Back in Enderby (1968) the hero was himself subjected to a psychic retooling much like Clockwork's Alex: Enderby Poet — turned Hogg and Barman — could only reconstitute himself as Hoggerby, last seen tending bar in Tangier. Between that book and this, he has reverted to his old name and habit of poetizing in the loo, and has crossed paths with some movie people. His screenplay, based on a poem of G.M. Hopkins, becomes a sort of big box-office seat-wetter that gets writers invited to teach in New York. Thus, art imitating life, Enderby's experience and attitudes swing into plumb with Burgess'. Enderby arrives on the Upper West Side, dazed and hyper-lexical in a hand-me-down Edwardian topcoat, grappling kindergartenishly with brand names, reg. U.S. Pat. Off., and is preoccupied now with a long poem about Pelagius, another British innocent in cosmopolis, who argued for reason and free will vs. St. Augustine's decadent predestination. A very good and relevant question which the City throws back at him, in gross forms, from all angles — the fragments of urban collapse are magnetized briefly by hostility to the artist, who is out of it. His open-admissions students of creative writing, in their contempt for the triviality of art, threaten hit inscape (Hopkins); pompous columnists and glandular TV men charge him with abuse of social influence, to which he rises with the intelligibility of a chicken; and finally the last of his many death threats actualizes in the form of a mild suburban wife who has suffered once too often the effects of sublimation. Even dead, Enderby is still alive and whelmingly there. Brilliant in malice, but also, oddest bloody thing, in truth, with even a whiff of tenderness. Enderby has filled out and, like art by God, deserves to live.
Pub Date: Jan. 27, 1974
ISBN: 0070089728
Page Count: 161
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 15, 2012
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 1974
This is a masterly novel. It will appeal to all lovers of fiction of the first order.
This large, stately, and intensely powerful new novel by the author of Terms of Endearment and The Last Picture Show is constructed around a cattle drive—an epic journey from dry, hard-drinking south Texas, where a band of retired Texas Rangers has been living idly, to the last outpost and the last days of the old, unsettled West in rough Montana.
The time is the 1880s. The characters are larger than life and shimmer: Captain Woodrow Call, who leads the drive, is the American type of an unrelentingly righteous man whose values are puritanical and pioneering and whose orders, which his men inevitably follow, lead, toward the end, to their deaths; talkative Gus McCrae, Call's best friend, learned, lenient, almost magically skilled in a crisis, who is one of those who dies; Newt, the unacknowledged 17-year-old son of Captain Call's one period of self-indulgence and the inheritor of what will become a new and kinder West; and whores, drivers, misplaced sheriffs and scattered settlers, all of whom are drawn sharply, engagingly, movingly. As the rag-tag band drives the cattle 3,000 miles northward, only Call fails to learn that his quest to conquer more new territories in the West is futile—it's a quest that perishes as men are killed by natural menaces that soon will be tamed and by half-starved renegades who soon will die at the hands of those less heroic than themselves. McMurtry shows that it is a quest misplaced in history, in a landscape that is bare of buffalo but still mythic; and it is only one of McMurtry's major accomplishments that he does it without forfeiting a grain of the characters' sympathetic power or of the book's considerable suspense.
This is a masterly novel. It will appeal to all lovers of fiction of the first order.Pub Date: June 1, 1985
ISBN: 068487122X
Page Count: 872
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Review Posted Online: Sept. 30, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 1985
IN THE NEWS
SEEN & HEARD
A strict report, worthy of sympathy.
A violent surfacing of adolescence (which has little in common with Tarkington's earlier, broadly comic, Seventeen) has a compulsive impact.
"Nobody big except me" is the dream world of Holden Caulfield and his first person story is down to the basic, drab English of the pre-collegiate. For Holden is now being bounced from fancy prep, and, after a vicious evening with hall- and roommates, heads for New York to try to keep his latest failure from his parents. He tries to have a wild evening (all he does is pay the check), is terrorized by the hotel elevator man and his on-call whore, has a date with a girl he likes—and hates, sees his 10 year old sister, Phoebe. He also visits a sympathetic English teacher after trying on a drunken session, and when he keeps his date with Phoebe, who turns up with her suitcase to join him on his flight, he heads home to a hospital siege. This is tender and true, and impossible, in its picture of the old hells of young boys, the lonesomeness and tentative attempts to be mature and secure, the awful block between youth and being grown-up, the fright and sickness that humans and their behavior cause the challenging, the dramatization of the big bang. It is a sorry little worm's view of the off-beat of adult pressure, of contemporary strictures and conformity, of sentiment….
A strict report, worthy of sympathy.Pub Date: June 15, 1951
ISBN: 0316769177
Page Count: -
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 1951
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
APPRECIATIONS
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