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THE LOST DAUGHTER COLLECTIVE

A fleet and eerie novel, like the last strand of dream before waking.

Drager's (The Sorrow Proper, 2015) spare, ethereal second novel is equal parts dark fairy tale, philosophical exploration of time and schema, and academic satire.

"Imagine a room full of daughters. How is it different than a room full of girls?" On the eve of her fifth birthday, the daughter of the Wrist Scholar waits for her father to make his brief middle-of-the-night visit to her bedroom to tell her stories of the Lost Daughter Collective. Lending a touch of the medieval to the ominous future Drager invokes, the girl will grow up to be known solely by her occupation, the Ice Sculptor, like her father and the men who form the Collective—The Woodsman, The Archivist, The Wainwright—whose daughters fall into one of two categories: Alices (missing) or Dorothies (dead). As the stories of the Collective members weave around those of the girl and her father, the perspective begins to shift and the timeline destabilizes, turns inside out, until it is no longer the Wrist Scholar telling stories of the Collective to his daughter but the men who will someday form the Collective telling stories of the Ice Sculptor to their not-yet-lost daughters. What was present has become past or the past and present exist simultaneously, nestle and curl into one another, until at last the daughters claim narrative dominance. Drager meditates on our means and motives for telling stories, highlighting the ways in which tenor and content shift depending on the teller. Though references to various literary figures, like Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Virginia Woolf, may be a bit on-the-nose for some readers, and occasionally a point is whacked with a heavy and earnest hammer, overall the book delivers an intelligent and densely layered story.

A fleet and eerie novel, like the last strand of dream before waking.

Pub Date: March 7, 2017

ISBN: 978-1-941088-73-9

Page Count: 160

Publisher: Dzanc

Review Posted Online: Dec. 6, 2016

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 15, 2016

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THE TESTAMENTS

Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.

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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

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THINGS FALL APART

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

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