Essential for Vonnegut completists, of course—and budding writers can always learn a thing or two from the sardonic master.
A sterling collection of the late Vonnegut’s corpus of short fiction, with several unpublished pieces to balance better-known published and anthologized work.
As volume editors Klinkowitz and Wakefield note, the 98 stories gathered here come mostly from magazine work of the 1940s and '50s, some later collected in books such as Welcome to the Monkey House, as well as unpublished pieces posthumously gathered by Vonnegut’s executor and a few retrieved from Vonnegut’s papers at Indiana University. The editors nicely complicate the collection by breaking it into eight thematic groups—war, science, and so forth. Vonnegut being Vonnegut, the stories do not always neatly fit into these categories: the deftly ironic “Just You and Me, Sammy” has elements of war story, spy story, and murder mystery all rolled up into one. Given Vonnegut’s experiences in World War II, many of the stories are death-haunted; in one plainspoken tale, meaningfully called “Out, Brief Candle,” he writes of a woman who “felt old because her husband, Ed, who really was old, had died and left her alone on the hog farm in northern Indiana,” the Hoosier State being a favorite setting. Some of the stories seem written to dutiful formula, but even when he is writing more or less conventionally, Vonnegut sneaks in some pet themes—time travel, say, with one wonderfully strange yarn featuring a character who says, “I want you to kill me and bring me back to life,” a request that, naturally enough, has odd consequences. His trademark existential despair is here in spades, and even if nothing quite dazzles in the way of Cat’s Cradle or Slaughterhouse-Five, nothing clinks, either. There’s plenty of humor worthy of O. Henry, too, as when he writes of a high school band class, “C Band set out in its quest for beauty—set out like a rusty switch engine, with valves stuck, pipes clogged, unions leaking, bearings dry.”
Essential for Vonnegut completists, of course—and budding writers can always learn a thing or two from the sardonic master.Pub Date: Sept. 26, 2017
ISBN: 978-1-60980-808-2
Page Count: 911
Publisher: Seven Stories
Review Posted Online: Oct. 30, 2017
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2017
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
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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