Poet Cotler’s (Sonnets to the Humans, 2012, etc.) affecting, lyric novel is a long letter from writer Rider Sonnenreich to his sister Leya, its subject nothing less than the mind of an artist.
Both Rider and his sister repeatedly suffered “glimmers” (seizures) as children, and Leya has come to represent something of Rider’s muse, a complicated, ephemeral figure whom he doesn’t wholly understand, yet he’s drawn to her and makes her the subject of his art. She exists mostly in the folds of his memory, though, and readers learn in the opening pages that she has disappeared to Europe, of which Rider remarks: “It’s beautiful enough.” At the behest of his mother, he bums around different European cities, supposedly looking for her but finding instead a variety of bohemians whom he regards like a poet. When he eventually reconnects with her, his memory blends with her present incarnation, which involves dissociation and a bathtub slicked with vomit. Readers looking for a tidy travel narrative should look elsewhere; one scene here takes place in “Gigot’s annex,” full of slightly stoned Italians and expats, and Rider imagines himself there as a boy who would “squat in the corner and cover [his] ears” if given his way. In the same scene, he reveals that he “wouldn’t mind becoming sharper, crazy I mean, not weak-minded crazy. Subtle disconnections.” It’s the voice of a poet in Europe: romantic and sarcastic to the bone, simultaneously jaded and full of wonder. Featuring this kind of overt meditation that’s often on a writer’s mind can be risky, but Cotler pulls it off, injecting feeling into each image, each response, each gesture. It’s no slight to call this a poet’s novel—its narrative thrust is a lyrical one, its strengths are its precision of thought and image, variety of prose and the depth of its meditations. The novel is addressed to the sister, in second person, casting the reader as a voyeur. Or is it really the reader who is addressed, cast as the sister, to whom the poet addresses his interior missives? Cotler stays one step ahead: “Art, I guess, can unintentionally insult the viewer by presuming to include him.” A beautiful, disturbing portrait of an artist.
Pub Date: Dec. 10, 2013
ISBN: 978-1849822459
Page Count: 224
Publisher: MP Publishing
Review Posted Online: Nov. 29, 2013
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 2014
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.
Atwood goes back to Gilead.
The Handmaid’s Tale (1985), consistently regarded as a masterpiece of 20th-century literature, has gained new attention in recent years with the success of the Hulu series as well as fresh appreciation from readers who feel like this story has new relevance in America’s current political climate. Atwood herself has spoken about how news headlines have made her dystopian fiction seem eerily plausible, and it’s not difficult to imagine her wanting to revisit Gilead as the TV show has sped past where her narrative ended. Like the novel that preceded it, this sequel is presented as found documents—first-person accounts of life inside a misogynistic theocracy from three informants. There is Agnes Jemima, a girl who rejects the marriage her family arranges for her but still has faith in God and Gilead. There’s Daisy, who learns on her 16th birthday that her whole life has been a lie. And there's Aunt Lydia, the woman responsible for turning women into Handmaids. This approach gives readers insight into different aspects of life inside and outside Gilead, but it also leads to a book that sometimes feels overstuffed. The Handmaid’s Tale combined exquisite lyricism with a powerful sense of urgency, as if a thoughtful, perceptive woman was racing against time to give witness to her experience. That narrator hinted at more than she said; Atwood seemed to trust readers to fill in the gaps. This dynamic created an atmosphere of intimacy. However curious we might be about Gilead and the resistance operating outside that country, what we learn here is that what Atwood left unsaid in the first novel generated more horror and outrage than explicit detail can. And the more we get to know Agnes, Daisy, and Aunt Lydia, the less convincing they become. It’s hard, of course, to compete with a beloved classic, so maybe the best way to read this new book is to forget about The Handmaid’s Tale and enjoy it as an artful feminist thriller.
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.Pub Date: Sept. 10, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-385-54378-1
Page Count: 432
Publisher: Nan A. Talese
Review Posted Online: Sept. 3, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2019
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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
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