A potent, peculiar, and hallucinatory anti-romance.
A 19th-century sailor reckons with the murder he committed and his love-hate relationship with the man who drove him to it.
Moshfegh’s (My Year of Rest and Relaxation, 2018, etc.) 2014 debut novella, now reissued, is set mainly in 1851, the same year Moby-Dick was published. It’s hard not to imagine a connection: Its title character is a hard-drinking New England seafarer who could have been one of the crustier, more bedraggled members of the Pequod’s crew. McGlue has a crack in his head from a fall from a train, unabashedly lets loose with homophobic slurs, and stands accused of killing Johnson, one of his shipmates. His instinctive reaction to this news is profane defiance of everyone around him, up to and including his mother; his main wish is to “dunk my skull into a barrel of gin.” But time in jail, and sobriety, gives his character some contours, if never anything resembling likability: He recalls childhood friends, youthful carousing, and dreams about Johnson that suggest McGlue’s early robust utterances of “fag” are evidence he’s protesting too much. Moshfegh’s fiction often fetishizes the repellent (vomit, blood, our capacity for callously using each other), but in time McGlue’s tale acquires tenderness of a sort. That’s partly thanks to Moshfegh’s lyricism: McGlue pleads for healing of his “hot snake brains…slithering and stewing around, steam seeping through the crack in my head.” But it’s mainly in his internal struggle over how much to concede he cared for Johnson (“he refound me and took me over”; “I was already drunk on him”). So as McGlue’s trial approaches, the novel evokes another classic, The Stranger, whose narrator also tried to comprehend the cruelty of the world and how much cruelty he’s responsible for himself.
A potent, peculiar, and hallucinatory anti-romance.Pub Date: Jan. 8, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-525-52276-8
Page Count: 160
Publisher: Penguin
Review Posted Online: Oct. 14, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 1, 2018
Characters aren’t as strong as the plot borrowed from antiquity.
Two women, two Greek tragedies, one modern revamping.
British classicist Haynes writes a rejoinder—in fiction—to the near muteness of women in ancient Western texts. As she did with her psychological thriller, The Furies (2014), Haynes dives straight for Sophocles’ monumental plays. This time, she puts a mother and daughter on center stage instead of Sophocles’ title characters in Oedipus Tyrannus and Antigone. Each woman has “the sense that someone was nearby, wishing her ill.” For Queen Jocasta of Thebes, it is the housekeeper Teresa, whose wickedness puts Mrs. Danvers of Rebecca to shame. For Jocasta’s youngest child, Ismene, the menace arrives in the first chapter. An orphan from age 5, the bookish 15-year-old leaves her reading nook only to be knifed by a stranger in the assumed safety of the palace. This thwarted political assassination dissolves into Chapter 2, which introduces Jocasta at the same age, bundled off a generation earlier to wed Thebes’ fossilized King Laius. This complex opening structure settles into chapters that alternate between the two women. The device works well, building tension as mother and daughter both struggle with confinement, treachery, politics, and hair. (Some verities apparently hold for 2.5 millennia.) After Laius dies, Jocasta becomes notorious—and thanks to Sophocles, immortal—for unwittingly marrying her son, Oedipus. This Gordian knot of incest still has the power to shock, and Haynes is deft with it and with its consequences for the next generation. Her grasp of the ancient city-state is marvelously firm. Her sturdy sentences conjure the punishing Greek summer heat that quells movement and the gold rings bunching the fat on the fingers of florid men. But unlike the classically inspired novels of Madeline Miller or Colm Tóibín, antiquity bogs down in Haynes’ expository prose. And while the author adds an intriguing new character, the physician Sophon who is instrumental to both mother and daughter, the women themselves remain too flat on the page.
Characters aren’t as strong as the plot borrowed from antiquity.Pub Date: Nov. 13, 2018
ISBN: 978-1-60945-480-7
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Europa Editions
Review Posted Online: Sept. 1, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2018
A novel of empathy and depth, to be read with slow savor.
Hazzard's most spacious fiction yet, spread over large expanses of time and situation that somehow remain intimate—a comic, social book that turns into a wise, sad one.
Caroline and Grace Bell, Australian orphan sisters, board after World War II at the home of a famous old English astronomer. Ted Tice, a young colleague of the famous man, falls in love with Caro (whose book this mainly is—excepting one luminous chapter in which an older Grace falls in love with her son's doctor). Caro, though, loves Paul Ivory, a playwright; and when he marries a lovelessly bitchy society woman (we later learn why), his betrayal feels so great that Caro can't properly bind the wound until she meets and marries a rich American with a social conscience, Adam Vail. After Adam's death in New York, Paul Ivory, his son dying of leukemia, calls on Caro to make a terrible confession—a murder by negligence, a witness (Ted Tice) silent all these years—that literally upends Caro's entire picture of her past, a whole life revised in an instant; Hazzard's finest stroke is making this true and real and horrible. How she does it is through a huge but lightsome charity toward the people in the book, as short or long as they come. A species of hyper-smart romantic fiction is avoided by the insistence not only on Venus' transit but on the wisdom of love, especially as women know it yet cannot keep it. And though the prose is at first a little daunting, unmodernly rich ("She was watching with some large feeling, less than love, in which approval and exasperation merged to a pang that Ted Tice should supply, in a little scene of varnished attitudes and systematic exchanges, the indispensable humanity"), once you get to know the characters, these Jamesian boluses dissolve.
A novel of empathy and depth, to be read with slow savor.Pub Date: Feb. 29, 1980
ISBN: 9780140107470
Page Count: 352
Publisher: Viking
Review Posted Online: April 17, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 1980
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