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TO ERR IS DIVINE

A sharp and biting satire of the new face of Eastern Europe: a bestseller in Hungary and Germany that deserves a good run...

Second novel but first US appearance for Hungarian author Bozai: a witty tale that imagines the travails that befall a middle-aged atheist schoolteacher who finds herself crowned with a halo.

Anna Levay is one of those timid, gray souls who inhabit the faculty lounges of public schools across the globe. Thrifty (of necessity), diligent, and prudent, she is the sort of woman who allows herself the luxury of nothing but bath salts. Why? Because a colleague from the physics department once told her that the suds insulate the water and help conserve heat. The comfortable routine of her life is changed when she emerges from the tub one night to discover a nimbus of light encircling her head. After convincing herself that it is not a hallucination (which takes some time), she carefully takes the halo’s temperature (to make sure it is not hot enough to start a fire) and goes to bed. The next morning it’s still there—stranger still, no one else except babies and animals can see it. Anna tries to go about her life as usual, hoping that her delusion will eventually subside. Fat chance. A series of strange events, all somehow linked to Anna, begin to occur in her small coastal town. Fish jump out of the water and ground themselves. Unexplained healings take place in the river nearby. Anna begins involuntarily to quote long passages from the Bible in the middle of everyday conversations. The corrupt mayor (an ex-Communist turned entrepreneur) and his sidekick, a venal neurologist, are concerned. They had grandiose and lucrative plans to turn the city into a world-class tourist attraction but now find themselves swamped with a tidal influx of sick and handicapped pilgrims. Lourdes is not the kind of resort the mayor had in mind. So he and the neurologist conspire to get Anna put quietly out of the way. Will she go quietly? Never underestimate the staying power of tenured faculty.

A sharp and biting satire of the new face of Eastern Europe: a bestseller in Hungary and Germany that deserves a good run over here.

Pub Date: June 28, 2004

ISBN: 1-58243-277-5

Page Count: 256

Publisher: Counterpoint

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 2004

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THE SECRET HISTORY

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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CIRCE

Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.

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A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.

“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.

Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.

Pub Date: April 10, 2018

ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7

Page Count: 400

Publisher: Little, Brown

Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018

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