Tepper isn’t quite in full control here—there are several elaborations too many—but what she offers is less a book than an...
Hypercomplicated, animal-centered SF saga from the author of The Visitor (2002), etc.
By the 28th century, IGY-HFO, a religious-political group espousing human domination as a god-given right, rules Earth—meaning that there’s no longer room for animals. Under the Law of Return, all humans born elsewhere may return to Earth (the colony worlds pay huge bribes to Earth politicians to ensure that the law is maintained) while millions of “concs,” artificial humanoids of limited intelligence but useful as toys, are permitted—and nobody seems to know where they come from. Jewel Delis, a secret arkist (arkists buy suitable planetoids as refuges for the animals banned on Earth) works as a gofer for her sociopathic genius-linguist brother Paul—and she’s also involved with people who’ve secretly bred a bigger, longer-lived variety of dog: creatures smart enough to talk. Paul’s latest job will be on planet Moss, where supposed intelligent natives appear as weird insubstantial lights. Jewel agrees to join him, so long as she can take the dogs along. On Moss, Jewel will find among other things that the “native” Mossen aren’t beings at all, but messages: the true native willogs can’t see, hear, or speak. She’ll also discover human survivors from a ship that crashed centuries before, fall into a metadimension called Splendor that may be the gateway to paradise, and stumble across a deadly power struggle involving humans and several alien species. Nothing, of course, is ever what it appears to be.
Tepper isn’t quite in full control here—there are several elaborations too many—but what she offers is less a book than an absorbing, joyous, enveloping, sometimes all-but-overwhelming experience.Pub Date: Sept. 2, 2003
ISBN: 0-06-053821-X
Page Count: 464
Publisher: Eos/HarperCollins
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2003
It's being called a novel, but it is more a hybrid: short-stories/essays/confessions about the Vietnam War—the subject that O'Brien reasonably comes back to with every book. Some of these stories/memoirs are very good in their starkness and factualness: the title piece, about what a foot soldier actually has on him (weights included) at any given time, lends a palpability that makes the emotional freight (fear, horror, guilt) correspond superbly. Maybe the most moving piece here is "On The Rainy River," about a draftee's ambivalence about going, and how he decided to go: "I would go to war—I would kill and maybe die—because I was embarrassed not to." But so much else is so structurally coy that real effects are muted and disadvantaged: O'Brien is writing a book more about earnestness than about war, and the peekaboos of this isn't really me but of course it truly is serve no true purpose. They make this an annoyingly arty book, hiding more than not behind Hemingwayesque time-signatures and puerile repetitions about war (and memory and everything else, for that matter) being hell and heaven both. A disappointment.
Pub Date: March 28, 1990
ISBN: 0618706410
Page Count: 256
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin
Review Posted Online: Oct. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 1990
SEEN & HEARD
IN THE NEWS
SEEN & HEARD
Carefully worked tales that are as good as many and better than most.
A first collection from Irish-born Keegan spans the Atlantic, touching down in rural Ireland and the southern US—with results often familiar or stretched-for, yet deftly done and alluringly readable.
In the title story, a happily married woman wants to find out what it’s like to have sex with someone else—and does so indeed, in a psychological clunker that crosses Hitchcock with O. Henry while remaining ever-intriguing to the eye. A near-wizardry of language and detail, too, closes the volume, with “The Ginger Rogers Sermon,” when a pubescent girl in Ireland, sexually curious, brings about the suicide of a hulking lumberman in a tone-perfect but morally inert story. In between are longer and shorter, greater and lesser tales. Among the better are “Men and Women,” about a suffering Irish farmwife who at last rebels against a cruelly domineering husband; the southern-set “Ride If You Dare,” about a couple who shyly meet after running personals ads; and “Stay Close to the Water’s Edge,” about a Harvard student who despises—and is despised by—his millionaire stepfather. Psychologically more thin or commonplace are “Storms,” told by an Irish daughter whose mother went mad; “Where the Water’s Deepest,” a snippet about an au pair afraid of “losing” her charge; or “The Singing Cashier”—based on fact, we’re rather pointlessly told—about a couple who, unbeknownst to their neighbors, commit “hideous acts on teenage girls.” Keegan’s best include the more maturely conceived “Passport Soup,” about a man devoured by guilt and grief after his daughter goes missing while in his care; “Quare Name for a Boy,” in which a young woman, pregnant by a single-fling boyfriend whom she no longer has an interest in, determines that she’ll go on into motherhood without him; and the nicely sustained “Sisters”—one dutiful and plain, the other lovely and self-indulgent—who come to a symbolically perfect end.
Carefully worked tales that are as good as many and better than most.Pub Date: July 1, 2001
ISBN: 0-87113-779-8
Page Count: 208
Publisher: Atlantic Monthly
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 2001
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