Published in Esquire in the mid-1970's but never before in book form, here are the three extant chapters from Capote's notorious, never-finished "non-fiction novel" about his society/literary friends—part roman á clef, part naked gossip using real names. (A fourth chapter, "Mojave," was cut from the novel and published separately in Music for Chameleons, his final collection.) All three pieces are narrated circa 1971 by 35-ish P.B. Jones—a composite portrait (including some Capote) of the ultimate bisexual writer/hustler/gigolo, impish and languid and bitchy. In "Unspoiled Monsters," P.B. recounts his climb from St. Louis orphanage to teen-age "Hershey Bar whore" ("there wasn't much I wouldn't do for a nickel's worth of chocolate") to New York—where he gets published via sex with Turner Boatwright, fiction editor of a women's fashion magazine; from there he moves on to opportunistic liaisons with legendary Southern writer Alice Lee Langman ("a relentless bedroom back-seat driver"), drug-addict Denny Fouts in Paris ("Best-Kept Boy in the World" of Isherwood fame), et al.—but ends up penniless back in NY, reduced to working as a professional whore for Miss Victoria Self's "Self Service." (Among his clients: a thinly disguised Tennessee Williams—in the grotesque, pathetic version that's now familiar, thanks to Dotson Rader and others.) Then, in "Kate McCloud," P.B. recalls his first meeting with reclusive beauty Kate—"goddess of the fashion press," ex-wife of a mad young society scion, current estranged wife of an old billionaire German industrialist; P.B. is hired to be Kate's masseur/bodyguard (the German hubby may be out to kill her), there's great erotic tension. . .but the story remains incomplete. Finally, in the infamous "La Cote Basque," P.B. recalls a lunch date at that restaurant: a nonstop gossip-a-thon, including overheard conversation from the nearby table occupied by Gloria Vanderbilt and Mrs. Walter Matthau (an unflattering duo-portrait). Along, the way, P.B. delivers (or hears) nasty tidbits about bygone celebs—Barbara Hutton, Dorothy Parker, Montgomery Clift, Tallulah, Cole Porter, Peggy Guggenheim, Natalie Barney—as well as some still living; (Ned Rorem is "an intolerable combination of brimstone behavior and sell-righteous piety.") So, though dated, this is an undeniable source of slimy scuttlebutt—especially for those able, or interested enough, to decode the clefs. And, along with the malicious eloquence and an unprecedented ribaldry (sometimes exuberant, sometimes just gross), there are glimmers of Capote's storytelling talent. But the overall effect, somewhat wearying even at novella length, is shiny and shallow—with nothing to suggest that a completed Answered Prayers would have been anything like a masterpiece.
Pub Date: Sept. 21, 1987
ISBN: 0679751823
Page Count: 216
Publisher: Random House
Review Posted Online: Oct. 10, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 1987
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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
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
© Copyright 2025 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
Popular in this Genre
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
