For students of the short story form, a handy gathering, though it’s in need of more interpretation.
Middling collection of new stories, some by very old hands.
First, the quibbles: as with so many anthologies, the editor serves up a vague, vaguely celebratory introduction that is short on criteria and long on puffery: “I sought stylistic and formal variety in the stories not to be fair, but because there seem to be endless ways, in fiction, to make the world come alive, to reckon with our time, to fearlessly reveal what’s in front of us.” Well, as the kids say, duh. And what of the fearful revelation? There’s no room here for Stephen King, who’s a sight more interesting to read, most days, than Rivka Galchen or Donald Antrim but who, not teaching in an MFA program somewhere, would seem not to qualify. Robert Coover we have, and George Saunders, whose work holds up sturdily but who is now a flavor of the month all the same; and is Zadie Smith an American writer by virtue of living part-time in Manhattan? Marcus doesn’t do nearly enough to lay out the rules of the road. All that said, there are some excellent pieces in here. Saunders’ contribution is a bleak coming-home story in which a returned veteran of the Asian wars lands stateside in what might as well be a country song, with Ma’s new boyfriend insistently asking, “What’s your worst thing you ever did over there?” The most completely realized and honest piece in the book, it drips with barely potent rage: “I stomped the carpet fire out and went over to Gleason Street, where Joy and the babies were living with Asshole.” No mewling writing-instructor–in–existential-crisis piece can weather such competition. Coover’s story is similarly very good, inventive in its way of relating how time unfolds to a beer-clouded mind and packing a considerable amount of tragedy into just a few pages. The most entertaining, least mannered story comes from Kelly Link, who turns in a sci-fi tinged, note-perfect yarn of future discontent that would make Rod Serling smile.
For students of the short story form, a handy gathering, though it’s in need of more interpretation.Pub Date: July 21, 2015
ISBN: 978-0-8041-7354-4
Page Count: 496
Publisher: Vintage
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2015
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 1, 2015
PROFILES
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
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
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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