Deliberately excessive, Wilson’s latest lacks artistic coherence but does offer a feast for music lovers.
Winnie is Richard Wagner’s daughter-in-law; Wolf is Hitler. Their relationship is just one item in this fact/fiction hybrid, an appealing grab bag of impressions of the Bayreuth Festival, the Weimar Republic and much more.
There are three strands in the latest narrative from Wilson (Betjeman, 2006, etc.). The first dips into Wagner’s life while examining his major operas. The second is the relationship of Winnie and Wolf between 1923 and 1939. The third is the narrator’s story. N (no name vouchsafed) starts work as clerical assistant to Siegfried (Fidi) Wagner in Bayreuth in 1924. A young German with musician parents, he is quite bland beside the larger-than-life Fidi and his wife Winnie. Festival director Fidi was a flamboyant homosexual. Fearing scandal, his mother Cosima, Wagner’s widow, arranged his marriage to the teen orphan Winnie, and he surprisingly sired four children before his death in 1930, when Winnie became director. We see her through the eyes of the helplessly smitten N, a not altogether reliable narrator. Winnie is a bundle of contradictions, a fervent Nazi in love with Hitler, but a good-hearted woman who refuses to connect Hitler to his Jew-baiting street thugs. As for Hitler, N first sees him benevolently (he’s marvelous with the Wagner children); the scales fall from his eyes after he meets Helga, his Communist girlfriend. N conjectures the two were briefly lovers and had an unacknowledged love child; once married, he and Helga will adopt her. Wilson revels in contradictions, in Wagner’s work as well as in his protagonists, while celebrating Wagner as “a free creative spirit,” not shackled to any ideology. It’s a measure of the work’s idiosyncrasy that it’s not Wolf and Winnie but Richard and Cosima who, in the dying widow’s memory, enter the Wagnerian Venusberg, while Hitler’s greatest coup involves the set design for the opera Parsifal.
Deliberately excessive, Wilson’s latest lacks artistic coherence but does offer a feast for music lovers.Pub Date: Nov. 18, 2008
ISBN: 978-0-374-29096-2
Page Count: 368
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2008
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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