Newcomer Sheridan makes too much haste toward a happy ending, but, still, his first is a moving, unflinching portrait of...

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THE VIOLENT CHILD

A family drama in two acts, Sheridan's debut is a sensitive study of working-class perils as a boy-turned-man struggles to love the tough but fragile contradiction that is his mother.

Lorraine is a hard-drinking, oxygen-toting, wheelchair-bound wreck who still lives in the inner-city neighborhood where she raised her son Teddie. Though he's long since moved on to become a somewhat respectable college professor, Teddie still visits Lorraine, still cares for her in the detached way he's learned to protect himself, and still matches her bourbon for bourbon in spite of having taken the pledge. But he remains baffled by her. As they sit in Lorraine’s filthy apartment, boys from the ’hood outside being paid to watch Teddie's wheels so they don't get stolen, mother and son cover the same ground as always. Teddie's early childhood is full of fractures: days or nights spent with his father's parents while Lorraine worked different shifts at the steel mill; times spent with Lorraine as she cursed his drunken, absent father; rare but ineluctable visits from Dad—the time when he came to them bleeding profusely from a barroom brawl, or when he snuck Teddie into the bar while he got drunk with his girlfriend, only to be caught by Lorraine and beaten by her steelworker friend Trudy after he broke his wife's wrist. Teddie recalls the change in Lorraine after his sister was born dead, when depression gripped her and wouldn't let go. And he cannot forget the close of his family melodrama, when in the bitter divorce proceedings he had to choose between his grandparents, his drunken dad, and his depressed mama, who had taken up with the lesbian Trudy. Though long shadowed by this past, Teddie does love Lorraine and finally takes the step that will lay those memories to rest.

Newcomer Sheridan makes too much haste toward a happy ending, but, still, his first is a moving, unflinching portrait of filial duty and tough motherly love.

Pub Date: Sept. 1, 2001

ISBN: 1-57962-035-3

Page Count: 240

Publisher: Permanent Press

Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 2001

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A not-very-illuminating updating of Chaucer’s Tales.

THE CANTERBURY TALES

A RETELLING

Continuing his apparent mission to refract the whole of English culture and history through his personal lens, Ackroyd (Thames: The Biography, 2008, etc.) offers an all-prose rendering of Chaucer’s mixed-media masterpiece.

While Burton Raffel’s modern English version of The Canterbury Tales (2008) was unabridged, Ackroyd omits both “The Tale of Melibee” and “The Parson’s Tale” on the undoubtedly correct assumption that these “standard narratives of pious exposition” hold little interest for contemporary readers. Dialing down the piety, the author dials up the raunch, freely tossing about the F-bomb and Anglo-Saxon words for various body parts that Chaucer prudently described in Latin. Since “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” and “The Miller’s Tale,” for example, are both decidedly earthy in Middle English, the interpolated obscenities seem unnecessary as well as jarringly anachronistic. And it’s anyone’s guess why Ackroyd feels obliged redundantly to include the original titles (“Here bigynneth the Squieres Tales,” etc.) directly underneath the new ones (“The Squires Tale,” etc.); these one-line blasts of antique spelling and diction remind us what we’re missing without adding anything in the way of comprehension. The author’s other peculiar choice is to occasionally interject first-person comments by the narrator where none exist in the original, such as, “He asked me about myself then—where I had come from, where I had been—but I quickly turned the conversation to another course.” There seems to be no reason for these arbitrary elaborations, which muffle the impact of those rare times in the original when Chaucer directly addresses the reader. Such quibbles would perhaps be unfair if Ackroyd were retelling some obscure gem of Old English, but they loom larger with Chaucer because there are many modern versions of The Canterbury Tales. Raffel’s rendering captured a lot more of the poetry, while doing as good a job as Ackroyd with the vigorous prose.

A not-very-illuminating updating of Chaucer’s Tales.

Pub Date: Nov. 16, 2009

ISBN: 978-0-670-02122-2

Page Count: 436

Publisher: Viking

Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 2009

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Rich, creamy art and playful paneling make for a fun read.

THE GIGANTIC BEARD THAT WAS EVIL

Cartoonist Collins’ debut graphic novel is a long, smooth fable of a man whose unkempt facial hair ravages the tidy city of Here.

Here sits on an island, surrounded by the sea, separated from the far-off land of There. And whereas Here is all row houses and trimmed trees and clean cheeks, There is a dark, disordered place that would mix your insides with your outsides, your befores with your nows with your nexts—unpleasant business brilliantly depicted in panels breaking across a single body as it succumbs to chaos. So the people of Here live quiet, fastidious lives, their backs to the sea, and neighbor Dave delights in doodling it all from his window as he listens to the Bangles’ “Eternal Flame” on repeat. But an irregular report at his inscrutable office job triggers the single hair that has always curved from Dave’s upper lip to be suddenly joined by a burst of follicles. Try as Dave might, his unruly beard won’t stop pouring from his face in a tangled flood—and soon it threatens the very fabric of life in Here. Collins’ illustrations are lush, rounded affairs with voluptuous shading across oblong planes. Expressions pop, from the severe upturn where a sympathetic psychiatrist’s brows meet to the befuddlement of a schoolgirl as the beard’s hypnotic powers take hold. With its archetypical conflict and deliberate dissection of language, the story seems aimed at delivering a moral, but the tale ultimately throws its aesthetics into abstraction rather than didacticism. The result rings a little hollow but goes down smooth.

Rich, creamy art and playful paneling make for a fun read.

Pub Date: Oct. 7, 2014

ISBN: 978-1-250-05039-7

Page Count: 240

Publisher: Picador

Review Posted Online: Aug. 24, 2014

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2014

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