Difficult to stomach in its encyclopedic panoply of horror, but effective in its visceral recall of a present not so far...
An exhaustive, dialogic novel of Auschwitz, centering on the role and trial for war crimes of the real-life Victor Capesius, a pharmaceutical-company representative who became SS pharmacist and, despite friendships with Jews and being himself half Jewish, selected victims for the gas chamber and profited from their gold.
The narrator, haunted by his own distant connections to Capesius, who taught his mother dancing, and “Adam,” the self-described last Jew of Schäßburg, a secret camp diarist, use their dialogue to thread together accounts of survivors, SS soldiers, camp leaders and Capesius himself, absorbing memories, trial testimonies, conversations, letters and personal reflections. The narrator struggles to make sense of the horrific accounts of systematic murder and intimidation. While rich with sadistic, sickening fact, the dialogic framework opens windows into the psychological dimensions of this hell: the conflicted impulses of survival and altruism, as well as the self-hatred buried beneath the Germans’ persecution of non-Germans. Replete with the sadistic details of the Nazis’ program of racial purification, these intertwining and often conflicted accounts reflect the nightmares and self-delusions of participants as well as the tenacity of souls grappling to maintain some toehold on meaning amid the nihilism. The narrator seizes on the redemptive powers of poetry and language, manifested in the human spirit standing up to the void—a Rabbi at the moment of his own slaughter condemns his killers, a child’s eyes glint before the barrel of the small-caliber Mausers used in executions. Adam has inscribed his diaries in the German detested by the oppressed but defends this as the perfect medium for his account, despite the polyglot languages of the camp. For he sees himself as both a German and a Jew, and it is in his German, not the debased German of his captors, that he preserves an epic of conflicted identity.
Difficult to stomach in its encyclopedic panoply of horror, but effective in its visceral recall of a present not so far removed from this waking nightmare.Pub Date: April 19, 2011
ISBN: 978-0-374-14406-7
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Review Posted Online: March 12, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 2011
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
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SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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