Whenever its moribund souls aren’t soliloquizing at ear-splitting volume and exhausting length, this is vivid, nasty fun.
Griffin Mill circumvents the fleshpots of Hollywood and confronts the threatening future in this abrasive sequel to novelist-scriptwriter Tolkin’s famous 1988 novel The Player.
The onetime studio golden boy is middleaged, bankrupt by industry standards (“down to his last six million dollars”); impotent with his second wife (Lisa), who’s calculating the financial benefits of leaving him; semi-estranged from his older children (by first wife June) and emotionally disturbed younger daughter. Convinced that the planet is dying, determined to finance escape to a private Pacific atoll, Griffin makes nice with bilious multiple-multimillionaire Phil Ginsberg, repeats an earlier fortune-saving expedient (literally getting away with manslaughter, if not murder) and finding on the Internet a fast lane on the avenue to restored celebrity, his peers’ respect and really outrageous wealth. This crisp amorality tale boasts enviable verbal energy, thanks to a hectoring omniscient voice that blends the accents of an Old Testament prophet with those of a favor-currying film industry press agent. Tolkin creates several terrific scenes, including Griffin’s confrontational (and fateful) meeting with octogenarian movie director Warren Swaine; a lavish bar mitzvah succeeded by a party whose décor is part Little League, part Fiddler on the Roof; tense, gut-clutching instances of bad parenting and its sad effects; and Griffin’s climactic encounter with a saturnine, world-weary Bill Clinton. All wonderful stuff—but Tolkin departs repeatedly from his nifty plot to deliver fulminations against Hollywood’s culture of self-absorption and wretched excess. And virtually every character seizes every conversational opportunity to deliver a speech: We get the point—they’re all egomaniacs. (Not that watching them tumble toward hell in Gucci-designed handbaskets doesn’t make for an absorbing spectacle.)
Whenever its moribund souls aren’t soliloquizing at ear-splitting volume and exhausting length, this is vivid, nasty fun.Pub Date: Sept. 1, 2006
ISBN: 0-8021-1801-1
Page Count: 336
Publisher: Grove
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 1, 2006
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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