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EX UTERO

Foos's satire is never quite on target—and never much more than clever.

An ambitious first novel that uses heavy-handed satire to illuminate current issues of sexual difference, reproduction, and media-hype.

When 30-ish Rita, long married to George, realizes that she's lost her uterus while buying shoes at the mall, she blames ``her ambivalent feelings about having children.'' But her efforts to get the uterus back provoke extraordinary events: George can't make love to her anymore, because the ``thought of the womb out in the world somewhere so cold and lifeless kills his erection every time''; her ad asking for help attracts a group of militant feminists, The Fruitless Wombs, who get her on the popular Nodderman TV show; and her appearance on Nodderman not only tremendously affects the women in the audience but so upsets one of them, Adele, that she finds her vagina has ``closed up shop''—and her boyfriend's efforts to reopen it with his carpentry tools only result in his injuring himself. As the media hype continues, demands for the red-heeled shoes Rita wore on the Nodderman Show lead to a run on red shoes, as well as growing foot fetishism, and men's increased erotic awareness of the uterus. The frenzy reaches its height when another woman, Lucy, begins menstruating in sympathy—and can't stop, though her flowing blood kills her dog. When Rita and Adele hear of this while appearing together on the Nodderman Show, they flee, hole up in a motel, and tell each other childbirth horror stories. Finally, though, a suicide by a hemophiliac who'd tied a plastic uterus round his neck makes Rita realize that ``she has a responsibility to put an end to the suffering on her behalf,'' and the women return to make new lives for themselves. Despite the graphic, sometimes grotesque descriptions and frenetically energetic writing,

Foos's satire is never quite on target—and never much more than clever.

Pub Date: April 1, 1995

ISBN: 1-56689-030-6

Page Count: 190

Publisher: Coffee House

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 1995

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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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