A lickety-split ride. Ledwidge (Bad Connection, 2001, etc.) races over plot-holes as if they weren’t there, which will be...
Fast-paced thriller about a good cop’s desperate attempt to cope with a bad deal.
Write a job description for a first-rate young police officer, and John Colgin would qualify as an NYPD paradigm. Brave, honest, smart, unshakable in his view of law enforcement as a high calling, he’s exactly what NYPD brass should want to see in blue. Or so you’d think. And so did Colgin, until suddenly it all fell apart for him because—and there was really no other way to look at it—NYPD brass wanted it to. He has no idea why. All he knows for sure is that after intervening to save an old man from a brutal beating, he’d ended having to shoot the assailant to save his own life: a rightful case of self-defense if ever there was one. Yet, a month later, there’s Colgin facing a charge of second-degree murder that almost no one, including his lawyer, thinks he can beat. He’s friendless, embattled, and, since he’s thoroughly aware of what an ex-cop can expect at the hands of the hard-timers—more than a little scared. Enter Aidan O’Donnell, Colgin’s reprobate uncle fresh out of San Quentin but not out of family feeling. In his own dubious way, he cares for Colgin and generously offers him a prominent place in his next venture: grand larceny. Then, take the money and run, he tells his nephew. It’s the measure of Colgin’s mind-numbing bitterness that he regards this as a feasible plan. It goes terribly wrong, of course, hardly a surprise. What is a surprise, though, to Colgin at least, when at last he figures it out, is the combination of circumstances that made him an NYPD patsy.
A lickety-split ride. Ledwidge (Bad Connection, 2001, etc.) races over plot-holes as if they weren’t there, which will be good enough for most swept-along readers.Pub Date: Jan. 1, 2003
ISBN: 0-7434-4285-7
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Atria
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2002
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
A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.
Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946
ISBN: 0452277507
Page Count: 114
Publisher: Harcourt, Brace
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946
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