Roald Dahl's first full-length adult fiction is immaculately phrased, crisply turned, and terribly disappointing. What one anticipates above all with Dahl (Kiss Kiss) is an inventive notion, and the farce notion here is one that's been diddled around with in dozens of books and stories already: collecting sperm from famous men and freezing it for future sale re artificial insemination. DaM's version is the 1938 diary of Oswald Hendryks Cornelius—his memories at age 43 of his escapades some 25 years earlier. English youth Oswald makes his first fortune at 17 by journeying to the Sudan, purchasing a chunk of the world's most potent aphrodisiac (ground-up Blister Beetles), and selling it in pill form to the wealthiest men (and then women too) of Paris. But Oswald returns to England determined to strike it even richer. Enter A. R. Woresley, Oswald's chemistry tutor at Cambridge—who's doing research in sperm preservation, extracting semen from prize bulls—and, after Oswald has helped out with the sticky mechanics of bull-semen-snatching, he naturally gets the idea to transfer the technique to humans. Needed (once reluctant Woresley agrees to cooperate): a resourceful female confederate. They find such a woman in Yasmin Howcomely ("She was absolutely soaked in sex"), and soon the trio has its game plan: Yasmin will slip each famous man the super-aphrodisiac, greet the expected response with a condom, and collect an authenticating signature before hurrying off with the "stuff. . . in the bag," ready for Woresley's freeze-dry process. Among Yasmin's conquests: dear old Renoir; randy young Picasso (too fast a mover, alas, to pause for prophylaxis); homosexual Proust (Yasmin dresses as a boy and simulates buggery—"I could have shoved it in a jar of pickled onions and he wouldn't have known the difference"); D. H. Lawrence (sterile); Puccini ("stupendous"); Einstein ("all brains and no body"); and G. B. Shaw (a 63-year-old virgin). Along the way, there's elaborate sexual slapstick with just the right balance of elegance and bawdiness—but somehow it's never really funny, and the single basic joke is repeated with variations that don't really develop or progress. Mildly entertaining ribaldry, then, dotted with famous men in heat—a classy enough Rabelaisian diversion, but not the grabber of a novel that Dahl's fans might have hoped for.
Pub Date: April 11, 1980
ISBN: 0140055770
Page Count: 212
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: Oct. 16, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 1980
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
PROFILES
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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