Paul never seems more than idea, dishing out pretentious allusions and strained insights rather than believable...
Expatriate Eprile (Temporary Sojourner, stories, 1989) revisits his homeland’s apartheid years, detailing all its horrors in a first novel that seems more a collection of set-pieces than an absorbing narrative with compelling characters.
Narrator Paul Sweetbread, a Jewish South African, claims to have a “picture-perfect memory,” but we soon see that total recall has been a poisoned gift. In the first section, which covers the years 1968–87, Paul recounts his childhood in a white Johannesburg suburb, where he attended a public school that taught a slanted history of the country’s race relations. His father, who owned a pest-control business, died in their black maid’s room when Paul was still in school: he may have been having an affair with her, he may have committed suicide, or he may have miscalculated the amount of poison he was using to fumigate her room. Whatever the cause, Paul is soon seeing Dr. Vish in hokily described therapy sessions, as he tries to understand Dad. In book two (1987–89), Paul recalls how he left university when he was drafted and found himself posted first to Namibia, where the South African army was fighting guerrillas, and then to Angola as part of a unit producing films intended to keep up white morale. He vividly depicts the brutal realities of this war and an especially vicious officer, Captain Lyddie, who re-enters his life in book three (1990–2000). Paul, recovering from post-traumatic stress, reveals to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission that Lyddie, ignoring a ceasefire, ordered his men to massacre homeward-bound black troops. Coming clean helps our hero adjust to the new South Africa, although he still has unfinished family business.
Paul never seems more than idea, dishing out pretentious allusions and strained insights rather than believable observations. Ambitious but flawed.Pub Date: June 1, 2004
ISBN: 0-393-05888-3
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Norton
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2004
A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.
Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946
ISBN: 0452277507
Page Count: 114
Publisher: Harcourt, Brace
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946
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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BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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