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NOTE TO SELF

Witty, wicked and occasionally too clever. If Simone writes songs half as well as she writes fiction, expect her to become a...

Unemployed woman meets man on the Internet in this forceful, scabrous satire-cum–morality tale.

This is a remarkably assured debut from Simone, a singer and the author of a collection of essays (You Must Go and Win, 2011). When we learn on the first page that Anna Krestler has been collecting spam, and on the second that she has been let go from a midtown law firm named Pinter, Chinski and Harms, the satiric fix is in. Anna lives in a world where, “It hardly seemed possible that a person who didn’t exist on the Internet could exist at all.” That this might be our world is terrifying. Adrift in Brooklyn, Anna rooms with Brie, a perpetual intern who Googles herself the morning after parties to see what kind of time she had. Anna’s dear friend Leslie, married, with a young daughter and struggling to have a second child, has found the straight and narrow high road, traveling from business school to a job at the consulting firm McKinsey, with stops for yoga and Third Wave Coffee. Leslie volunteers as Anna’s life coach, but Anna needs more help than Leslie can provide. When Anna responds to a Craigslist ad for a film intern, she meets the charismatic but evasive Taj, an experimental filmmaker. Taken with him, her new opportunity and her new self, she plunges into a life that even her mother can surmise is not what it seems. This is the punch line of every joke about the Internet, and Simone puts sting in that punch. The title is the weakest part of the book: It doesn’t do justice to the wickedness, the folly and the abject narcissism of the main character, and character is fate.

Witty, wicked and occasionally too clever. If Simone writes songs half as well as she writes fiction, expect her to become a household name.

Pub Date: June 4, 2013

ISBN: 978-0-865-47899-2

Page Count: 256

Publisher: Faber & Faber/Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Review Posted Online: March 2, 2013

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 15, 2013

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IF CATS DISAPPEARED FROM THE WORLD

Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.

A lonely postman learns that he’s about to die—and reflects on life as he bargains with a Hawaiian-shirt–wearing devil.

The 30-year-old first-person narrator in filmmaker/novelist Kawamura’s slim novel is, by his own admission, “boring…a monotone guy,” so unimaginative that, when he learns he has a brain tumor, the bucket list he writes down is dull enough that “even the cat looked disgusted with me.” Luckily—or maybe not—a friendly devil, dubbed Aloha, pops onto the scene, and he’s willing to make a deal: an extra day of life in exchange for being allowed to remove something pleasant from the world. The first thing excised is phones, which goes well enough. (The narrator is pleasantly surprised to find that “people seemed to have no problem finding something to fill up their free time.”) But deals with the devil do have a way of getting complicated. This leads to shallow musings (“Sometimes, when you rewatch a film after not having seen it for a long time, it makes a totally different impression on you than it did the first time you saw it. Of course, the movie hasn’t changed; it’s you who’s changed") written in prose so awkward, it’s possibly satire (“Tears dripped down onto the letter like warm, salty drops of rain”). Even the postman’s beloved cat, who gains the power of speech, ends up being prim and annoying. The narrator ponders feelings about a lost love, his late mother, and his estranged father in a way that some readers might find moving at times. But for many, whatever made this book a bestseller in Japan is going to be lost in translation.

Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.

Pub Date: March 12, 2019

ISBN: 978-1-250-29405-0

Page Count: 176

Publisher: Flatiron Books

Review Posted Online: Feb. 16, 2019

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2019

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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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