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PARADISE COUNTY

Robards does a steamy, creditable job for those who don’t mind all those charred bodies.

Robards reprises elements of her successful Ghost Moon (1999): a southern setting, lovers with children, a serial killer, and enough graphic violence to appeal to the Hannibal Lecter fan club.

When billionaire Charles Haywood is found dead in his world-class racing stable in Kentucky bluegrass country, ostensibly driven to suicide by scandal and financial ruin, his daughter Alexandra, a photographer for coffee-table books about architecture, returns to sell her old Kentucky home, Whistledown Farms, and fire the staff. But Joe Welch, her dad’s “dead-sexy” manager, refuses to be fired. The father of three, he needs the money, and besides, he has a contract. Though the two begin as antagonists—he’s a pigheaded, macho, overbearing bully, she’s a cashmere-sweatered rich bitch with a spoiled teenaged half-sister—the plans of a serial killer (“the predator”) throw them together. The predator likes to kidnap victims, rape them, and burn them alive with kerosene. In one dreadful scene, Robards tells more about the immolation of a dog than some readers will want to know. During their first night at Whistledown, Alexandra is awakened by the predator, who roams the ante-bellum mansion at will. When she tries to pursue him, he knocks her over the head, and she and her sister Neely run through a thunderstorm hoping to find safety at Joe’s house. Half-unconscious and protected by only a thin nightie rendered transparent by the rain, Alex throws herself on Joe. In Robards’s own brand of first aid, they even take a shower together to get the blood and mud off her body. Joe’s solid pecs, and even more solid family values, rescue Alexandra and Neely from an uncertain future, and the Haywood cat (Hannibal, of course), along with the ghost of Charles Haywood, rescues them from the predator.

Robards does a steamy, creditable job for those who don’t mind all those charred bodies.

Pub Date: Nov. 1, 2000

ISBN: 0-671-78645-8

Page Count: 352

Publisher: Pocket

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2000

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IF CATS DISAPPEARED FROM THE WORLD

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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THE SECRET HISTORY

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

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