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FLESH

A witty first novel in which an English professor recounts his fascination with a charismatic colleague's sexual obsession (big women) and the depths to which it leads them both. When history professor Max Finster moves in next door to Don and Susan Shapiro in Oxford, Miss.—sporting two bikes, lots of bungee cords, and an arrogant air—it changes their quiet lives forever. The Shapiros graciously fix him up with a friend, and things seem to go well until Don notices that Max is perpetually on the look-out for a new—and preferably even larger—woman. As Max successfully (and sometimes literally) bounces from woman to woman, each one bigger than her predecessor, Don begins to live vicariously through him, even going so far as to drill a peephole into Max's bedroom. Don draws away from Susan, and their sex life suffers: His fantasies are of the seductive Max and Max's hefty girlfriends, not of his own trim wife. Don's involvement with Max's fetishism reaches its height when he introduces Max to his dream woman, a ``bulky Brunhilda'' named Maxine, and then eagerly awaits their titillating bungee-aided sex in the rigged bedroom. Although Susan calls him to bed before he can fully witness the ensuing scene, it's described later, a shocking yet fitting surprise and a skillful bit of black humor. Through Don, a genially dry narrator, Galef pays amusing, lyrical, and respectful tribute to large women and highlights our society's preoccupation with weight. The author declines to pinpoint any single reason for Max's desire to be enveloped in female flesh, thus avoiding simplistic explanations. Some of the secondary characters only clutter up the background, and Don's narration occasionally loses its sharp focus, but these are minor faults. Well written and cleverly executed.

Pub Date: April 1, 1995

ISBN: 1-877946-55-9

Page Count: 255

Publisher: Permanent Press

Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 1995

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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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