Barbara’s saga is powerfully imagined and profoundly insightful, but the novel’s stylistic challenges—frequent snippets of...
Poetic and tragic, a theologian’s debut traces a harrowing course of spiritual and psychological healing as a California woman fights to recover from resurfaced memories of childhood abuse.
Barbara’s ordeal begins after she emerges from being stuck in a darkened elevator, and her life rapidly unravels. No longer able to face her students in the classroom, she retreats to her home, alone and deteriorating mentally and physically until a concerned neighbor gives her the name of a good shrink. Barbara’s sessions with him advance fitfully. After weeks of sitting in silence, not uttering a word, she progresses to the point where she can briefly leave him the pieces of her beloved, broken cello, shattered when, in the depths of her despair, she dropped it over the upstairs railing at her house. And then, encouraged by his patience and sympathy, she slowly and meticulously shares her memories: her father experimenting on her with his set of dental tools; her father burying her under the house, straws left in her mouth for breathing; her mother lifting her from her playpen to set her hands and feet on the opened—and hot—oven door. As she grapples with these and other events in her childhood, however, Barbara also has more positive forces at work on her. Her nosy, good-hearted neighbor, the widow Josephine, involves her in a vastly different life next door. Her former love of gardening and music sustain her unexpectedly as she attempts to recover the life she had. And, above all, the steady stream of postcards from Daniel, whose work has taken him to England but whose heart remains with her, reminds her of other memories of the two of them together, loving memories that may help bring her back from the grip of her brutal past.
Barbara’s saga is powerfully imagined and profoundly insightful, but the novel’s stylistic challenges—frequent snippets of verse interspersed with voices past and present—at times seem excessive.Pub Date: April 15, 2002
ISBN: 1-58243-172-8
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Counterpoint
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 2002
BOOK REVIEW
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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