A familiar plot gets a sharp millennial makeover.
A directionless grad student finds himself at the center of a bisexual love triangle in debut novelist Gregor’s charmingly melancholy Brooklyn rom-com.
At 29, Richard’s life seems to be in a state of suspended animation. He’s supposed to be finishing a Ph.D. in medieval Italian literature, except that he hasn’t actually written much of anything in months. As a result, “all his efforts at maintaining a long-cultivated identity of academic competence and dependable accomplishment had taken on an air of pointlessness.” (Also, his funding is in danger.) His personal life isn’t faring much better. Dating, in New York, is an endless stream of profiles and messages and drinks and promises to be in touch after and very few actual relationships. And it is a combination of these two factors—Richard’s general loneliness and specific state of acute academic crisis—that leads him to forge an increasingly complicated relationship with Anne, a fellow doctoral student. Brilliant, rich, and clearly attracted to Richard despite the ongoing obstacle of his being gay, Anne offers to help him salvage his academic career, and in the process, their relationship intensifies into something more. And then, on a dating app, Richard meets Blake, and if their romance gets off to a rocky start, it quickly mellows into a serious relationship. On paper, at least, Blake is perfect: a kind, successful lawyer ready to build a future with Richard. Except that Richard is also involved with Anne, who is sensitive and hyperanalytical and—for reasons that defy rational explanation but make intuitive sense—accepts him completely. Of course, per the rules of the genre, Richard’s double life must come crashing down, which it does, spectacularly, leaving him to begin the process of addressing the general state of his life. A deeply kind novel—all three characters are rich and complicated and human—Gregor’s plot is less interesting than his biting observations of modern urban life. (He’s especially good on the complicated dynamics of money; it's rare to find a novel that so accurately captures the constant, low-grade anxiety around who can afford what.)
A familiar plot gets a sharp millennial makeover.Pub Date: Aug. 20, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-9821-0319-4
Page Count: 352
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Review Posted Online: May 26, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2019
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.
The time is the not-so-distant future, when the US's spiraling social freedoms have finally called down a reaction, an Iranian-style repressive "monotheocracy" calling itself the Republic of Gilead—a Bible-thumping, racist, capital-punishing, and misogynistic rule that would do away with pleasure altogether were it not for one thing: that the Gileadan women, pure and true (as opposed to all the nonbelieving women, those who've ever been adulterous or married more than once), are found rarely fertile.
Thus are drafted a whole class of "handmaids," whose function is to bear the children of the elite, to be fecund or else (else being certain death, sent out to be toxic-waste removers on outlying islands). The narrative frame for Atwood's dystopian vision is the hopeless private testimony of one of these surrogate mothers, Offred ("of" plus the name of her male protector). Lying cradled by the body of the barren wife, being meanwhile serviced by the husband, Offred's "ceremony" must be successful—if she does not want to join the ranks of the other disappeared (which include her mother, her husband—dead—and small daughter, all taken away during the years of revolt). One Of her only human conduits is a gradually developing affair with her master's chauffeur—something that's balanced more than offset, though, by the master's hypocritically un-Puritan use of her as a kind of B-girl at private parties held by the ruling men in a spirit of nostalgia and lust. This latter relationship, edging into real need (the master's), is very effectively done; it highlights the handmaid's (read Everywoman's) eternal exploitation, profane or sacred ("We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices"). Atwood, to her credit, creates a chillingly specific, imaginable night-mare. The book is short on characterization—this is Atwood, never a warm writer, at her steeliest—and long on cynicism—it's got none of the human credibility of a work such as Walker Percy's Love In The Ruins. But the scariness is visceral, a world that's like a dangerous and even fatal grid, an electrified fence.
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.Pub Date: Feb. 17, 1985
ISBN: 038549081X
Page Count: -
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin
Review Posted Online: Sept. 16, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 1985
SEEN & HEARD
BOOK TO SCREEN
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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