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SUSANNAH MORROW

A NOVEL OF SALEM

Melodrama on the loose: neither entertaining nor persuasive.

An overwrought debut revisits the Salem Witch trials.

In 1691, our first narrator, 15-year-old Charity Fowler, watches her mother Judith die giving birth to another daughter. Charity’s father Lucas, a stern and pious carpenter, has gone to the harbor to fetch her aunt Susannah Morrow, who has sailed from England to see her sister Judith. The two arrive in time to see the birth, but a distraught Charity—her behavior is the most contrived in a story where characters too obviously reflect its themes of sexual repression, rampant religiosity, and the old Hawthorne-esque fear of evil spirits lurking in the dark forest—suddenly turns against Susannah. Charity, who was seduced by the unsuitable young Sam, whom her mother Judith paid to leave the village, now, for obvious plot purposes, overcome by deep sexual and religious guilt, is suddenly convinced that Susannah is an instrument of the Devil. She’s also desperate for her father’s attention—he offers her biblical texts rather than hugs—and has befriended a bad lot of girls, some based on the real-life accusers in the trials, who dabble in fortunetelling, spells, and other mischief. As Charity becomes more obsessed with the notion of Susannah’s inherent evil, Lucas takes up the story. He recounts his worries about Charity, his growing sexual attraction to Susannah, and the burgeoning hysteria in the village as more and more young girls begin behaving as if possessed. Accusations of witchcraft lead to Susannah’s imprisonment. A forgiving and insightful woman, she has never married but has had three lovers, acted on the London stage, and is beautiful, not helping her case in repressed Salem. Lucas is also jailed as the panicked citizenry begin implicating the most unlikely people. Eventually, sanity returns, but not soon enough for some of the women of Salem.

Melodrama on the loose: neither entertaining nor persuasive.

Pub Date: Oct. 28, 2002

ISBN: 0-446-52953-2

Page Count: 414

Publisher: N/A

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2002

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THE NIGHTINGALE

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

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CIRCE

Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.

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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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