by Nicolai Houm ; translated by Anna Paterson ‧ RELEASE DATE: Oct. 23, 2018
This resonant book is both provocative and gripping.
After a tragic accident—something that's alluded to early in the book but not explained until later—Jane Ashland's whole life begins to feel like it is spiraling out of control.
Jane's job as a professor of creative writing is no longer fulfilling, and she no longer has the patience to deal with academic wrangling, planning lectures, or grading papers. Similarly, despite having published several well-reviewed novels, she can no longer motivate herself to write. What’s the point? she wonders. The only thing that gives her even a modicum of pleasure is genealogy, and she has begun to compulsively research her family’s European ancestry. Over time, this passion builds to obsession, and Jane impulsively quits her job, sells her car, and moves out of her apartment. The plan, she tells her parents and colleagues, is to travel to Norway, meet a distant cousin she has never laid eyes on, and learn as much as she can about her family’s origins. But even before Jane arrives in Norway, things go awry. First, there’s her airline seat companion, Ulf, a zoologist who befriends her without knowing anything whatsoever about her circumstances. Later, when tensions with cousin Lars Christian’s family explode—she has told them nothing about the reason she gave up everything and landed on their doorstep, so they have no way to interpret her bizarre behavior—she tracks Ulf down and accompanies him to the mountains, where he is monitoring herds of musk ox. As the encounter unfolds, the reason Jane is so bereft is unveiled, and readers are made privy, in fits and starts, to her backstory. Told in a nonlinear fashion, the novel presents incidents in short spurts, with Jane's memories colliding in a jumble of recollections. The end result is gut-wrenching. And while the storyline and denouement are somewhat depressing, they can also be interpreted as an explication of deeply felt, raw emotion.
This resonant book is both provocative and gripping.Pub Date: Oct. 23, 2018
ISBN: 978-1-947793-06-4
Page Count: 240
Publisher: Tin House
Review Posted Online: Aug. 19, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 2018
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by Genki Kawamura ; translated by Eric Selland ‧ RELEASE DATE: March 12, 2019
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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by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992
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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