A timely yarn that, though a little obvious and a little clunky, makes for a provocative entertainment.
What if they gave a secession, and everybody came? Eco-activist McKibben (The Age of Missing Information, 1992, etc.) tries his hand at fiction, to mixed results.
There was a long-ago time, McKibben reminds his readers, when Vermont broke off from New York to form its own republic, which lasted for 14 years before it joined the U.S. So why not once again? It’s not as if the Berners would get the bomb. Instead, the independent Vermont dreamed of by old back-to-the-land-hippie protagonist Vern Barclay is a paradise of “Vermont milk, Vermont beer, Vermont music,” a place of a “free local economy, where neighbors make things for neighbors—and so they actually bother to give them some taste, body, and character.” It’s not just rhetoric; in a caper that opens McKibben’s yarn, secessionists hijack a Coors truck, explaining to the befuddled driver that since Vermont has “more breweries per capita than any place on earth,” there’s no real need for industrial beer from outside. That puts the secessionists on the wrong side of the law in a scene that could have come from Edward Abbey’s The Monkey Wrench Gang, of which McKibben’s book might just as well have been a lost sequel, suitably updated so that the insurrectionists drive Subaru Foresters, work around Asperger’s syndrome, and ponder the reality of the system (“maybe Garth Brooks was real, in his own mind”). As with Abbey’s book, McKibben’s players are symbols as much as characters, acting out an idea. It’s a fable, in other words, and it gets a little didactic at times. McKibben admits as much, writing in an author’s note that the message isn’t necessarily that the nation should splinter so much as that “when confronted by small men doing big and stupid things”—and we all know who he means—“we need to resist with all the creativity and wit we can muster.”
A timely yarn that, though a little obvious and a little clunky, makes for a provocative entertainment.Pub Date: Nov. 7, 2017
ISBN: 978-0-7352-1986-1
Page Count: 240
Publisher: Blue Rider Press
Review Posted Online: Aug. 20, 2017
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 2017
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
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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BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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