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NOTHING BUT WAVES AND WIND

Sacrificing clarity for a kind of lyricism, this meditation on American life and culture fails to convince.

A Frenchman visits a backwoods Oregon bar.

When the French narrator of Montalbetti’s (Western, 2009) latest novel arrives in Oregon, it isn’t clear what he’s doing there. Nor do his purposes ever become clear. “What was I thinking back then? Nothing in particular, I guess,” he tells us. “A chaotic mix of opposing sensations that I surrendered to, waiting for them to subside and vanish.” He stays in a motel and makes nightly visits to a run-down bar, where he meets a handful of men whose stories he gradually gleans. There’s Colter, who lost his house, wife, and family after losing his job. There’s Harry Dean, who works a farm where one day a visitor arrives, retracing the steps of Louis and Clark’s expedition. There’s Moses, who runs the bar and has hung behind the counter a photograph of himself as a frightened child. Their stories precede an act of violence, at the end, that the narrator theorizes was engendered by their surroundings: the ocean, “a furious, uncontrollable presence, an endless display of unfathomable anger” against which “they were powerless.” Montalbetti’s narrator rhapsodizes at length, throughout the novel, about that ocean—but those rhapsodies never quite convince. Nor do the characters. For a book about the sharing of stories, this one is strangely silent: the only voice we hear is the narrator’s, and though he talks a lot, we don’t learn much. His chatty asides (“So, as I was saying,” “I’ll get to him in a minute,” and so on) are more annoying than they are charming. Montalbetti’s intention might be, like de Tocqueville’s, to elucidate American life, to provide a kind of gloss. If so, she doesn’t achieve it. Neither her characters nor her setting are convincingly American. Nor does her ocean bear the weight of this narrative.

Sacrificing clarity for a kind of lyricism, this meditation on American life and culture fails to convince.

Pub Date: June 23, 2017

ISBN: 978-1-94315-018-2

Page Count: 216

Publisher: Dalkey Archive

Review Posted Online: May 1, 2017

Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 2017

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THE TESTAMENTS

Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.

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Atwood goes back to Gilead.

The Handmaid’s Tale (1985), consistently regarded as a masterpiece of 20th-century literature, has gained new attention in recent years with the success of the Hulu series as well as fresh appreciation from readers who feel like this story has new relevance in America’s current political climate. Atwood herself has spoken about how news headlines have made her dystopian fiction seem eerily plausible, and it’s not difficult to imagine her wanting to revisit Gilead as the TV show has sped past where her narrative ended. Like the novel that preceded it, this sequel is presented as found documents—first-person accounts of life inside a misogynistic theocracy from three informants. There is Agnes Jemima, a girl who rejects the marriage her family arranges for her but still has faith in God and Gilead. There’s Daisy, who learns on her 16th birthday that her whole life has been a lie. And there's Aunt Lydia, the woman responsible for turning women into Handmaids. This approach gives readers insight into different aspects of life inside and outside Gilead, but it also leads to a book that sometimes feels overstuffed. The Handmaid’s Tale combined exquisite lyricism with a powerful sense of urgency, as if a thoughtful, perceptive woman was racing against time to give witness to her experience. That narrator hinted at more than she said; Atwood seemed to trust readers to fill in the gaps. This dynamic created an atmosphere of intimacy. However curious we might be about Gilead and the resistance operating outside that country, what we learn here is that what Atwood left unsaid in the first novel generated more horror and outrage than explicit detail can. And the more we get to know Agnes, Daisy, and Aunt Lydia, the less convincing they become. It’s hard, of course, to compete with a beloved classic, so maybe the best way to read this new book is to forget about The Handmaid’s Tale and enjoy it as an artful feminist thriller.

Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.

Pub Date: Sept. 10, 2019

ISBN: 978-0-385-54378-1

Page Count: 432

Publisher: Nan A. Talese

Review Posted Online: Sept. 3, 2019

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2019

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THINGS FALL APART

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

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