A face transplant transforms a burn victim into a beauty, but presents new dilemmas.
Sicily’s life is forever changed in eighth grade, when the Chicago church in which she is attending choir practice burns down in a freak fire (two Christmas trees ignite). She is luckier than many of her choirmates—she escapes with her life, dashing from a partially blocked church entrance. However, her beloved father, a firefighter, is killed in the blaze, and Sicily’s face is severely disfigured. After several corrective surgeries, she must wear a prosthetic nose and heavy greasepaint to emerge in public. Still, she manages an almost normal life. Her Aunt Marie, a glamorous newscaster, raises her after her mother’s death. She becomes a sought-after medical illustrator and is engaged to be married to her childhood friend Joey, who was at the church but who survived the fire unscathed. Her plans of adjusting to her “specialness” are rudely dashed when she learns that Joey watched his brother set the fire and that Joey has hid his complicity all these years. She seizes the opportunity to undergo a still-experimental facial transplant. A comatose teenage organ donor whose mother reluctantly takes her off life-support provides the visage, and after the intricate surgery and arduous recovery Sicily finds herself again being stared at—in admiration. Characters from other Mitchard novels, the Oprah-blessed Deep End of the Ocean (1996) and its sequel, trigger a crisis: Beth (mother of the kidnapped child in Deep) is documenting Sicily’s metamorphosis in photographs, but it is her older son Vincent, a filmmaker, who truly transforms Sicily—after their brief but tumultuous affair, she becomes pregnant. If she doesn’t terminate the pregnancy, the powerful immunosuppressants she is on may damage the fetus; if she foregoes the drugs, she may literally lose her face and possibly die from sepsis. Mitchard handles this fraught material unsensationally, adding plenty of convincing research-backed detail. Too often though, the characters’ endless moralizing douses the excitement.
Pub Date: Aug. 6, 2011
ISBN: 978-1-4000-6775-6
Page Count: 384
Publisher: Random House
Review Posted Online: June 28, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 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
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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