by Andreï Makine & translated by Geoffrey Strachan ‧ RELEASE DATE: March 15, 2006
Another fine work from one of Europe’s most lavishly gifted writers.
A young writer is humbled by a story of enduring love in the Russian-born (now French resident) author’s ninth novel (The Earth and Sky of Jacques Dorme, 2005, etc.).
In the mid-1970s, Makine’s unnamed narrator retreats from a culture of youthful protest and posturing (and a failed love affair) to write about local customs and folkways in Russia’s remote northern “Archangel region,” populated mostly by exiles, World War II victims and bereaved women. What he finds in the village of Mirnoe (on the White Sea) is middle-aged Vera, who has spent 30 years in the hope that her lover, sent to war during its final days in 1945 and presumably killed in action, will eventually return to her. The narrator initially views Vera as a stoic, naïve peasant (like the elderly neighbors to whom she’s a tireless ministering angel). But he learns that she’s a village schoolteacher, a former doctoral candidate in linguistics who studied in Leningrad, and a still vibrant, passionate woman—to whom he is increasingly, helplessly attracted. The story is suffused with lambent pictures of Mirnoe’s harsh beauty, thematically rich imagery (e.g., “a butterfly disturbed under a dead leaf, deprived of a winter shelter”) and crisp, emotion-laden scenes (Vera rowing a boat toward the burial place of her dead friend, clasped in the narrator’s arms; the rescue of an elderly woman from her ruined home deep in a forest; the narrator’s weary endurance of his de facto chauffeur Otar’s cheerfully crude tales of sexual conquest). The story grows steadily more complex and moving than its somewhat banal central contrast (between intellectuals’ smugness and “the people’s” resilience) had promised—especially as the fullness of Vera’s character, and the truth about her sacrifices and the narrator’s compulsive evasiveness, all poignantly emerge.
Another fine work from one of Europe’s most lavishly gifted writers.Pub Date: March 15, 2006
ISBN: 1-55970-774-7
Page Count: 192
Publisher: Arcade
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2006
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by Andreï Makine translated by Geoffrey Strachan
by Genki Kawamura ; translated by Eric Selland ‧ RELEASE DATE: March 12, 2019
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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by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992
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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