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NAMES ON A MAP

Sáenz deftly captures a mood, but his obsession with introspection bloats the family story.

A sweeping epic about the choices a Mexican-American El Paso family makes during the Vietnam War.

Sáenz (In Perfect Light, 2005, etc.) uses the Espejo family to explore the effect of war on immigrant America, with characters alternating perspectives on the war in short, often overly lyrical chapters. Octavio, the patriarch, is an intellectual striving to instill pride and love of learning in his family. Meanwhile, his wife, Lourdes, is concerned with what will become of her children, part of a generation on the cusp of upheaval. Octavio is at odds, in particular, with his oldest son, Gustavo, a popular rebel with little respect for authority and an easy ability to create trouble at every turn—especially for schoolmates who disagree with his politics. Much to Gustavo’s chagrin, his beautiful twin sister, Xochil, has fallen in love with one of his enemies, and she struggles between her loyalties to her brother and her own ideas and feelings. Meanwhile, a soldier in Da Nang who knew Xochil keeps her in his thoughts as a way of coping with the destruction and death he is forced to witness every day. And Gustavo and Xochil’s younger brother, Charlie, unnerved by the changes taking place in his world, takes solace in maps and globes, feeling secure only when he knows exactly where his beloved family members are. Charlie is right to be concerned—over the course of 1967, his beloved grandmother Rosario finally succumbs to the illness that has kept her bedridden. And when Gustavo gets his draft card, he defies his parents and sister and runs off to Mexico, his ancestral homeland. With both Rosario and Gustavo gone, the family must figure out where they stand, and if they will be able to come together as a unit.

Sáenz deftly captures a mood, but his obsession with introspection bloats the family story.

Pub Date: Feb. 5, 2008

ISBN: 978-0-06-128569-1

Page Count: 448

Publisher: Perennial/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 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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