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MY YEAR IN THE NO-MAN'S-BAY

A writer’s “metamorphosis” from confident creator into a passive “observer and chronicler” who drops out of the milieu that’s sustained him forms the core of this ponderous, yet fascinating, impressionistic autobiographical novel by the noted Austrian playwright and fiction writer (A Journey to the Rivers, 1997, etc.). Handke’s narrator, who both is and is not his creator, is a former lawyer turned successful author whose ambition had been to write “a great story that would bind together and at the same time thoroughly air out his fellow countrymen, and not only them.” Knowing himself a failure, he retreats to a remote hamlet (which he dubs an inland “bay”) near Porchofontaine, outside Paris. There, he cultivates friendships with several people (among them a gifted painter and filmmaker; a —Woman Friend,” who is both something more than that and a former Miss Yugoslavia; and a rebellious priest)—all potentially useful characters as well as aspects of his own inquisitive psyche. Rueful memories of separation from his wife Ana (“the woman from Catalonia”) and son Valentin (who’s inherited his father’s restlessness) are juxtaposed against other recollections of the narrator’s past, political and literary ruminations (we learn a great deal about what are presumably Handke’s aesthetic principles and tastes), and—in this bulky volume’s most egregious miscalculation—a lengthy series of “observations” of his “bay’s” distinctive geographical and ethnographic features: It’s as if Robinson Crusoe had set up camp near Walden Pond, met John McPhee and Franz Kafka, and absorbed the former’s interests and the latter’s style and sensibility. But much of the novel is a lot better than that. The narrator has the wit to challenge the sincerity of even his most heartfelt outpourings—which are (or soon will be) literary expressions. The writing throughout is both painstakingly self-conscious and superbly lucid; we feel everywhere the pressure of an agile, well-stocked mind insistently scrutinizing itself. Not an easy read, but a rewarding one—and arguably an indispensable gloss on Handke’s unusual and provocative oeuvre.

Pub Date: Aug. 1, 1998

ISBN: 0-374-21755-6

Page Count: 356

Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 1, 1998

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HOUSE OF LEAVES

The story's very ambiguity steadily feeds its mysteriousness and power, and Danielewski's mastery of postmodernist and...

An amazingly intricate and ambitious first novel - ten years in the making - that puts an engrossing new spin on the traditional haunted-house tale.

Texts within texts, preceded by intriguing introductory material and followed by 150 pages of appendices and related "documents" and photographs, tell the story of a mysterious old house in a Virginia suburb inhabited by esteemed photographer-filmmaker Will Navidson, his companion Karen Green (an ex-fashion model), and their young children Daisy and Chad.  The record of their experiences therein is preserved in Will's film The Davidson Record - which is the subject of an unpublished manuscript left behind by a (possibly insane) old man, Frank Zampano - which falls into the possession of Johnny Truant, a drifter who has survived an abusive childhood and the perverse possessiveness of his mad mother (who is institutionalized).  As Johnny reads Zampano's manuscript, he adds his own (autobiographical) annotations to the scholarly ones that already adorn and clutter the text (a trick perhaps influenced by David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest) - and begins experiencing panic attacks and episodes of disorientation that echo with ominous precision the content of Davidson's film (their house's interior proves, "impossibly," to be larger than its exterior; previously unnoticed doors and corridors extend inward inexplicably, and swallow up or traumatize all who dare to "explore" their recesses).  Danielewski skillfully manipulates the reader's expectations and fears, employing ingeniously skewed typography, and throwing out hints that the house's apparent malevolence may be related to the history of the Jamestown colony, or to Davidson's Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph of a dying Vietnamese child stalked by a waiting vulture.  Or, as "some critics [have suggested,] the house's mutations reflect the psychology of anyone who enters it."

The story's very ambiguity steadily feeds its mysteriousness and power, and Danielewski's mastery of postmodernist and cinema-derived rhetoric up the ante continuously, and stunningly.  One of the most impressive excursions into the supernatural in many a year.

Pub Date: March 6, 2000

ISBN: 0-375-70376-4

Page Count: 704

Publisher: Pantheon

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2000

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THE SECRET HISTORY

The Brat Pack meets The Bacchae in this precious, way-too-long, and utterly unsuspenseful town-and-gown murder tale. A bunch of ever-so-mandarin college kids in a small Vermont school are the eager epigones of an aloof classics professor, and in their exclusivity and snobbishness and eagerness to please their teacher, they are moved to try to enact Dionysian frenzies in the woods. During the only one that actually comes off, a local farmer happens upon them—and they kill him. But the death isn't ruled a murder—and might never have been if one of the gang—a cadging sybarite named Bunny Corcoran—hadn't shown signs of cracking under the secret's weight. And so he too is dispatched. The narrator, a blank-slate Californian named Richard Pepen chronicles the coverup. But if you're thinking remorse-drama, conscience masque, or even semi-trashy who'll-break-first? page-turner, forget it: This is a straight gee-whiz, first-to-have-ever-noticed college novel—"Hampden College, as a body, was always strangely prone to hysteria. Whether from isolation, malice, or simple boredom, people there were far more credulous and excitable than educated people are generally thought to be, and this hermetic, overheated atmosphere made it a thriving black petri dish of melodrama and distortion." First-novelist Tartt goes muzzy when she has to describe human confrontations (the murder, or sex, or even the ping-ponging of fear), and is much more comfortable in transcribing aimless dorm-room paranoia or the TV shows that the malefactors anesthetize themselves with as fate ticks down. By telegraphing the murders, Tartt wants us to be continually horrified at these kids—while inviting us to semi-enjoy their manneristic fetishes and refined tastes. This ersatz-Fitzgerald mix of moralizing and mirror-looking (Jay McInerney shook and poured the shaker first) is very 80's—and in Tartt's strenuous version already seems dated, formulaic. Les Nerds du Mal—and about as deep (if not nearly as involving) as a TV movie.

Pub Date: Sept. 16, 1992

ISBN: 1400031702

Page Count: 592

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1992

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