A transcontinental Cinderella story set in the Great Depression.
Orphaned as a young child, Linda McLane lives a life of servitude and physical abuse with her guardians, a stereotypically villainous aunt and uncle. Alarmed by Linda’s plight, a kindly reverend notifies her other aunt, prominent Hollywood actress Vera Sinclair, who promptly whisks Linda away from her dreary English village and off to sunny Los Angeles. On the ocean voyage, Linda begins a transformation from gawky village lass to beautiful sophisticate, a transformation so complete that she finds immediate success as her aunt’s secretary, working toward the older woman’s spectacular comeback. Readers who push through this formulaic beginning and its one-dimensional characterizations will be pleased to find a story of surprising depth and complexity. Pala (MarsFace, 2002) tackles such issues as racism, socioeconomic inequality and sexual abuse with an engaging fervor. While this earnestness sometimes lessens readability—characters are given to extended moralizing speeches, for example—the otherwise lively pace compensates well. Pala keeps the various plotlines moving forward quickly, though this is sometimes at the expense of adequate development; the blossoming romance between Linda and aspiring actor Alejandro Alicante feels especially inauthentic and rushed. Alicante comes perilously close to being a “Latin lover” caricature, though several clumsy scenes in which he discusses literature and psychoanalysis seem designed to portray him as cerebral and enlightened. The books he discusses and other period-appropriate cultural references (e.g., It Happened One Night, King Kong, The Scarlet Empress) enliven the narrative, as do frothy descriptions of parties and socializing. These elements are a nice counterbalance to the serious themes and create a pleasing overall tone that is marred somewhat by erotic scenes that are jarring in their explicit detail. Throughout the novel, effective, if sometimes heavy-handed, use of foreshadowing ensures that the plot twists at the conclusion are plausible but still unexpected. All things considered, this is an enjoyable but unpolished story that doesn’t quite live up to its considerable potential. A book worth reading from an author definitely worth watching.
Pub Date: Sept. 9, 2011
ISBN: 978-1463650193
Page Count: 240
Publisher: CreateSpace
Review Posted Online: Oct. 27, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2011
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
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
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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