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THE CLEARING

Almost overripe with swampy menace, but compelling and original.

Poisonous reptiles and pitiless Mafiosi menace a man trying to redeem his shell-shocked brother and re-craft a lumberyard in 1920s Louisiana.

Far from the pleasures of the Jazz Age and the comforts of his wealthy Pittsburgh home, straight-shooting Randolph Aldridge faces evil on a scale to match the worst of the world war that drove his older brother Byron round the bend. Louisiana native Gautreaux (Welding With Children, 1999, etc.) knows his bayous and uses them to bring high tension to this story of vicious crime and equally vicious punishment. After fleeing civilization for a life in the West, Byron has turned up as a constable on the family’s lumbering operation at the end of the creaky railroads east of New Orleans. Randolph, too young to have been in the war, follows his domineering father’s orders to take over the messy operation and bring Byron back into the fold, a tall order. The roughnecks felling the ancient trees are a brutal lot who spend their wages at a Mafia owned tavern, routinely razoring each other. Byron has managed to impose a sort of legal presence, but he himself is a boozer, haunted by slaughter of the Great War. Randolph imposes order on the operation, but makes little progress with Byron, and he quickly makes enemies of the tavern owners. The little comfort to be found in this hellhole come from Randolph’s nearly white housekeeper May, whose ticket out of the swamp is to be a white child, if she can just get pregnant by one of the brothers, and then from the arrival of Randolph’s wife Lillian, who shows surprising strength, learning to shoot cottonmouths and acquiring a taste for the local cuisine. As the virgin forest shrinks, the mob comes slithering through the undergrowth and the Aldridges must face them down with a tiny force of mill hands.

Almost overripe with swampy menace, but compelling and original.

Pub Date: June 1, 2003

ISBN: 0-375-41474-6

Page Count: 312

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 2003

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HOUSE OF LEAVES

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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THE SECRET HISTORY

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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