An elegant, cheerless meditation on how even the brightest people can find it in themselves to accommodate evil on the way...
Prix Goncourt–winning novelist Ferrari continues his program of interrogating history to expose brittle truths about our nature.
In Where I Left My Soul (2012), not published in the U.S., Ferrari, a sometime professor of philosophy, took the occasion of the Algerian War and the collapse of the Fourth Republic to examine justifications for political violence, including torture and assassination. In this book, he travels into the heart of another evil, writing a long address to the philosopher and physicist Werner Heisenberg, who, in his explorations of the nature of the universe, “looked over God’s shoulder and saw, through the thin material surface of things, the place where their materiality dissolves.” As the protagonist, himself a young philosopher navigating a chaotic world, looks many years after the fact into Heisenberg’s life—and not for nothing, perhaps seeking to forget some of what he had seen, did Heisenberg develop his famous “uncertainty principle”—he unearths the dark forces that shattered Europe in 1914, a time when it was revealed that God, for all his games, is “also the master of horror.” The narrator watches, himself a little horrified, as Heisenberg is gradually co-opted until, finally, he is implicated in the Nazi effort to build an atomic bomb, sheltering on a remote island in the North Sea so windswept that no plants will grow. In the end, Heisenberg is reduced to justifications of the kind usually advanced by lesser, “despicable men trying to rely on their own incompetence in order to draw moral advantage from it,” though Ferrari also offers the possibility of a small moment of grace, if not moral redemption. The epistolary effect of a narrative addressed to its subject is daring and uncommon, but in this case it works, part accusation, part plea, part quest and inquest.
An elegant, cheerless meditation on how even the brightest people can find it in themselves to accommodate evil on the way to annihilation.Pub Date: Feb. 28, 2017
ISBN: 978-1-60945-352-7
Page Count: 144
Publisher: Europa Editions
Review Posted Online: Nov. 23, 2016
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2016
BOOK REVIEW
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
A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.
Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946
ISBN: 0452277507
Page Count: 114
Publisher: Harcourt, Brace
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946
© Copyright 2025 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
Popular in this Genre
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
