Galloway’s high-altitude romance, for all its intensity, is not enough to sustain a full-length novel.
The life story of a high-wire artist, in a US debut from Canadian second-novelist Galloway.
Salvo Ursari is a Rom (gypsy). As a nine-year-old in the Hungary of 1919, he watches a gadje (non-Roma) mob burn down the family home; his parents die in the fire, but Salvo escapes to Budapest. These early scenes, interwoven with Romany folk tales, show a resilient culture fighting ethnic oppressors. Everything changes when the teenaged Salvo sees his first wire act and meets the mysterious impresario Tomas Skosa. The latter realizes Salvo is a natural, though he proves a cruel taskmaster. Immobility is the key, says Skosa: “make the wire yours.” Thus begins the romance between artist and wire; in a large cast of one-dimensional characters, they are the only two that matter. On the ground Salvo is a dour neurotic; in the air he is the epitome of grace. Not that the ground is all bad: Salvo will have a joyful reunion with siblings he had given up for dead, and they will become part of the act. Eventually, they run afoul of the Gestapo but are saved by a job offer from America’s top circus impresario, and enjoy a sensational debut in New York. The huge clan that runs the circus, however, is riddled with feuds; when one of the clan, Anna, falls for and marries Salvo, she is promptly disinherited. But Galloway’s attempts to flesh out the Ursaris’ acrobatics into a circus novel complete with Big Tent politics are too superficial to work. As for Anna, only years later does she realize the wire complements Salvo in a way she cannot; by now (it’s 1959) their twin daughters are part of an eight-member troupe. When the girls die in a too-risky maneuver, Anna’s anger with Salvo borders on hate. Later, Salvo himself will meet his end on a wire between the World Trade Center’s twin towers.
Galloway’s high-altitude romance, for all its intensity, is not enough to sustain a full-length novel.Pub Date: Sept. 1, 2003
ISBN: 0-7867-1208-2
Page Count: 280
Publisher: N/A
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2003
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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 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
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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