Hyper-parodist and gifted wordsmith Coover (Gerald’s Party, 1986; A Night at the Movies, 1987; etc., etc.) strikes again, taking on the chaps, six-guns, and saloons of a mythic Wild West with an intensity sometimes tedious but brilliant on the whole. Open with a —forlorn horseman on the desert plain— approaching a town that continually recedes as he draws toward it—until it comes up from behind and rolls in under his horse’s feet. This is a town that never does quite behave itself, its buildings shifting around and rearranging themselves after each shoot-out, robbery, or fight, of which there are plenty indeed (—The one- eared man’s head splits with a pop as a clay bowl might and his brains ooze out like spilled oatmeal. . . —), although—just like in the movies, the source of Coover’s greatest energies here—these grievously crushed, pierced, shot, and tortured bums, cowpokes, and swindlers never quite seem to die. Our wandering horseman becomes the town’s sheriff, somehow promises to marry (sure not wanting to) Belle, the barroom floozy and chanteuse, while all along falling in love with the local schoolmarm, a willowy and grammar-correcting lady glimpsed most often through a white-curtained window. Even though all is dreamlike and surreal (that’s —How it is out here on the edge of things—), the story’s episodes, people, and even animals managing to blend one into another, there’s still a more or less classic showdown. Coover’s real interest, though, seems to lie in the aesthetic mythos behind the fiction, in the West as a never-ending movie (the sheriff is —a drifter. . . whose history escapes him even as he experiences it, and yet to drift is to adventure. . . —), something, like any myth, that’s dead and alive at the same time (—Yu couldnt hardly git away from it. I wuz afeerd I—d hafta spend my whole goddam life insida cock—n bull made up by other people. Mostly dead people—). An adult western, in all, from a grand master of the hyperbolic surreal.
Pub Date: Sept. 1, 1998
ISBN: 0-8050-5884-2
Page Count: 160
Publisher: Henry Holt
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 1998
IN THE NEWS
IN THE NEWS
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.
The time is the not-so-distant future, when the US's spiraling social freedoms have finally called down a reaction, an Iranian-style repressive "monotheocracy" calling itself the Republic of Gilead—a Bible-thumping, racist, capital-punishing, and misogynistic rule that would do away with pleasure altogether were it not for one thing: that the Gileadan women, pure and true (as opposed to all the nonbelieving women, those who've ever been adulterous or married more than once), are found rarely fertile.
Thus are drafted a whole class of "handmaids," whose function is to bear the children of the elite, to be fecund or else (else being certain death, sent out to be toxic-waste removers on outlying islands). The narrative frame for Atwood's dystopian vision is the hopeless private testimony of one of these surrogate mothers, Offred ("of" plus the name of her male protector). Lying cradled by the body of the barren wife, being meanwhile serviced by the husband, Offred's "ceremony" must be successful—if she does not want to join the ranks of the other disappeared (which include her mother, her husband—dead—and small daughter, all taken away during the years of revolt). One Of her only human conduits is a gradually developing affair with her master's chauffeur—something that's balanced more than offset, though, by the master's hypocritically un-Puritan use of her as a kind of B-girl at private parties held by the ruling men in a spirit of nostalgia and lust. This latter relationship, edging into real need (the master's), is very effectively done; it highlights the handmaid's (read Everywoman's) eternal exploitation, profane or sacred ("We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices"). Atwood, to her credit, creates a chillingly specific, imaginable night-mare. The book is short on characterization—this is Atwood, never a warm writer, at her steeliest—and long on cynicism—it's got none of the human credibility of a work such as Walker Percy's Love In The Ruins. But the scariness is visceral, a world that's like a dangerous and even fatal grid, an electrified fence.
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.Pub Date: Feb. 17, 1985
ISBN: 038549081X
Page Count: -
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin
Review Posted Online: Sept. 16, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 1985
SEEN & HEARD
BOOK TO SCREEN
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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