Continuing her fictional tub-thumping on behalf of ancient goddess religions vanquished by male-dominated cults, erstwhile science-fiction author Bradley moves her campaign from the seventh- century Britain of her bestselling Mists of Avalon (1982) back to the first century, the time of Roman occupation. Here, a Druidic priestess-in-the-pod and a Roman officer fall in love—with the predictable miseries, rebellions and upheavals, intra-Druidical conflicts, and mystical communions. (Sometimes out of body, priestess-wise, is the way to go.) The handsome young Roman Gaius Marcellius (whose mother came from a native British tribe) literally stumbles into acquaintance with the family of the Druid Bendeigid, son of the Arch-Druid Ardanos when the Roman falls into a bear pit. He is rescued by Bendeigid's foster son (later, a firebrand avenger opposed to Druidic negotiation with the Romans) and Eilan, his daughter, the spitting image of her aunt Dieda (this will come in handy later). Eilan and Gaius fall in love, but marriage is immediately rejected by Druid and Roman fathers. Gaius will marry unhappily, while Eilan is taken into the ``Forest House'' of the priestess of the Great Goddess. After secretly giving birth to Gaius' son, Eilan will become High Priestess and learn for herself not only the dangerous and exhilarating possibilities of communion with the Goddess but the invasive influence of the Arch-Druid. Will Eilan find the Goddess' Way and her own? And what of that new religion, Christianity, which seems to attract Gaius' unhappy wife and a Forest House ward? An aging priestess, mentor of Eilan, narrates, tells the sad story of lovers' deaths, and takes the child Gawen (of mingled ancestry, presaging a new British people) to the vale of ``Afallon.'' With the sure touch of one at ease in sketching out mystic travels (``It can be very cold between the worlds''), Bradley writes with an unhurried pace and uncluttered staging. And there's a complete list of characters and places (then and now) and a map. Certain to circulate.
Pub Date: April 1, 1994
ISBN: 0-670-84454-3
Page Count: 476
Publisher: Viking
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 1994
A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.
Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z(2006).
A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.
A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.Pub Date: June 16, 2020
ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine
Review Posted Online: Feb. 9, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK TO SCREEN
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.
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
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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