Imaginative, moody, brilliantly written—vintage Kingsnorth, that is, and a boon for readers of speculative fiction.
Kingsnorth completes his quirky trilogy of novels set in the Norfolk fens with a post-apocalyptic story of the far future.
As The Wake (2015) opened with events of a thousand years ago, so Kingsnorth’s latest opens a millennium from now, “nine hunnerd years since Atlantis fell, since Alexandria was built.” His protagonists are part tribe, part religious community who survive in the marshes after civilization’s collapse and remember the distant past in chants and invocations: “Now World shall be as it should / For Machine is come” they sing of “the reign of Man.” They are not alone in the fens: A “Catt”—the hidden, dangerous figure that lurks in both The Wake and Beast (2017)—has been spotted, scaring some but not all; says an awestruck character named El, “every day now i am goin to Tree and lookin for him.” Kingsnorth’s characters speak in patois, blending prose poem and verse, calling to mind Russell Hoban. When the young acolyte named Lorenso comes into contact with another lurker, though, a red-cloaked figure of monstrous visage called K., the language shifts into the sturdy standard English of the present. The reasons aren’t quite clear for that, but Kingsnorth deserves points for the hat trick of writing the three novels in the series in distinct linguistic registers that suggest past, present, and future. K. instructs Lorenzo in the error of human ways: “Man was tempted, Man took power over all life. This is your fragmentary, mythologised version of what happened more than a millennium ago. You have now seen a little of what the exercise of that power amounted to.” He promises the rewards that the celestial city of Alexandria and its divine ruler, Wayland, offer, but alas, that god appears to be dead or just not listening, and the shape-shifting, quick-thinking K. finds himself stuck with the rest of what has survived of the tribe, moored in the muck and mire, but to oddly optimistic ends.
Imaginative, moody, brilliantly written—vintage Kingsnorth, that is, and a boon for readers of speculative fiction.Pub Date: Oct. 20, 2020
ISBN: 978-1-64445-035-2
Page Count: 408
Publisher: Graywolf
Review Posted Online: July 13, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 2020
Uneven but fitfully amusing.
Betrayed by her husband, a severely depressed young woman gets drawn into the over-the-top festivities at a lavish wedding.
Phoebe Stone, who teaches English literature at a St. Louis college, is plotting her own demise. Her husband, Matt, has left her for another woman, and Phoebe is taking it hard. Indeed, she's determined just where and how she will end it all: at an oceanfront hotel in Newport, where she will lie on a king-sized canopy bed and take a bottle of her cat’s painkillers. At the hotel, Phoebe meets bride-to-be Lila, a headstrong rich girl presiding over her own extravagant six-day wedding celebration. Lila thought she had booked every room in the hotel, and learning of Phoebe's suicidal intentions, she forbids this stray guest from disrupting the nuptials: “No. You definitely can’t kill yourself. This is my wedding week.” After the punchy opening, a grim flashback to the meltdown of Phoebe's marriage temporarily darkens the mood, but things pick up when spoiled Lila interrupts Phoebe's preparations and sweeps her up in the wedding juggernaut. The slide from earnest drama to broad farce is somewhat jarring, but from this point on, Espach crafts an enjoyable—if overstuffed—comedy of manners. When the original maid of honor drops out, Phoebe is persuaded, against her better judgment, to take her place. There’s some fun to be had here: The wedding party—including groom-to-be Gary, a widower, and his 11-year-old daughter—takes surfing lessons; the women in the group have a session with a Sex Woman. But it all goes on too long, and the humor can seem forced, reaching a low point when someone has sex with the vintage wedding car (you don’t want to know the details). Later, when two characters have a meet-cute in a hot tub, readers will guess exactly how the marriage plot resolves.
Uneven but fitfully amusing.Pub Date: July 30, 2024
ISBN: 9781250899576
Page Count: 384
Publisher: Henry Holt
Review Posted Online: Sept. 13, 2024
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
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
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