An unnamed narrator relates the marvelous 17th-century history of a remote Caribbean island (Birdland) in this lushly imaginative latest by the author of The Jade Cabinet (1993), among other fancifully erudite fictions that seem to combine the strengths and weaknesses of Jorge Luis Borges, Robert Burton, and Ducornet's probably closest model, the late Angela Carter. It's the story of a foundling, named Phosphor (for the literal ``luminosity'' he exudes), and the ``mendicant scholar'' Foginius, who raises and educates the boy, all the while thwarting and stifling Phosphor's ravenous intellectual curiosity. Fascinated by the seemingly magical properties of light, Phosphor invents the ``ocalurscope''an early version of the camera. Falling in love with professor Tardanza's lissome daughter Extravaganza, the young inventor determines to ``capture'' the island both in photographic images and in the epic poem (excerpts from which show up in the text) that he's writing in celebration of his beloved. Phosphor's talents are commandeered by the wealthy nobleman Fantasma, whose dream of aggrandizement mocks and perverts the former's rapturous worship of ``the mutable word'' he thus records. Ducornet's beautiful sentences, crammed with arcane and fascinating particulars, incarnate a sensual delight in the material world far stronger than any desires to exploit or possess it. The polymathic lyricism of her prose, which is quite capable of feyness and preciosity, is equally often richly amusing, especially in her superbly offbeat figurative language (e.g, a beautiful woman's laughter ``rattled and thundered in his brain like the body of a vampire eager to leave is coffin'') and also in the learned footnotes that embellish the text, giving to the whole a convincingly antiquarian air. Not, perhaps, for every taste, Ducornet's fabulous narrative contrivances offer the serious reader both an unusual challenge and a dreamy scape from the constrictions of realism. She's something of a mythical beast herself: a surrealist with a sense of humor, and also a sense of history.
Pub Date: Oct. 18, 1995
ISBN: 1-56478-084-8
Page Count: 174
Publisher: Dalkey Archive
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 1995
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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