Superlative fiction. It’s good to have Schnitzler back among us.
An examination of psychological and psychosexual extremities by one of the masters: bleak, accomplished tales—icy, penetrating, and uncomfortably memorable.
Austrian physician, playwright, and novelist Schnitzler (1862–1931), whose equally polished short stories were revived in this publisher’s 2002 sampling Night Games, was one of the earliest writers to employ the stream-of-consciousness technique: in his hands, it’s an instrument of clinical precision. A brilliant early example is “Dying” (1892), which records the final months, then days endured by Felix, a hitherto healthy young man whose doctor (correctly) tells him that he has but a year to live. Schnitzler coolly charts the emotional odyssey undergone by Felix, his devoted lover Marie, and the aforementioned physician (who’s also Felix’s close friend) Alfred. Translator Schaefer’s excellent foreword persuasively links this story’s preoccupation with last things to the “cult of death” rampant in late 19th-century Vienna. “Dying” is a moving work, and an impressive harbinger of such greater achievements as “Flight into Darkness” (1909; published 1931), a harrowing study in paranoia and schizophrenia, whose protagonist Robert virtually wills his way into madness, succumbing to a comprehensive “anxiety” that makes presumed enemies of his fiancée, his brother Otto (a doctor), and even casual acquaintances. Critics have suspected autobiographical relevance in this truly eerie narrative, to which further levels of tension are added by its narrator’s vacillating closeness to, and understanding of, both Otto’s forbearance and the doomed Robert’s accelerating instability. Even better is “Fräulein Else” (1925), an extended monologue (which inspired a famous silent film) whose eponymous speaker is an emotional 19-year-old girl betrayed by her family. Her father’s gambling debts oblige the virginal Else to abase herself before “an old lecher in order to save a good-for-nothing from jail.” This extraordinary portrayal of psychic shock and disintegration is, simply, one of the great modern short novels.
Superlative fiction. It’s good to have Schnitzler back among us.Pub Date: Oct. 24, 2003
ISBN: 1-56663-542-X
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Ivan Dee/Rowman & Littlefield
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 1, 2003
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
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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