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THE VALLEY OF LIGHT

Well-meaning but unintentionally silly, from the author of, most recently, Taking Lottie Home (2000).

Life is a river. . . .

And there are fish in it, and in the lakes and the quiet little brooks that course through the rustling woods of North Carolina, fish that Noah Locke senses by placing the palm of his hand on the surface of the water. Now that WWII is over, Noah is no longer a soldier but a man of peace, and he has come at last to the Valley of Light. He is meant to be here—here, in Bowerstown, among the plain folk who move slowly and judge a man not by the cut of his overalls but by the truth of his soul, though at least they don’t share the author’s fondness for elegiac repetition. And so Noah comes to the Lake of Grief, where a young widow ponders the path not taken (and the taken path too) and her husband’s suicide and many, many other things. In the dark beside the lake called Grief, Noah tries to push away his own dreadful memories, memories of a fearsome place called Dachau and of the innocents who died so tragically there. And he remembers so much more: the girl in the café in some German village—but not her name—a girl who was tall and had red hair. In his dreams, he sees “himself with the girl, the girl being his wife, making him warm with the way she smiled and with her body and with the gentle way she talked to him.” Alas, there’s work to do, even for this dreamer: a boy is lost in the woods, and the folk of Bowerstown search high and low, over hill and dale. Though the Lake of Grief (known also, absurdly, as the Lake of No Fish) holds secrets in its dark waters, Noah casts his line once more, to catch a bass for little Matthew. . . .

Well-meaning but unintentionally silly, from the author of, most recently, Taking Lottie Home (2000).

Pub Date: Oct. 1, 2003

ISBN: 0-7434-7594-1

Page Count: 224

Publisher: Atria

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2003

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THE UNSEEN

A deeply satisfying novel, both sensuously vivid and remarkably poignant.

Norwegian novelist Jacobsen folds a quietly powerful coming-of-age story into a rendition of daily life on one of Norway’s rural islands a hundred years ago in a novel that was shortlisted for the 2017 Man Booker International Prize.

Ingrid Barrøy, her father, Hans, mother, Maria, grandfather Martin, and slightly addled aunt Barbro are the owners and sole inhabitants of Barrøy Island, one of numerous small family-owned islands in an area of Norway barely touched by the outside world. The novel follows Ingrid from age 3 through a carefree early childhood of endless small chores, simple pleasures, and unquestioned familial love into her more ambivalent adolescence attending school off the island and becoming aware of the outside world, then finally into young womanhood when she must make difficult choices. Readers will share Ingrid’s adoration of her father, whose sense of responsibility conflicts with his romantic nature. He adores Maria, despite what he calls her “la-di-da” ways, and is devoted to Ingrid. Twice he finds work on the mainland for his sister, Barbro, but, afraid she’ll be unhappy, he brings her home both times. Rooted to the land where he farms and tied to the sea where he fishes, Hans struggles to maintain his family’s hardscrabble existence on an island where every repair is a struggle against the elements. But his efforts are Sisyphean. Life as a Barrøy on Barrøy remains precarious. Changes do occur in men’s and women’s roles, reflected in part by who gets a literal chair to sit on at meals, while world crises—a war, Sweden’s financial troubles—have unexpected impact. Yet the drama here occurs in small increments, season by season, following nature’s rhythm through deaths and births, moments of joy and deep sorrow. The translator’s decision to use roughly translated phrases in conversation—i.e., “Tha’s goen’ nohvar” for "You’re going nowhere")—slows the reading down at first but ends up drawing readers more deeply into the world of Barrøy and its prickly, intensely alive inhabitants.

A deeply satisfying novel, both sensuously vivid and remarkably poignant.

Pub Date: April 7, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-77196-319-0

Page Count: 272

Publisher: Biblioasis

Review Posted Online: Jan. 12, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2020

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SHOGUN

In Clavell's last whopper, Tai-pan, the hero became tai-pan (supreme ruler) of Hong Kong following England's victory in the first Opium War. Clavell's new hero, John Blackthorne, a giant Englishman, arrives in 17th century Japan in search of riches and becomes the right arm of the warlord Toranaga who is even more powerful than the Emperor. Superhumanly self-confident (and so sexually overendowed that the ladies who bathe him can die content at having seen the world's most sublime member), Blackthorne attempts to break Portugal's hold on Japan and encourage trade with Elizabeth I's merchants. He is a barbarian not only to the Japanese but also to Portuguese Catholics, who want him dispatched to a non-papist hell. The novel begins on a note of maelstrom-and-tempest ("'Piss on you, storm!' Blackthorne raged. 'Get your dung-eating hands off my ship!'") and teems for about 900 pages of relentless lopped heads, severed torsos, assassins, intrigue, war, tragic love, over-refined sex, excrement, torture, high honor, ritual suicide, hot baths and breathless haikus. As in Tai-pan, the carefully researched material on feudal Oriental money matters seems to he Clavell's real interest, along with the megalomania of personal and political power. After Blackthorne has saved Toranaga's life three times, he is elevated to samurai status, given a fief and made a chief defender of the empire. Meanwhile, his highborn Japanese love (a Catholic convert and adulteress) teaches him "inner harmony" as he grows ever more Eastern. With Toranaga as shogun (military dictator), the book ends with the open possibility of a forthcoming sequel. Engrossing, predictable and surely sellable.

Pub Date: June 23, 1975

ISBN: 0385343248

Page Count: 998

Publisher: Atheneum

Review Posted Online: Sept. 21, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 1, 1975

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