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GLAMOROUS DISASTERS

Not as Jackie Collins–slick as the title suggests, but pretty lightweight for a novel about the redemptive power of...

A high-priced tutor sinks into the lives of a dysfunctional Fifth Avenue family in this debut novel.

Noah, a recent Princeton grad, earns his post-collegiate keep preparing the children of Manhattan’s upper-crust for entrance exams. The job has more inherent drama than you might expect: Only an Ivy League acceptance letter will do in this ultra-competitive environment, but the teens themselves are spoiled, unmotivated and, despite their pricey private educations, not very well-schooled. Noah’s biggest problem child is Dylan Thayer, who’s impossibly hip and comically dim. (A previous tutor coached him to work Harriet Tubman into every essay, and he robotically complies, even if he’s asked to discuss the greatest invention of the 20th century.) Tuscany, Dylan’s younger sister, is similarly sheltered and ignorant—an attitude exemplified by a bedroom pillow of hers embroidered with the words “Boys Like Girls Who Look Neat—When in Doubt, Just Don’t Eat!” Noah soon learns that the parents are the core of this rot: Mom, a pediatrician who attempts to bribe Noah into taking the SAT for Dylan, is incapable of basic moral guidance, let alone discipline, and Dad, a wealthy publishing mogul, is all but absent. Schrefer, who’s worked as an SAT tutor, has a fine eye for the insularity and subtle viciousness of the Thayers’ world, but Noah comes straight out of central casting: he’s anxious by nature but comfortable with people of other races and classes, proud of his rural background but careful to obscure it among urbane company, deeply concerned about money and success but too noble to be corrupted by greed. And true to form, familiar rewards and punishments are mechanically doled out in the final pages.

Not as Jackie Collins–slick as the title suggests, but pretty lightweight for a novel about the redemptive power of intellect.

Pub Date: May 1, 2006

ISBN: 0-7432-8167-5

Page Count: 336

Publisher: Simon & Schuster

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 2006

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IF CATS DISAPPEARED FROM THE WORLD

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

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THE SECRET HISTORY

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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