PARIS VAGABOND

Name: PARIS VAGABOND
Author: Jean-Paul Clébert
ISBN: 978-1-59017-957-4

by Jean-Paul Clébert ; translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith ; photographed by Patrice Molinard ‧ RELEASE DATE: April 12, 2016

Altogether, they add to the impression that this is less a novel than a book of reportage. But no matter how it’s...

bookshelf

“This is not supposed to be a Baedeker or some tourist guide”: Clébert offers a hellish itinerary of the less fortunate quarters of Paris.

First published in 1952, Clébert’s Paris insolite has been classified as a novel, though it is as journalistic as George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London; if it has novelistic kinship, it might be to Jean Genet’s Thief’s Journal. One of its larger themes is the gentrification of Paris, an ongoing process since the days of Baron Haussmann that quickened after World War II: he writes of the “brutal disappearance of the Saint-Séverin district, with its pick-up-sticks players and its hordes of derelicts,” while admitting that the city is dotted with “inhuman holes” that might stand a little policing up. Writing of the “lower depths…of a Paris to which the public is forbidden entry,” Clébert—or his alter ego, at any rate—has two constant preoccupations. He is hungry, ravenously hungry, all the time, and he observes bitterly, “You always come back to the same old question: how are you going to eat?” There are soup kitchens and charity wards, of course, but the Clébert-ian vagabond has his dignity. Then there is sex: if one is hungry and poor, who will partner with him? The answers are several and sometimes tiresome in their macho boastfulness: “All you fine chicks, young and fresh, who found pleasure with this city vagabond, I thank you!” The photographs, by Molinard, are in the stark documentary style of a Weegee or Robert Frank; some are quite ordinary, but others stand out, such as an anti–Déjeuner sur l’herbe in which three poor people gather around a makeshift hearth for warmth and companionship.

Altogether, they add to the impression that this is less a novel than a book of reportage. But no matter how it’s classified, it’s a sobering, eyes-wide-open view of the Paris no guidebook would care to portray.

Pub Date: April 12, 2016

ISBN: 978-1-59017-957-4

Page Count: 352

Publisher: New York Review Books

Review Posted Online: Jan. 20, 2016

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2016

Categories:

LITERARY FICTION

bookshelf

THE HANDMAID'S TALE

by Margaret Atwood ‧ RELEASE DATE: Feb. 17, 1985

Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.

bookshelf

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

Categories:

LITERARY FICTION

- BOOK REVIEW
FOURTEEN DAYS
edited by Margaret Atwood & Douglas Preston

- BOOK REVIEW
OLD BABES IN THE WOOD
by Margaret Atwood

- BOOK REVIEW
BURNING QUESTIONS
by Margaret Atwood

- PERSPECTIVES
Appreciations: Margaret Atwood’s Novel The Handmaid’s Tale Turns 30

- SEEN & HEARD
Nan A. Talese, Legendary Publisher, Is Retiring

- BOOK TO SCREEN
Teasers Drop for ‘Shadow and Bone,’ Other Films

bookshelf

THE SECRET HISTORY

by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992

bookshelf

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.