Holy abstractions brightened by dollops of sex and violence.
Three novellas set in the author’s native Italy and connected by spiritual/religious themes of good and evil, love and redemption.
In the title story, Tamaro (Follow Your Heart, 1995, etc.) recounts a young girl’s downward slide after her mother’s death when the girl is eight. In her boarding school, she’s considered an orphan by the nuns until, several years later, a great-uncle and his wife become her guardians and she’s sent to visit them on her vacations. Unfortunately, unlike the kindly nuns, these relatives are cold and mercenary, their religion harsh. After various cruelties, the now-17-year-old drops out of school and works as a nanny for a teacher who treats her with real kindness and generosity. But the teacher’s husband takes advantage of her, then, to save face, accuses her of theft when she becomes pregnant. Having chosen to bear the child despite her unhappy past, she sits in the sun pondering good and evil. “Hell Does Not Exist” concerns a middle-aged woman whose recently deceased husband, a wealthy and educated man, showed a benevolent face to the world but was a viciously cruel husband and father. He despised his son Michelle for his sensitivity and his religious devotion; the story includes a long, almost unreadable letter from the saintly boy. After a violent argument, the man storms out of the house and, careening down the driveway in his car, accidentally strikes Michelle, killing him instantly. The woman can forgive neither him nor herself for her own weakness is staying married to such a man. The husband and father who narrates “The Burning Forest” killed his wife years earlier in an act of madness brought on by too much love when her growing independence (and religiosity) drove him toward a state of delusional paranoia. Redemption comes when his estranged daughter finally answers one of his letters.
Holy abstractions brightened by dollops of sex and violence.Pub Date: March 1, 2001
ISBN: 0-385-50351-2
Page Count: 224
Publisher: Nan A. Talese
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2002
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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