A lot of whining, a lot of stock characters, some funny bits, and a sappy ending—just possibly a formula for success.
Sequel to the English bestseller Man and Boy (2001) continues the saga of Harry Silver’s woes as a confused husband, sentimental son, and obsessive father.
London television producer Silver’s career eggs are all in one basket with cocaine-addicted Irish comedian Eamon Fish’s late-night talk show of lame homespun jokes and banter, Fish on Friday. But Harry still prefers his job to the quagmire of family. “It is easier to feel like you are some kind of successful human being at work,” says our hero. “Whatever you do, don't try feeling like a successful human being at home.” Poor Harry is not much past thirty yet already conflicted and suspicious in his second marriage to lovely Cyd of the never-ending legs and the burgeoning catering business. In addition, he has a bitter, remarried ex-wife, a seven-year-old son he adores but sees only on Sundays, and a sophisticated eight-year-old stepdaughter with a penchant for frosted flakes and the Lucy Doll, which comes in various incarnations such as Lucy Doll Ballerina, Lucy Doll Rock and Roll . . . you get the idea. Lucy Doll also has a boyfriend, Ibiza DJ Brucie Doll, and the two of them have a much better relationship than hapless Harry does with any of the females in his life except his beloved mother, recently widowed after a long and happy marriage that her son cannot stop idealizing even as he contemplates infidelity with Kazumi, the woman his ex-wife roomed with in Japan. In short, Harry Silver is a modern male mess, and the burning question is: Can he ever get himself and his life together? More specifically: Can he ever achieve family bliss, which he purports to long for and pine after, while behaving like a self-obsessed dolt in every situation except when it comes to Mum?
A lot of whining, a lot of stock characters, some funny bits, and a sappy ending—just possibly a formula for success.Pub Date: Feb. 1, 2003
ISBN: 0-7434-5665-3
Page Count: 368
Publisher: Atria
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 2003
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.
The time is the not-so-distant future, when the US's spiraling social freedoms have finally called down a reaction, an Iranian-style repressive "monotheocracy" calling itself the Republic of Gilead—a Bible-thumping, racist, capital-punishing, and misogynistic rule that would do away with pleasure altogether were it not for one thing: that the Gileadan women, pure and true (as opposed to all the nonbelieving women, those who've ever been adulterous or married more than once), are found rarely fertile.
Thus are drafted a whole class of "handmaids," whose function is to bear the children of the elite, to be fecund or else (else being certain death, sent out to be toxic-waste removers on outlying islands). The narrative frame for Atwood's dystopian vision is the hopeless private testimony of one of these surrogate mothers, Offred ("of" plus the name of her male protector). Lying cradled by the body of the barren wife, being meanwhile serviced by the husband, Offred's "ceremony" must be successful—if she does not want to join the ranks of the other disappeared (which include her mother, her husband—dead—and small daughter, all taken away during the years of revolt). One Of her only human conduits is a gradually developing affair with her master's chauffeur—something that's balanced more than offset, though, by the master's hypocritically un-Puritan use of her as a kind of B-girl at private parties held by the ruling men in a spirit of nostalgia and lust. This latter relationship, edging into real need (the master's), is very effectively done; it highlights the handmaid's (read Everywoman's) eternal exploitation, profane or sacred ("We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices"). Atwood, to her credit, creates a chillingly specific, imaginable night-mare. The book is short on characterization—this is Atwood, never a warm writer, at her steeliest—and long on cynicism—it's got none of the human credibility of a work such as Walker Percy's Love In The Ruins. But the scariness is visceral, a world that's like a dangerous and even fatal grid, an electrified fence.
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.Pub Date: Feb. 17, 1985
ISBN: 038549081X
Page Count: -
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin
Review Posted Online: Sept. 16, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 1985
SEEN & HEARD
BOOK TO SCREEN
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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