Leaden, pretentious, and dull: a Harlequin romance in writing-program prose.
The latest strange love tale from Harrison (The Binding Chair, 2000, etc.), who heads north to Alaska this time to follow the sorrows of a young weatherman.
Harrison’s taste for perverse love pre-dated her famous incest-memoir (The Kiss, 1997), and it has apparently not abated much since then. Here, she offers the account of an obsessive young man who finds himself possessed by two speechless women in Anchorage during the early years of the 20th century. Bigelow, a meteorologist sent north by the Weather Bureau in 1915, is a thoughtful, shy type not well suited to the kind of frontier life that Anchorage (a large camp, basically, of some 2,000 men and very few women) then provided. His job is a simple one: to wire the climate statistics daily to Washington, DC, and provide forecasts for the benefit of the local railway workers. He has a fair amount of time on his hands, and distractions are few and far between in Anchorage. He soon meets and falls in love a silent young Aleut woman who becomes his lover for a time but eventually disappears as wordlessly as she arrived. Crestfallen and melancholic, he puts his energies into the construction of a giant kite (the largest ever made) to be used for weather readings. He also becomes obsessed with a beautiful white girl named Miriam who sings but cannot speak. Miriam and her father, a shady storekeeper, trick Bigelow into proposing marriage to her, but he is still haunted by his Aleut girl. There is a good deal of grief and plenty of heavy prose (“Bigelow realizes that he’s been dead for the past year. Dead ever since the Aleut disappeared. . . .”), but everything gets patched up in good time for Bigelow to fly his kite with the Aleut girl by his side in the end.
Leaden, pretentious, and dull: a Harlequin romance in writing-program prose.Pub Date: May 7, 2002
ISBN: 0-375-50629-2
Page Count: 256
Publisher: Random House
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 2002
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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