A truly gratifying recovery of Jones' reputation after a long slump since the holding action of The Thin Red Line (1962). Whistle was conceived almost 30 years ago as the capstone of his WW II trilogy begun with From Here to Eternity (1951). The last few pages were dictated from his deathbed last May. Readers will miss the final effects that polish would have brought to these pages, but the story is finished—masterfully finished, with the authority of a clanging manhole cover grinding into place. Once more we are with Eternity's Pvt. Robert E. Lee Prewitt, 1st Sgt. Warden, and Mess Sgt. Stark, who were renamed Witt, Welsh, and Storm for The Thin Red Line, and here become Bobbie Prell, Mart Winch, and John Strange, survivors of Guadalcanal. We follow these three—plus nonRA Sgt. Marion Landers—as their hospital ship arrives at Golden Gate, through their pain-laden trainride from California to Luxor, Tennessee, their hospital ordeals in which hero Prell refuses to give permission to amputate his unhealing legs; we follow the fatherly acts of Top Sgt. Winch (who is dying of congestive heart failure), the carnival of sex and booze in fancy hotels, the men's reassignment back to regular duty—and their final Stateside horrors. If the Prell/Winch/Strange trio represents the spirit of the Regular Army, here that spirit crumbles, goes tragically berserk as the men tear apart from within. They are not victims. Like the knights of the roundtable, they are part of the ritual crucifixion of an outworn fellowship, an idealism bastardized by draftees and mere timeservers. This is at its best an almost mystical book in which the inner psychology of soldiering is much like that of the doom-driven warriors of Homer who hear the gods whistling up their spines—and Jones' dense, long-lined prose has never been more Homeric. Those who have found him crude and verbose in the past will probably not change their minds over Whistle. But admirers of Eternity and Thin Red Line will find him striving to draw the last sparks and puffs from his great single subject—manhood tested by combat—and will feel that he succeeds decisively enough to make this the last third of the great American WW II novel.
Pub Date: March 1, 1978
ISBN: 1453218491
Page Count: 516
Publisher: Delacorte
Review Posted Online: Sept. 26, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 1978
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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