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THE STORY OF H

With a narrative style that quickly grows tiresome, this experimental novel never quite reaches emotional depth.

An intersex woman joins an American ex-soldier in a search for his adopted daughter.

Perezagua’s new novel, her first to appear in English, is so strange it’s difficult to begin with a summary. Let’s say that it’s a blend of fiction and essay, and though it doesn’t really qualify as magical realism, it certainly isn’t just realism either. The book is narrated by H, an intersex woman who’d been a schoolboy in Hiroshima when the bomb fell. Along with everything else, she left her old identity behind. Now she’s with Jim, an American ex-soldier formerly stationed in Hiroshima. Jim is desperately searching for Yoro, the Japanese daughter he adopted after the war. Yoro disappeared on him, or was taken from him; in any case, H joins him in his search. H narrates their story in a circular, roundabout way, full of repetitions and asides—though it isn’t always clear where the asides end and the main story begins. Early on, H admits to a murder of some sort, circumstances unclear. She directs her story to an otherwise unnamed “sir,” an authority apparently in hot pursuit. It wouldn’t be fair to say that none of this is realistic—it isn’t meant to be realistic. But it isn’t believable, either, not even in its own weird world. H’s digressions become tiresome. Her sometimes-sanctimonious tone does, too. The novel apparently grew out of a short story. One gets the impression it would have been more successful shrunk down to its original size.

With a narrative style that quickly grows tiresome, this experimental novel never quite reaches emotional depth.

Pub Date: Aug. 14, 2018

ISBN: 978-0-06-266071-8

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Ecco/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: June 17, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 2018

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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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