Barber's sensational premise delivers an unexpectedly piercing exploration of loss and different kinds of faith.
In a novel that examines the divide between skepticism and religion, Barber (The Marlowe Papers, 2012, etc.) uses the sweeping ideas of faith and science to delve into the story of a man struggling with the ever incomprehensible force of grief.
Finlay Logan is a criminal psychologist in a near-future England where popular opinion and government action are pushing to classify religious fundamentalism as a mental illness. While investigating the medically defined sanity of April Smith, a teenager who committed a shocking atrocity inspired by her religious beliefs, Logan finds himself grappling with his own tenuous grip on mental health. Nearly destroyed by grief after the accidental death of his adored daughter, Logan seeks perverse solace in an excess of work and a growing gulf of misunderstanding between him and his wife. Despite his efforts, he struggles to connect with April enough to assess her sanity and turns to the alluring Gabrielle Salmon, a cognitive scientist who studies consciousness, induces spiritual experiences with lab equipment, and claims to have been in contact with the dead. Logan’s professional interest in belief becomes an intensely personal choice between pharmaceutical and religious salvation. The novel splits into alternate storylines based on his decision, playing with motifs borrowed from quantum mechanics. It survives this brutal division, bolstered by Logan’s fascinatingly miserable character, so finely drawn in competing urges. He is manipulative, unfaithful, dubious, and yet often motivated by the irreproachable urge of love. Though Barber sometimes veers into absurdly extended metaphors, that excess occasionally uncovers extraordinarily beautiful and piercing images that solidify a story of the ineffable. “Her eyes open painfully wide, and in a blink, two teary blinks, are emptied of love and stuffed to their lids with shock.”
Barber's sensational premise delivers an unexpectedly piercing exploration of loss and different kinds of faith.Pub Date: April 12, 2016
ISBN: 978-1-78074-921-1
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Oneworld Publications
Review Posted Online: Jan. 20, 2016
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2016
BOOK REVIEW
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
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.
Written with quiet dignity that builds to a climax of tragic force, this book about the dissolution of an African tribe, its traditions, and values, represents a welcome departure from the familiar "Me, white brother" genre.
Written by a Nigerian African trained in missionary schools, this novel tells quietly the story of a brave man, Okonkwo, whose life has absolute validity in terms of his culture, and who exercises his prerogative as a warrior, father, and husband with unflinching single mindedness. But into the complex Nigerian village filters the teachings of strangers, teachings so alien to the tribe, that resistance is impossible. One must distinguish a force to be able to oppose it, and to most, the talk of Christian salvation is no more than the babbling of incoherent children. Still, with his guns and persistence, the white man, amoeba-like, gradually absorbs the native culture and in despair, Okonkwo, unable to withstand the corrosion of what he, alone, understands to be the life force of his people, hangs himself. In the formlessness of the dying culture, it is the missionary who takes note of the event, reminding himself to give Okonkwo's gesture a line or two in his work, The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger.
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.Pub Date: Jan. 23, 1958
ISBN: 0385474547
Page Count: 207
Publisher: McDowell, Obolensky
Review Posted Online: April 23, 2013
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 1958
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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