irish descent, with many having roots on the South Shore of Boston. “Soy Paco,” which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize, is the exception, though its theme and tone allow it to fit easily into the rest of the collection. While there are moments of tenderness, like the bonds a new mom unexpectedly finds with her own mother in “Violets,” violence, abuse, and dysfunction more often characterize the volume’s families. Those who fail to conform are often pressured or ostracized, beatings are doled out, and a pacifist mother makes her son throw away the violent toys he received for Christmas in “Weapons of War.”

Despite the stories’ bleak aspects, the book is an enjoyable read. MacDonnell’s writing is frequently elegant, full of vivid metaphors (“His sisters, three pale silent women, who’d nod and sigh and press their palms together like Daddy had just spoken The Word, and that The Word had come to dwell among us”) and descriptive language (“She sees her mother surrounded by lengths of these fabrics: satin, tulle, taffeta, shantung; her mother, a hard bright thing, a stone, in this rainbow of luscious color”). The plots are both familiar and unpredictable, drawing readers in while challenging their preconceptions. In addition to themes of family, loyalty, and independence that resonate from one tale to another, the work is also full of minor details that recur throughout. Three stories, set in different times and places, feature a baby sister named Caitlin; Frank Sinatra songs provide much of the soundtrack; older women wear “polyester pull-on pants”; and two tales are narrated by women living in buildings known as the Ten Commandments in the 1970s Bronx. Many of the protagonists are unnamed, adding to the repetitive nature of the stories as well as the sense that the discrete tales blend into a single narrative of a collective experience. Fans of Andre Dubus III and Jennifer Haigh will find much to appreciate in MacDonnell’s exploration of a narrow slice of the American experience.

A strong collection of stories connected by deep Irish American roots.

Pub Date: Jan. 25, 2021

ISBN: N/A

Page Count: 226

Publisher: Fomite Press

Review Posted Online: Jan. 16, 2021

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 15, 2021

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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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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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