An endearingly wistful story of young love.
Romanian author Sebastian, in Reigh’sEnglish translation, offers a bildungsroman set in Romania during the interwar period.
In this novel, a young man and woman fall in and out of love as they come to terms with the banalities of adulthood. As the story opens, it lucidly depicts the bookish, 15-year-old Adriana’s reappraisal of childhood “with the weary eyes of a survivor” and the intensities of first love. Gelu is a 20-year-old university student from Adriana’s unnamed town, and he’s preoccupied with his own romance—but in the course of rescuing a depressed peer from an attic refuge, he and Adriana form a friendship. The author reveals how their bond builds, slowly and subtly, until they find themselves in a passionate tryst. Adriana floats in and out of Bucharest, pursuing her musical talent as a pianistwith the help of affluent relatives, and finds herself tangled in the lives of Gelu, whose studies are in the capital, and Cello Viorin, an impetuous and romantic composer. (The sensory experience of music is a repeated focus, in an evident nod to Marcel Proust’s work.) The Bucharest backdrop—the university, the concert hall, the tram, the streetscapes—effectively recalls Sebastian’s other works, but this novel expands on the tension between province and capital, which acts as a stand-in for the conflict between traditional and modern values. Adriana and Gelu, in the midst of a century-defining sea change, discover their need for each other even as they witness a marriage that ends in divorce, due to a previous affair between the wife and a nun, and another matrimony that becomes “something that destroys youth and drains desire.” Reigh handily preserves Sebastian’s supple, languid syntax, shaping each sentence to accentuate his exquisite lyricism, as when the couple remains unable to yield entirely to their desire “to be held in such a way that it obliterated everything apart from the ecstasy of the flesh.”
An endearingly wistful story of young love.Pub Date: April 7, 2020
ISBN: 978-1-912430-29-1
Page Count: 280
Publisher: Aurora Metro Press
Review Posted Online: Dec. 11, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2020
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
BOOK REVIEW
A roman-à-clef rejoinder to Suketu Mehta’s Maximum City, splendidly evoking an India few outsiders know.
“The truth is, the man I am was born in those moments, as I stood near the flood sticks with my face lifted to the chrismal rain”: an elegantly written, page-turning blockbuster by Australian newcomer Roberts.
The story is taken from Roberts’s own life: an Australian escapes from prison (he committed armed robbery to support heroin addiction) and flees to Mumbai (here, Bombay), where, hiding in the slums, he finds himself becoming at once increasingly Christlike and increasingly drawn into the criminal demimonde. The narrator, Lin, now going by Shantaram Kishan Kharre, takes to healing the sick while learning the ways of India’s poor through the good offices of a guide named Pribaker, who’s a little shady and more than a little noble, and through the booze-fogged lens provided by dodgy Eurotrash expats like aging French bad boy Didier, who “spoke a lavishly accented English . . . to provoke and criticize friend and stranger alike with an indolent malignity.” Measuring their lives in the coffeespoons of one monsoon season to the next, these characters work in the orbit of fabulous crimelords and their more actively malign lieutenants, all with murky connections to the drug trade, Bollywood, and foreign intelligence agencies (as one tells our narrator, “All the secret police of the world work together, Lin, and that is their biggest secret”). Violence begets violence, the afflicted are calmed and balmed, friends are betrayed, people are killed, prison doors are slammed shut, then opened by well-greased palms. It’s an extraordinarily rich scene befitting Les Misérables, a possible influence here, or another less obvious but just as philosophically charged ancestor, James Michener’s The Drifters. Roberts is a sure storyteller, capable of passages of precise beauty, and if his tale sometimes threatens to sprawl out of bounds and collapse under its own bookish, poetic weight, he draws its elements together at just the right moment.
A roman-à-clef rejoinder to Suketu Mehta’s Maximum City, splendidly evoking an India few outsiders know.Pub Date: Oct. 18, 2004
ISBN: 0-312-33052-9
Page Count: 960
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 2004
BOOK TO SCREEN
A brief yet dense contemplative sketch weighted with spiritual touches.
A fisherman confronts his life, loves, and mortality in this elliptical, somber novella.
The veteran Norwegian novelist Fosse (Aliss at the Fire, 2010, etc.) has a knack for compressing an entire lifetime into a few key moments in a few dozen pages. This book, echoing its title’s evocation of birth and death, opens with the birth of Johannes, an event described in run-on language that captures his father’s anxiety and mother’s exhaustion (“What a good strong boy Johannes yes and to stay in this stay here where nothing else Johannes will be a fisherman like his father”). The prose becomes less abstract in a longer second section that captures Johannes, who indeed became a fisherman, in his old age. But the mood is still unsettled in ways that suggest a ghost story: A widower, he steps out one morning contemplating his long life, seven children, and friendship with Peter, with whom he takes a portentous trip out into a nearby bay. Whether the instability has to do with Johannes' weakened state or something more metaphysical is a question Fosse leaves largely open to the reader; he weaves in mentions of superstitions and questions of God’s existence not so much to deliver direct comments on them but to suggest the ways our thinking flows uncertainly around them. Johannes’ recollections of a young girlfriend, [69] his late wife, [75] and caretaker daughter, Signe, are tender but unromantic—Fosse’s poetic prose implies that the things we love are just out of our grasps. (One paragraph is a riff on whether Signe actually sees him while approaching him.) [89] While Fosse’s writing is easy to admire—Johannes is beautifully depicted—it’s also easy to anticipate the grim place the story is moving toward.
A brief yet dense contemplative sketch weighted with spiritual touches.Pub Date: Sept. 4, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-62897-108-8
Page Count: 112
Publisher: Dalkey Archive
Review Posted Online: June 13, 2015
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 2015
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