A powerful novel about African migrants that suffers from flat characters and prose.
A sweeping novel that gives voice to members of the African diaspora dispersed across contemporary Europe.
The narrator is a Nigerian expatriate living in the United States with his American wife, Gina, a portrait artist. Their marriage is strained, but when Gina wins a fellowship in Berlin, the narrator joins her in a last-ditch effort to save the marriage. He soon feels himself a stranger amid Europeans, and his damaged marriage is little comfort: While Gina—whose race is never made explicit—had once been sensitive to the narrator's experiences as a black African immigrant, she is now "more oblivious of what was happening around her, her gaze focused only on her painting." Lonely in Europe, the narrator befriends Mark, a transgender Malawian film student who has escaped to Berlin to pursue his art. Mark favors impassioned proclamations about art and life—"What is the point of art if it is not to resist?" he asks naively—but his reverie is disrupted when he’s detained for being in the country on an expired visa. Rattled by this exposure to the ugly side of migration, the narrator leaves Gina so he can travel around Europe, bringing him into contact with other African migrants. In one chapter, we're introduced to Manu, a Libyan of Nigerian extraction who flees his nation for Berlin, where he and his daughter await his wife's arrival. We also encounter Portia, the daughter of a Zambian writer, who's chasing the ghosts of her father and brother in Switzerland and England. Habila (The Chibok Girls, 2017, etc.) weaves the narrator's story through these others, providing readers a guide to the African diaspora. Even among all this movement, the book often feels static, a result of flat characters who, despite their harrowing stories, often seem more like types than people. Habila's prose is beautifully restrained but occasionally so mannered that it feels inert. When the narrator's marriage ends, it simply slides into a silence "occasionally [broken] by birdcalls." The prose undermines a story that should feel more urgent than it does.
A powerful novel about African migrants that suffers from flat characters and prose.Pub Date: June 18, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-393-23959-1
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Norton
Review Posted Online: April 27, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 2019
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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