by Selahattin Demirtaş ; translated by Amy Marie Spangler & Kate Ferguson ‧ RELEASE DATE: April 23, 2019
A welcome debut collection. One hopes for more—and that Demirtaş will not be silenced by his captors.
Imprisoned Kurdish lawyer and progressive politician Demirtaş delivers a closely observed series of portraits of lives oppressed.
Demirtaş, held in a high-security prison in Turkey, describes his surroundings as a kind of city of intellectuals who ought to be out serving their country—but there’s the rub, for that country, in his case, is not the one that holds him captive but the independent Kurdistan of his hopes. In his introduction, he argues that literature and politics serve the same purpose for the audience, namely, to inspire. Whether readers will in fact be inspired by his grimly matter-of-fact stories is an open question, but certainly they convey the essential terror of living in a system under which violence is a given and families are often separated: A young housecleaner is swept up in a demonstration and beaten and jailed; a prodigal daughter reads in a dying father’s notebook that “every stone on the path to loneliness has been laid by nobody else but you”; a young man, shot in the head, contemplates his passing: “My grave rests in Semra’s bloodshot eyes, hers beneath a tree in the village.” Naturally, some of Demirtaş’ stories are set in prison, where he notes the apparent paradox that though the courtyard is tiny, it is infinite, open to the endless circling of its trudging inhabitants, not just the human ones, but the “ants and the spiders with which we share it.” And in one ironic piece addressed to a letter-reading committee of prison censors, he darts from memory to memory, evoking his father’s way of making a poetry of foul curses and a childhood friend’s return in a dream to remind him of the smell of pastirma, “that spicy meat that comes in thin slices”—the stuff, in other words, of the stories he feels compelled to write from behind the walls.
A welcome debut collection. One hopes for more—and that Demirtaş will not be silenced by his captors.Pub Date: April 23, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-525-57693-8
Page Count: 176
Publisher: SJP for Hogarth
Review Posted Online: March 17, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2019
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by Genki Kawamura ; translated by Eric Selland ‧ RELEASE DATE: March 12, 2019
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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by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992
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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