Undeniably well-meaning but too circumspect in its approach.
A couple is torn apart by a child’s cancer in Allnutt’s debut.
From the first chapters, readers know that something has gone seriously awry in the marriage of young upper-middle-class Brits Rob and Anna. Addled by vodka, Rob wakes up to discover that Anna and their young son, Jack, are gone. There follows an extended flashback detailing how this came about. The couple met while attending Cambridge, she in economics and he in computer science. Degreed, they soon settle down to a comfortable London life: She’s an accountant; he has a lucrative contract with a startup. After two miscarriages, Anna and Rob are overjoyed at the birth of a son. As Jack grows, he bonds with stay-at-home dad Rob, whose career dilemmas, interposed at this point, do little to either advance the story or illuminate his character. Similarly, beyond the stereotypical attributes of her trade, we never learn much about Anna. At age 5, Jack is diagnosed with a brain tumor. Two specialists are consulted and surgery performed, affording provisional hope: A celebratory vacation in Crete ensues. But Jack has a relapse, and this time only palliative measures are possible. Rob consults Hope’s Place, a social media forum, obsessively following “Nev,” one poster whose son Josh had a similar malignancy. Josh is now in complete remission thanks to the ministrations of a Dr. Sladkovsky in Prague. Sladkovsky’s clinic, though pricey, has purportedly worked miracles with “immuno-engineering.” Suspecting snake oil and concerned about finances, Anna balks at this expedient. (The costs, if any, of Jack’s U.K. treatment are never addressed, which U.S. readers might find disappointing.) When a family emergency calls Anna away, Rob, desperate that time is running out, spirits Jack to Prague. Sladkovsky’s experimental protocols seem to be working—then an irate Anna arrives. In its depiction of ordinary people in dire circumstances, the book opts for uplifting messages over controversy. Sympathy for Allnutt’s characters is de rigueur; unfortunately, they lack the depth to command it.
Undeniably well-meaning but too circumspect in its approach.Pub Date: April 3, 2018
ISBN: 978-0-7783-1473-8
Page Count: 368
Publisher: Park Row Books
Review Posted Online: Feb. 5, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 2018
Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.
Hannah’s new novel is an homage to the extraordinary courage and endurance of Frenchwomen during World War II.
In 1995, an elderly unnamed widow is moving into an Oregon nursing home on the urging of her controlling son, Julien, a surgeon. This trajectory is interrupted when she receives an invitation to return to France to attend a ceremony honoring passeurs: people who aided the escape of others during the war. Cut to spring, 1940: Viann has said goodbye to husband Antoine, who's off to hold the Maginot line against invading Germans. She returns to tending her small farm, Le Jardin, in the Loire Valley, teaching at the local school and coping with daughter Sophie’s adolescent rebellion. Soon, that world is upended: The Germans march into Paris and refugees flee south, overrunning Viann’s land. Her long-estranged younger sister, Isabelle, who has been kicked out of multiple convent schools, is sent to Le Jardin by Julien, their father in Paris, a drunken, decidedly unpaternal Great War veteran. As the depredations increase in the occupied zone—food rationing, systematic looting, and the billeting of a German officer, Capt. Beck, at Le Jardin—Isabelle’s outspokenness is a liability. She joins the Resistance, volunteering for dangerous duty: shepherding downed Allied airmen across the Pyrenees to Spain. Code-named the Nightingale, Isabelle will rescue many before she's captured. Meanwhile, Viann’s journey from passive to active resistance is less dramatic but no less wrenching. Hannah vividly demonstrates how the Nazis, through starvation, intimidation and barbarity both casual and calculated, demoralized the French, engineering a community collapse that enabled the deportations and deaths of more than 70,000 Jews. Hannah’s proven storytelling skills are ideally suited to depicting such cataclysmic events, but her tendency to sentimentalize undermines the gravitas of this tale.
Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.Pub Date: Feb. 3, 2015
ISBN: 978-0-312-57722-3
Page Count: 448
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: Nov. 19, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2014
BOOK TO SCREEN
SEEN & HEARD
BOOK TO SCREEN
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
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