Brooding and elegant, much against the grain of lighthearted South American love stories like Mario Vargas Llosa’s Aunt...
A culturally sensitive, quite grown-up story of love across class and ethnic lines in South America, where such things do not go unnoticed.
Arana moves from the Peruvian rainforest, the setting of her novel Cellophane (2006), to the nation’s capital—more specifically, to the neighborhoods ringed by tall wrought-iron fences and concrete walls with which the elite keep out the poor. One such hermetic estate is the home of the Bluhm family, German in their hearts though “raised entirely in Spanish, on Creole food, in the heart of the Inca continent.” Bluhm père isn’t rich, and there are tuition fees to pay to keep his children at the best schools, but he’s well enough off that, when opportunity knocks, he’s prepared to accept the class burden of setting up a casa chica (love nest), a mistress and possibly a second family on the side. Enter Maria Fernandez, an underage dancer in a tango bar, a chola (half-breed), dark-skinned and, naturally, a temptress. He hunts her; she hunts him. Bluhm falls, of course, though a friend warns him, “Don’t mess with children.” Maria notes their many differences, including this: “You live in San Isidro and have ancestors you’d like to write about. I live in Lurigancho—I have no idea where my ancestors are from.” No matter. Love ensues, and with it disaster that unfolds over a narrative covering more than two decades, during which the members of Bluhm’s circle become no more inclined than before to embrace indigenes. (One had considered inviting Maria to a fundraiser for the homeless, but “the more she thought about it, the less she could recall seeing dark-skinned people at any of those affairs, except, of course, as staff.”) Suffice it to say that things do not end well, and for complex reasons that Arana, herself Peruvian, explores with psychological awareness and sympathy.
Brooding and elegant, much against the grain of lighthearted South American love stories like Mario Vargas Llosa’s Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter.Pub Date: Dec. 30, 2008
ISBN: 978-0-385-34258-2
Page Count: 256
Publisher: Dial Books
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 2008
Absolutely enthralling. Read it.
A young Irish couple gets together, splits up, gets together, splits up—sorry, can't tell you how it ends!
Irish writer Rooney has made a trans-Atlantic splash since publishing her first novel, Conversations With Friends, in 2017. Her second has already won the Costa Novel Award, among other honors, since it was published in Ireland and Britain last year. In outline it's a simple story, but Rooney tells it with bravura intelligence, wit, and delicacy. Connell Waldron and Marianne Sheridan are classmates in the small Irish town of Carricklea, where his mother works for her family as a cleaner. It's 2011, after the financial crisis, which hovers around the edges of the book like a ghost. Connell is popular in school, good at soccer, and nice; Marianne is strange and friendless. They're the smartest kids in their class, and they forge an intimacy when Connell picks his mother up from Marianne's house. Soon they're having sex, but Connell doesn't want anyone to know and Marianne doesn't mind; either she really doesn't care, or it's all she thinks she deserves. Or both. Though one time when she's forced into a social situation with some of their classmates, she briefly fantasizes about what would happen if she revealed their connection: "How much terrifying and bewildering status would accrue to her in this one moment, how destabilising it would be, how destructive." When they both move to Dublin for Trinity College, their positions are swapped: Marianne now seems electric and in-demand while Connell feels adrift in this unfamiliar environment. Rooney's genius lies in her ability to track her characters' subtle shifts in power, both within themselves and in relation to each other, and the ways they do and don't know each other; they both feel most like themselves when they're together, but they still have disastrous failures of communication. "Sorry about last night," Marianne says to Connell in February 2012. Then Rooney elaborates: "She tries to pronounce this in a way that communicates several things: apology, painful embarrassment, some additional pained embarrassment that serves to ironise and dilute the painful kind, a sense that she knows she will be forgiven or is already, a desire not to 'make a big deal.' " Then: "Forget about it, he says." Rooney precisely articulates everything that's going on below the surface; there's humor and insight here as well as the pleasure of getting to know two prickly, complicated people as they try to figure out who they are and who they want to become.
Absolutely enthralling. Read it.Pub Date: April 16, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-984-82217-8
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Hogarth
Review Posted Online: Feb. 17, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2019
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"This soil," concludes the young narrator of this quiet chronicle of garrotted innocence, "is bad for all kinds of flowers. Certain seeds it will not nurture, certain fruit it will not bear." And among the exclusions of white rural Ohio, echoed by black respectability, is ugly, black, loveless, twelve-year-old Pecola. But in a world where blue-eyed gifts are clucked over and admired, and the Pecolas are simply not seen, there is always the possibility of the dream and wish—for blue eyes. Born of a mother who adjusted her life to the clarity and serenity of white households and "acquired virtues that were easy to maintain" and a father, Cholly, stunted by early rejections and humiliations, Pecola just might have been loved—for in raping his daughter Cholly did at least touch her. But "Love is never better than the lover," and with the death of her baby, the child herself, accepting absolutely the gift of blue eyes from a faith healer (whose perverse interest in little girls does not preclude understanding), inches over into madness. A skillful understated tribute to the fall of a sparrow for whose small tragedy there was no watching eye.
Pub Date: Oct. 29, 1970
ISBN: 0375411550
Page Count: -
Publisher: Holt Rinehart & Winston
Review Posted Online: Sept. 30, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 1, 1970
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