A frustrating novel that strains to take on metaphysical questions and the New York art scene.
A successful New York artist, disenchanted with his hedonistic lifestyle and the contemporary art world, begins to lose touch with reality.
Debut novelist Zapata, a contemporary artist born in Spain, invites the reader to follow along as Rodrigo Concepción’s extravagant and debauched life unravels. Part critique of the contemporary art world and part philosophical inquiry into the meaning of life, this novel takes on more than it can chew. It opens in a SoHo loft with 49-year-old Rodrigo hung over and being served his daily “survival kit”—coffee, painkiller, marijuana, and omega-3 pills—by his butler while another of his employees rushes to get him ready for his flight to Art Basel. Besides his staff, Rodrigo’s friends include a billionaire and a pimp. Both attend Art Basel with him, but to Rodrigo everything—the drugs, the alcohol, the art (which is hardly mentioned), the models—is empty and disgusting. Soon after, he has an "amazing and life-changing series of dreams" in which he's in Florence and meets a woman named Carlotta, whom he calls “an ideal and a perfect creation of my mind.” The self-described “matador of art” becomes obsessed with Carlotta and his dream world, shucking his responsibilities and renouncing his old life (the “New York-life nightmare”). What follows is confusing, and it’s unclear whether or not the lack of certainty is intentional. Rodrigo’s character tells more than Zapata shows when it comes to major plot points or themes: “This was my journey, and it had been necessary for me to get to the next level of understanding” or “I’m sensitive. Thoughtful. I’m a divo sometimes, because of my fame and the fact that I can get away with almost anything, but deep inside...I am still humble and my heart is pure.” Rodrigo is unlikable and less self-aware than he’s meant to be, especially when making sweeping statements about women or cringeworthy jokes at the expense of the LGBTQ community.
A frustrating novel that strains to take on metaphysical questions and the New York art scene.Pub Date: July 25, 2017
ISBN: 978-1-5011-2925-4
Page Count: 320
Publisher: Gallery Books/Simon & Schuster
Review Posted Online: July 16, 2017
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 2017
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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BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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