THE EVERY BOY

Name: THE EVERY BOY
Author: Dana Adam Shapiro
ISBN: 0-618-47800-0

by Dana Adam Shapiro ‧ RELEASE DATE: July 13, 2005

Shapiro’s narration is deadpan, affectless: he gives the same weight to curious anatomical facts about humans and jellies as...

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Dad is into jellyfish. Mom is into ants. And the couple’s only child is found dead on a Boston beach.

Shapiro’s freaky first outing moves back and forth in time, but it begins and ends in 1989, with the dead body of 15-year-old Henry Every, the titular Everyboy. He’s the son of Harlan, a dermatologist, and Hannah, a party-planner, who live in the Boston suburbs. Hannah’s first husband was killed, two weeks into the marriage, by a falling air conditioner. Now, as Henry turns ten, Hannah leaves for Holland to raise weaver ants. Harlan quits dermatology and devotes himself full-time to jellyfish, evicting Henry from his playroom to make space for a massive aquarium. He hopes that in time he’ll be able to tame the lethal jellies and have them accept him. Despite his parents, obviously bonkers, Henry is relatively normal, as is his first girlfriend, Jorden, whose mother was killed by a drunken moose. (Death is a constant here.) Soon after Jorden informs Henry of the high rate of suicide among suburban teenaged boys, one of their peers puts rat poison in the apple pie, killing himself and his two siblings, while another kid hangs himself in the gym. But these are deaths without resonance; don’t look for the complexities of Jeffrey Eugenides’s Virgin Suicides. The big event in Henry’s short life is staying with his grandmother in New York, where he meets a girl called Benna and spends the night in her hotel room (Shapiro is coy about the details). Benna hangs out with the Pilgrims, people who find fulfillment in maiming themselves. Eventually, Benna will dump Henry, who will return home to free the jellyfish, meeting his own fate in the process.

Shapiro’s narration is deadpan, affectless: he gives the same weight to curious anatomical facts about humans and jellies as he does to the vagaries of relationships. It may be an unhappy equivalence for fiction lovers.

Pub Date: July 13, 2005

ISBN: 0-618-47800-0

Page Count: 224

Publisher: Houghton Mifflin

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 2005

Categories:

LITERARY FICTION

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IF CATS DISAPPEARED FROM THE WORLD

by Genki Kawamura ; translated by Eric Selland ‧ RELEASE DATE: March 12, 2019

Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.

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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

Categories:

LITERARY FICTION

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THE SECRET HISTORY

by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992

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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.