Williams’ debut novel will satisfy your craving for terrific writing and leave you hungry for more from this talented writer.
Two young women launch a supper club that lets its female-only members embrace their appetites in British writer Williams' (A Selfie as Big as the Ritz, 2017) delicious first novel.
Before Roberta meets Stevie, she is disconnected, depressed, a person to whom life mostly happens, and not always in a good way. Having left the cozy home she shared with her mother for an urban university, she is disappointed to find herself not joyously liberated, as she had imagined she would be, but emotionally confined and isolated from her peers. To kill time, satisfy a hunger for comfort, and buffer herself from academic life and social interactions, she takes up cooking, spending hours in the kitchen of her shared flat conjuring increasingly elaborate dishes and then eagerly devouring them. Roberta lives furtively, apologetically, in time moving on to a generally solitary job at a fashion website. It is there she first encounters Stevie, an aspiring artist who is as free-spirited as Roberta is inhibited, and with whom she forms an immediate bond. “I liked Stevie so much I felt embarrassed….It was like falling in love,” Roberta muses as their friendship deepens, quickly transitioning into a roommate relationship with a distinctly “matrimonial dynamic,” with Roberta delighting in cooking for someone she cares about. Not long into their head-over-heels friendship, the young women hatch an idea that combines Roberta’s knack for cooking and Stevie’s artistic sensibilities and skill for forging social connections: They will form “Supper Club,” an initiative to intermittently bring together women in a bacchanalian celebration of appetite—for food, for connection, for breaking boundaries and occupying space and approaching life on their own terms, without asking permission or offering apology. Eventually, however, in the midst of these energetic enactments of emancipation, Roberta is compelled to confront and contend with the difficulties in her past—especially those related to men who have disappointed and degraded her—and decide where, for what, and with whom she stands. Mixing together insights about food and friendship, hunger and happiness, and the space women allot themselves in the world today, Williams writes with warmth, wit, and wisdom, serving up distinctive characters and a delectably unusual story.
Williams’ debut novel will satisfy your craving for terrific writing and leave you hungry for more from this talented writer.Pub Date: July 9, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-525-53958-2
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Putnam
Review Posted Online: May 26, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2019
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.
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
PROFILES
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
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