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THE FIRST PERSON AND OTHER STORIES

The willed spareness of the stories grows annoying, but at her best Smith is an original observer of the blessings and...

A collection of 12 smartly constructed observations of the way we think and write, from Whitbread Award–winning Scottish author Smith (The Accidental, 2006, etc.).

The book offers compellingly quirky demonstrations of how our imaginations react to ordinary people and everyday occurrences. For example, in “True Short Story,” an overheard conversation about the differences between the novel and the short story elicits complex counter-arguments and speculations from the narrator, who begins to consider the conversation’s relevance to her close friend’s painful treatment for cancer and to figures in Ovidian myth. In “No Exit,” the question of whether a movie theater’s “Exit” sign is actually a misdirection evokes the narrator’s fear, empathy and imaginative powers. In three companion stories that include the title piece, “The Second Person” and “The Third Person,” couples debate and fabricate possible future scenarios for their lives together and apart. Stories that employ essentially conventional plots range from a disappointingly undeveloped account of the confusions visited on the mother of a boy stricken with an undiagnosable debilitating illness (“I Know Something You Don’t Know”) and on the boy himself, to a virtually perfect Kafkaesque nightmare (“The Child”) in which a woman shopper finds her cart occupied by someone else’s baby, tries and fails to persuade others the child isn’t hers, then helplessly “adopts” it briefly—hearing from its precociously foul mouth a litany of misogynistic and racist abuse that vividly renders every would-be mother’s irrational fears about what she might be bringing into the world.

The willed spareness of the stories grows annoying, but at her best Smith is an original observer of the blessings and curses of living inside one’s imagination.

Pub Date: Jan. 6, 2009

ISBN: 978-0-307-37771-5

Page Count: 224

Publisher: Pantheon

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2008

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IF CATS DISAPPEARED FROM THE WORLD

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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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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