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PAINT YOUR WIFE

Jones’ deep affection for his characters and the light, anecdotal touch with which he nudges them away from despair makes...

In this droll, beguiling tale, the mayor of a depressed New Zealand town finds an unusual way to damp pessimism and rekindle cooled marriages.

The town of New Egypt began to empty out in the 1970s when the main business, the NE Paints factory, closed. As the book opens some 20 years later, Mayor Harry Bryant, the first-person narrator, has just returned to New Egypt from a trip abroad in time to oversee the latest effort to keep the town from dying and find “a way to live in a place so riddled with rejection.” But his hopes that the first cruise ship ever to dock at New Egypt will lead to more tourist arrivals are sunk when the posh visitors see “how wretched we look” and can’t weigh anchor fast enough. As Jones (A History of Silence, 2014, etc.) weaves his meandering tale through flashbacks and detours, it very slowly becomes apparent that the remedy for New Egypt is right there in town. It dates from a 1942 rat infestation and one of the men who didn’t go to war, a teacher and artist named Alma. He offered the women left alone his pest-control services if they posed for him. He remained attached to one named Alice (580 sketches) even when her husband returned and, suspecting a dalliance, spent weeks moving a sizable hill by shovel and handcart to prove his love. Alice ended up with yet another man and gave birth to Harry, who used his payoff from NE Paints’ closure to buy a junk shop, where he employs Alma. Together they concoct something to revive the town’s spirits that shouldn’t be spoiled by disclosure and that is both far-fetched and utterly suitable for this quirky rummage tale.

Jones’ deep affection for his characters and the light, anecdotal touch with which he nudges them away from despair makes for a warm and original entertainment.

Pub Date: March 15, 2016

ISBN: 978-1-925095-37-1

Page Count: 313

Publisher: Text

Review Posted Online: Jan. 9, 2016

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2016

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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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