An okay story, sunk by pretensions.
Antoni (My Grandmother’s Erotic Folktales, 2001, etc.) turns a Hemingway classic of early-20th-century angst into a less-than-classic tale of Caribbean aimlessness.
Granted, aimlessness was also ubiquitous in The Sun Also Rises, but as immortalized in Papa’s sand-blasted, paradigm-altering sentences, it became a metaphor for postwar anomie. Antoni’s workmanlike prose is nowhere as exciting, and if his self-indulgent characters have anything to tell us about Caribbean society, it’s not easy to identify during their alcohol- and ganja-soaked sojourn at Carnival on their homeland, an unnamed West Indian island. Narrator William is white, his high-flying writer-buddy Laurence is from a poor black family, and William’s cousin Rachel seems to be Creole, so the author might have illuminated the region’s tangled race relations as Hemingway (unwittingly) did the anti-Semitism of his time. But even though William’s impotence—remember, he’s the Jake Barnes figure—apparently stems from an assault by three Rastas on him and Rachel when they were teenagers, we don’t get any sense of how this connects to the island’s larger social reality. And the carelessness that made Brett Ashley so sexy leads, in Rachel’s case, to the emasculation of the teenaged Carnival King she beds in the sand, a horrifying outcome tossed off in a newspaper account and not commented on by our supposedly sensitive narrator. There’s some decent local color in the vivid descriptions of Carnival, particularly in the flamboyant costumes and dances of the masplayers (the Caribbean dialect, untranslated throughout, is reasonably understandable). But it’s perilous to invite comparisons by opening and closing with lines that mimic Hemingway’s famous ones: “Isn’t it happy to think so?” doesn’t have the bite of “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” and “We are all a lost tribe” lacks the mythic vibe of “You are all a lost generation.” Antoni conveys the flavor of the West Indies and the neuroses of his characters, but he fails to convince us that they mean much of anything.
An okay story, sunk by pretensions.Pub Date: Feb. 1, 2005
ISBN: 0-8021-7005-6
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Black Cat/Grove
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 1, 2004
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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
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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BOOK TO SCREEN
"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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