Trees of the world and dauntless readers, take note: The author gives warning on the last page that “this story is far from...
Dangerous? Only if you drop this endless sequel (No Angel, 2003) on your foot.
Meandering tale of privileged twins, penned in typically effulgent style, spanning several decades and a continent or two. Venetia and Adele Lytton, spoiled darlings of the Lytton family of publishing fame, prove to be among the most popular, charming, witty, and irresistible debutantes of the year 1928: not only are they pretty, they are unarguably pretty (a much overused word in Vincenzi’s lexicon, along with extremely, hugely, desperately, terribly, extraordinarily, hideously, dreadfully, and their poor little relation, very.) The twins pooh-pooh the ineffectual scolding of their concerned mummy, Celia, who pretends to disapprove of their modern manners—she’s scandalized when Venetia powders her perfect nose at the table! Though her daughters seem to be wasting their excellent education, Celia is pleased by their social success, perhaps because they are no match for her. “The beautiful, brilliant Lady Celia Lytton moved among the great literary figures of her day . . . .” But doesn’t she have a dark secret or something? Well, yes—but Vincenzi doesn’t get around to it until hundreds of pages later. The twins must grow up in an uncertain world, fall in and out of love with toffee-nosed prigs, learn that life isn’t always fair, explore New York when Lytton opens a branch there, etc. In the meantime, that silly Hitler—such a common man—is making stiff-armed salutes and rabble-rousing in Europe. And if someone doesn’t put a stop to his fascist manias, what will happen to all the dear little cuckoo clocks? Will the twins have to give up waltzing because of its Viennese connection? But they have other worries: Barty, a redoubtable bluestocking with a certain horsy charm, is jockeying for control of Lytton. Oh, and Celia’s dark secret? Kit, her fair-haired boy, doesn’t look so very much like her long-suffering husband, does he?
Trees of the world and dauntless readers, take note: The author gives warning on the last page that “this story is far from over.”Pub Date: Oct. 1, 2004
ISBN: 1-58567-482-6
Page Count: 710
Publisher: Overlook
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 1, 2004
Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.
Hannah’s new novel is an homage to the extraordinary courage and endurance of Frenchwomen during World War II.
In 1995, an elderly unnamed widow is moving into an Oregon nursing home on the urging of her controlling son, Julien, a surgeon. This trajectory is interrupted when she receives an invitation to return to France to attend a ceremony honoring passeurs: people who aided the escape of others during the war. Cut to spring, 1940: Viann has said goodbye to husband Antoine, who's off to hold the Maginot line against invading Germans. She returns to tending her small farm, Le Jardin, in the Loire Valley, teaching at the local school and coping with daughter Sophie’s adolescent rebellion. Soon, that world is upended: The Germans march into Paris and refugees flee south, overrunning Viann’s land. Her long-estranged younger sister, Isabelle, who has been kicked out of multiple convent schools, is sent to Le Jardin by Julien, their father in Paris, a drunken, decidedly unpaternal Great War veteran. As the depredations increase in the occupied zone—food rationing, systematic looting, and the billeting of a German officer, Capt. Beck, at Le Jardin—Isabelle’s outspokenness is a liability. She joins the Resistance, volunteering for dangerous duty: shepherding downed Allied airmen across the Pyrenees to Spain. Code-named the Nightingale, Isabelle will rescue many before she's captured. Meanwhile, Viann’s journey from passive to active resistance is less dramatic but no less wrenching. Hannah vividly demonstrates how the Nazis, through starvation, intimidation and barbarity both casual and calculated, demoralized the French, engineering a community collapse that enabled the deportations and deaths of more than 70,000 Jews. Hannah’s proven storytelling skills are ideally suited to depicting such cataclysmic events, but her tendency to sentimentalize undermines the gravitas of this tale.
Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.Pub Date: Feb. 3, 2015
ISBN: 978-0-312-57722-3
Page Count: 448
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: Nov. 19, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2014
BOOK TO SCREEN
SEEN & HEARD
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.
A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.
“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.Pub Date: April 10, 2018
ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018
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