A quietly diverting chronicle of friendship taxed to its limits, narrated by the duller friend. As such, it is similar to watching a well-made cup of coffee cool down. Alan and hapless Burt are the men in question, New Yorkers whose history reaches back to their college days. In a somewhat tired modality, Alan was the outgoing romantic who had the ideal love affair, complete with yelping sex, with Suzanne, a stunning blond. Sensitive, shy, hapless Burt (who narrates) longingly watched the lovers tumble in the grass from afar. As they are introduced to the reader, hapless Burt now observes Alan’s pleasant marriage to Lori, wistfully imagining her stifled potential as an artist while forcing himself to admire Alan’s success as a real estate owner. Suzanne reappears in their lives, prompting the full history of her painful breakup with Alan, which concluded with his putative suicide attempt. Alan sees Suzanne again, goes nuts, and pursues her, leaving his wife in the cold. Poor old hapless Burt, of course, is there to comfort Lori and considers himself a possible candidate for the newly single artist’s affection. They make tepid love, exchange tepid kisses, and hapless Burt tepidly wonders if he’s doing the right thing. Meanwhile, Suzanne and Alan’s affair takes a nosedive, Alan’s business begins to collapse, and just as Burt begins to feel Lori tipping toward marriage, Alan returns, hat in hand. Hapless Burt is tossed aside, but later concludes that his friendship with Alan remains strong. You get the picture: he’s hapless. Burt’s characterization of his own, eventual marriage——No more loneliness, but no more thrills——nicely captures the companionship readers will find with this debut novel.
Pub Date: June 1, 1999
ISBN: 1-57962-021-3
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Permanent Press
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 1999
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
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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