Once again, Cody (Eyes Like Mine, 1996, etc.) penetrates the fevered inner landscape of a victim. And here, unsettlingly, that victimof outraged innocence, of corrosive institutions, and, above all, of sad and vacant peopleis also a killer. In the blazing summer of 1988, in a Boston suburb, a 35-year- old man kills his parents and grandmother; ten years later he is awaiting execution and busy setting down his memoirs. As he tells his story, it's clear that Jackie Connor is the product of a badly warped family. There's Dad, thin, still as a statue, an alcoholic with an irregular work record, offering his son no protection at all from Gramma with her wild swings of love and rage (when she's angry, she beats Jackie and confines him to the cellar), and then there's Mom, wired with burning memories of the orphanage she was raised in. These are people who try to love but are slammed back to helpless grievance, ersatz life. ``You are no good,'' the boy/man says of his family and, by extension, of himself. ``Dirty, smelly, disgusting, greedy, lazy, dishonest, corrupt, weak.'' Jack the man travels aimlessly, is institutionalized, medicated, lives a decorous life (he meticulously lines up his pill bottles) on the third floor of the family house and watches other houses in the dark to ``feel the life there.'' Later, witness narrations dwell on his 1988 killings, trying (only a little) to understand the three week-old corpses, faces covered with white cloth. As Jack awaits his death, a strong voice of mercy and wisdom, belonging to Fr. Curran, enters the story. It is the elderly priest who has urged Jack to record his memories: ``To remember and to speak was a tiny way of working against nothingness.'' Jack does so, writing almost up to the moment of his ``humane'' execution, creating a haunting account of the origins of violence and madness. A skillful novel of great power, anger, and compassion.
Pub Date: Feb. 27, 1998
ISBN: 0-312-18180-9
Page Count: 272
Publisher: Picador
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 1998
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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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