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GREGORIUS

Will likely be lost on most American readers.

In his first English-language publication, award-winning Swedish author Ohlsson responds to Hjalmar Söderberg’s 1905 classic, Doctor Glas, by taking on the voice of its villain.

Söderberg’s novel is narrated by a conflicted doctor who crosses ethical boundaries to help a young woman, Helga, escape her abusive husband, a cantankerous clergyman named Gregorius old enough to be her grandfather. Ultimately Doctor Glas wins the pastor’s trust and poisons him, allowing Helga the freedom to pursue her lover. Ohlsson tells the story from Gregorius’s perspective, creating a psychological study more than twice the length of the 1905 work. In this version, Gregorius is pathetic rather than tyrannical, and his attempts to dominate Helga sexually and emotionally are tragic stabs at reclaiming his quickly fading powers. Gregorius justifies the infatuation that began when Helga was just ten years old by expressing disappointment at his inability to have a child of his own. In what will prove to be the last summer of his life, he is candid about the infantilization caused by aging and his fear of death. When he begins to suspect that Helga has been unfaithful, his rage is rooted in his own insecurity and his fear that he will die with only God’s love. Ohlsson’s humanization of a great literary monster is almost Nabokovian; the genius of his novel lies in its deliberate contrast to Söderberg’s original depiction of an utterly repulsive old man with no redeeming qualities. The revisionist retelling of classics has spurned some great works of modern fiction, but Doctor Glas is not exactly Beowulf or Jane Eyre; Ohlsson’s careful experiment in intertexual dialogue and literary interpretation seems unlikely to garner the same level of attention—at least not from Western audiences—as Grendel (1971) or Wide Sargasso Sea (1966).

Will likely be lost on most American readers.

Pub Date: May 1, 2008

ISBN: 978-0-393-06652-4

Page Count: 432

Publisher: Norton

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2008

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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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