German poet Rothmann's first is a poet's novel—spare, elliptical, shot through with recurring images and strong descriptive passages. The narrative moves lightly and briskly, the characters have sharp outlines but no depth. Translated now (at times with excessive literalness), the book reads like an artifact of the late cold war years, a symptom rather than a real exploration of attitudes current in Germany ca. 1986. It's a time, in West Berlin, of violent demonstrations against the huge buildup of American nuclear stockpiles in Germany. The hero takes no part in the protests, although he does give shelter briefly to fugitives from police brutality. His heart's in the right place; he just can't act on his convictions. He's a halfhearted writer, a part-time cab driver, the last holdover tenant in a building being gentrified: in short, a hanger-on, a dangling man, an old familiar note from the underground. Then he falls in love with a beauty named Iris. They vacation in Tuscany. She gets pregnant. But during the crucial act of love in an Italian meadow, the hero is watching a farm family down the hill slaughter a pig. Life and death, women's menstrual blood, and men's attraction to bloodshed, all are recurring themes. But it's hard to tell when Rothmann is mocking trendy clichÇs about nurturing woman vs. murderous man, and when he's being serious. His hero drops a trail of leaden aphorisms. Sometimes they're rebutted, too often they're left to stand. In the end, Rothmann's hero can't commit himself either to fatherhood or violence, although he thinks of stabbing a brutal, arrogant American soldier. When the poet describes a Turkish street-sweeper, an Italian farmer, a Berlin sunset, he's vivid and suggestive. When he turns inward, his vision is clouded by last week's newspaper and the whole existentialist bookshelf. In all: Ann Beattie with an overlay of Middle European angst.
Pub Date: May 27, 1992
ISBN: 0-8112-1204-1
Page Count: 128
Publisher: New Directions
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 1992
BOOK REVIEW
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
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.
Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946
ISBN: 0452277507
Page Count: 114
Publisher: Harcourt, Brace
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946
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