A slight but quick-witted and thoughtful philosophical parable that falls somewhere between Camus and Gaiman’s Sandman...
In a dystopian near future where sleep is outlawed, an unemployed Everyman meets a revolutionary dedicated to the subversive power of dreams.
Chrostowska (Permission, 2013, etc.) is a fiercely intellectual writer, but in this hallucinatory portrait of a world robbed of dreams, she’s content to let her surrealistic journey play out freely. Our narrator subsists in an alternative version of Paris, one where dreams have been outlawed in the name of productivity and citizens are forced to take a potent drug called Potium to keep them in a permanent state somewhere between slumber and the waking world. His fortunes are altered drastically when he meets Chevauchet, a roving ambassador from the perplexing Free Republic of Onirica, a city-state virtually unknown to the mainstream population. In the diplomat’s worldview, daydreaming is a directly subversive action that gives people a notion of freedom, no matter how tenuous or fleeting. To open the narrator’s eyes, Chevauchet takes him “dream-hopping” through the dreams of others, exploring love, dread, power, and nightmares among other themes. It’s all part of the ambassador’s unified theory of utopia, a speculative philosophy that imagines that revolutionary dreaming can lead to true emancipation. Yes, it’s a hallucinatory story, steeped in existentialist philosophy and delivered in poetic, classical language. The novel can read like a work in translation, with the avant-garde aesthetics and interesting idiosyncrasies found in European novels laden with existentialist themes and absurdist imagery. Ultimately, the student becomes the teacher as Chevauchet fades and the narrator becomes a “Merchant of Sleep,” treating refugees and lost souls to the obvious form of resistance against the waking world: “With this our bargain was concluded; my dreamers got their sleep, and I their dreams.”
A slight but quick-witted and thoughtful philosophical parable that falls somewhere between Camus and Gaiman’s Sandman universe.Pub Date: April 14, 2020
ISBN: 978-1-55245-408-4
Page Count: 144
Publisher: Coach House Books
Review Posted Online: Jan. 12, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2020
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.
A lonely postman learns that he’s about to die—and reflects on life as he bargains with a Hawaiian-shirt–wearing devil.
The 30-year-old first-person narrator in filmmaker/novelist Kawamura’s slim novel is, by his own admission, “boring…a monotone guy,” so unimaginative that, when he learns he has a brain tumor, the bucket list he writes down is dull enough that “even the cat looked disgusted with me.” Luckily—or maybe not—a friendly devil, dubbed Aloha, pops onto the scene, and he’s willing to make a deal: an extra day of life in exchange for being allowed to remove something pleasant from the world. The first thing excised is phones, which goes well enough. (The narrator is pleasantly surprised to find that “people seemed to have no problem finding something to fill up their free time.”) But deals with the devil do have a way of getting complicated. This leads to shallow musings (“Sometimes, when you rewatch a film after not having seen it for a long time, it makes a totally different impression on you than it did the first time you saw it. Of course, the movie hasn’t changed; it’s you who’s changed") written in prose so awkward, it’s possibly satire (“Tears dripped down onto the letter like warm, salty drops of rain”). Even the postman’s beloved cat, who gains the power of speech, ends up being prim and annoying. The narrator ponders feelings about a lost love, his late mother, and his estranged father in a way that some readers might find moving at times. But for many, whatever made this book a bestseller in Japan is going to be lost in translation.
Jonathan Livingston Kitty, it’s not.Pub Date: March 12, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-250-29405-0
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Flatiron Books
Review Posted Online: Feb. 16, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2019
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
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SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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