Fascinating work, and very much Flanagan’s best yet.
A whiff of magical realism and a generous abundance of expressionistic hyperbole create the uniquely suprareal texture of this wonderful third novel from the prizewinning Australian author (The Sound of One Hand Clapping, 2000, etc.).
The story’s set at an island prison colony in Tasmania, known as Van Diemen’s Land when most of its bizarre events occur, in the early 20th century. The protagonist and primary narrator is, believe it or not, based on a real historical figure: English forger, thief, and naturally gifted artist William Buelow Gould (1903–53), who is ordered by prison “surgeon” Lempriere to make a “book of fish” containing illustrations of indigenous marine life (which are reproduced at the beginning of each chapter); in effect creating a “taxonomy” of sea creatures. Flanagan piles level upon level, as Gould’s “bellicose book . . . ,” which scholars pronounce “the insignificant if somewhat curious product of a particularly deranged mind of long ago,” is reconstructed from memory by con-man Sid Hammett—who disappears once the reader is plunged into Gould’s garrulous tales of his criminal past (including a brief time in Louisiana, where he conspired variously with “Jean Babeuf-Audubon” and poet John Keats’s ne’er-do-well brother). Gould’s book grows ever madder and more enthralling, as he traces white Australia’s genocidal mistreatment of the aborigine population, and draws appallingly vivid images of such garish figures as the colony’s scrofulous Commandant, the ghoulish Lempriere, and prison storekeeper (and renegade historian) Jorgen Jorgensen, and retells the tale of “notorious bush ranger Matthew Brady,” whose “history” rather recalls that of legendary Australian outlaw Ned Kelly. A climactic transformation, and a stunning Afterword that forces the reader to reconsider everything he has thus far learned, round off a triumphantly extravagant fiction that fully justifies its memorable antihero’s repeated boast: “My name is William Buelow Gould & my name is a song that will be sung.”
Fascinating work, and very much Flanagan’s best yet.Pub Date: April 1, 2001
ISBN: 0-8021-1711-2
Page Count: 416
Publisher: Grove
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2002
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.
Written with quiet dignity that builds to a climax of tragic force, this book about the dissolution of an African tribe, its traditions, and values, represents a welcome departure from the familiar "Me, white brother" genre.
Written by a Nigerian African trained in missionary schools, this novel tells quietly the story of a brave man, Okonkwo, whose life has absolute validity in terms of his culture, and who exercises his prerogative as a warrior, father, and husband with unflinching single mindedness. But into the complex Nigerian village filters the teachings of strangers, teachings so alien to the tribe, that resistance is impossible. One must distinguish a force to be able to oppose it, and to most, the talk of Christian salvation is no more than the babbling of incoherent children. Still, with his guns and persistence, the white man, amoeba-like, gradually absorbs the native culture and in despair, Okonkwo, unable to withstand the corrosion of what he, alone, understands to be the life force of his people, hangs himself. In the formlessness of the dying culture, it is the missionary who takes note of the event, reminding himself to give Okonkwo's gesture a line or two in his work, The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger.
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.Pub Date: Jan. 23, 1958
ISBN: 0385474547
Page Count: 207
Publisher: McDowell, Obolensky
Review Posted Online: April 23, 2013
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 1958
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.
A lonely postman learns that he’s about to die—and reflects on life as he bargains with a Hawaiian-shirt–wearing devil.
The 30-year-old first-person narrator in filmmaker/novelist Kawamura’s slim novel is, by his own admission, “boring…a monotone guy,” so unimaginative that, when he learns he has a brain tumor, the bucket list he writes down is dull enough that “even the cat looked disgusted with me.” Luckily—or maybe not—a friendly devil, dubbed Aloha, pops onto the scene, and he’s willing to make a deal: an extra day of life in exchange for being allowed to remove something pleasant from the world. The first thing excised is phones, which goes well enough. (The narrator is pleasantly surprised to find that “people seemed to have no problem finding something to fill up their free time.”) But deals with the devil do have a way of getting complicated. This leads to shallow musings (“Sometimes, when you rewatch a film after not having seen it for a long time, it makes a totally different impression on you than it did the first time you saw it. Of course, the movie hasn’t changed; it’s you who’s changed") written in prose so awkward, it’s possibly satire (“Tears dripped down onto the letter like warm, salty drops of rain”). Even the postman’s beloved cat, who gains the power of speech, ends up being prim and annoying. The narrator ponders feelings about a lost love, his late mother, and his estranged father in a way that some readers might find moving at times. But for many, whatever made this book a bestseller in Japan is going to be lost in translation.
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.Pub Date: March 12, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-250-29405-0
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Flatiron Books
Review Posted Online: Feb. 16, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2019
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