Hardly a work of art, then, but a fine, feisty addition to the impudent and entertaining Albany Cycle.
“She named me after a housekeeper? Why? / Same reason she threw hard-boiled eggs at her poodle.”
If that sublimely loony exchange appeals to you, you’re going to like this seventh installment in Kennedy’s ongoing Albany Cycle (whose crown jewel is the Pulitzer Prize–winning Ironweed, 1983). The quotation refers to an embittered matron who’s suing for custody of the illegitimate son she gave away when he was an infant. This situation seems quite reasonable in a busy anecdotal melodrama that’s set in and around Albany in 1945, and features political infighting, murder for profit, corrupt cops and officeholders, convivial prostitutes, and the occasional ghost. Better still, it features adipose and sentimental Roscoe Conway, wounded WWI vet (a “heroic deserter”), number-two man in his city’s Democratic Party hierarchy, and longtime admirer of gorgeous Veronica Fitzgibbon, whose husband (and Roscoe’s boyhood pal) Elisha kills himself to avert a family scandal (or so it seems). Through the many ensuing ramifications, Kennedy sticks close to Roscoe’s boozy street-smart consciousness, as meetings with old friends and enemies (who are sometimes the same people) are juxtaposed with brief fantasy sequences and staggered flashbacks that reach as far back as the old pol’s boyhood days of breeding “fighting chickens” and doing favors for gentlemanly mobsters. “Legs” Diamond, FDR, and New York governor Al Smith drop in briefly, sharing the spotlight with such engaging fictional creations as thuggish powerbroker Patsy McCall, “peephole columnist” Roy Flinn, and sagacious whoremistress Hattie Wilson. Kennedy’s hit-and-run narrative precludes anything really resembling a plot (structure isn’t his strong point), but Roscoe dishes the dirt with agreeable energy, and it’s crammed with one-liners that the late George V. Higgins would, as they say, have killed for (e.g., “ . . . lies are my business, and without avarice we’d have chaos in City Hall”).
Hardly a work of art, then, but a fine, feisty addition to the impudent and entertaining Albany Cycle.Pub Date: Jan. 14, 2002
ISBN: 0-670-03029-5
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Viking
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 2001
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.
A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.
“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.Pub Date: April 10, 2018
ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018
PROFILES
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
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