Predictable soap, laden with psychobabble and silly clichés about relationships.
Neglected wife finds new love, in a glum tale by the author of Hawke’s Cove (2000), etc.
Cleo Grayson McCarthy, midlist novelist and middle-aged mother of two, flees her family for the mountains of New Hampshire in order to finish her manuscript. Sean, her insurance-agent mate, is a workaholic; he won’t miss her much, and she’s still sulking about the brief affair he had a while back. Cleo figures that her children, Tim and Lily, are old enough to do without her for a summer—besides, it’s high time Sean did his share of parenting. A lesbian pal lends her a lakeside cabin, and Cleo settles in, laptop and binoculars at the ready. Ostensibly birdwatching, she spots a sexy neighbor hanging out his faded jeans to dry. What, no wife? Actually, Ben Turner, a composer, was married once, according to local gossip. Cleo makes his acquaintance, and, little by little, they trade life stories. She, the only child of hard-drinking, upper-class WASPs, has never had much fun. Sean is attracted to stupid younger women, her children love (gasp) spongy white bread. Moreover, although Sean’s boisterous Irish-American family practically adopted shy Cleo, she doesn’t trust his mother, Alice, who tolerated her own husband’s philandering and once advised her to do the same. Cleo is not so inclined, however, when Sean dumps the kids with her in New Hampshire and pretends he’s working late every night. She enrolls Tim and Lily in summer camp and finds herself spending even more time with Ben. Turns out that his young wife, Talia, comatose after a diving accident, is slowly dying in a nursing home near Cameo Lake. Grieving, guilt-stricken Ben, a former rock star, composes advertising jingles to pay for her care. Will Sean stop fooling around with his succulent secretary? Will Talia die and leave Ben free to love again? Will Cleo ever stop whining? At the close, she’s virtually swept away by Mahler’s Fifth and Ben’s deeply moving “new, never performed concerto.”
Predictable soap, laden with psychobabble and silly clichés about relationships.Pub Date: July 1, 2001
ISBN: 0-7434-1276-1
Page Count: 272
Publisher: Pocket
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 2001
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
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
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