by Eugen Ruge ; translated by Anthea Bell ‧ RELEASE DATE: Nov. 1, 2016
At times ruefully hilarious and absurd, this slight, philosophical book will humor anyone who’s ever questioned his or her...
In German Book Prize winner Ruge’s (In Times of Fading Light, 2013) new novel, a writer abandons his life in Berlin and embarks on a journey toward self-realization.
In the wake of his mother’s death and the fall of the Berlin Wall, Ruge’s unnamed narrator finds himself deeply discontent with the mind-numbing monotony of his life. He’s 40, exists generally in solitude, and can’t seem to cut ties with his ex-girlfriend Karolin, whom he dated for 10 years. After being cajoled into watching Karolin’s daughter (whose father, ostensibly, is not him) on New Year’s Eve, our narrator decides it’s time to leave Berlin and finally start that novel he’s been meaning to write. The next morning, “like a man venturing into the street for the first time after a long sickness,” he departs to Barcelona and, from there, takes an overnight bus to the titular Cabo de Gata, a village on the southeast coast of Andalusia (a word which he, heretofore, always thought fondly of as “A kind of fantastic adjective meaning wonderful or enchanting”). Suffice it to say, it’s no paradise. To his dismay, he’s dropped off in a ghost town complete with shoddy architecture, a few vacant bars, and a promenade overrun by gangs of cats and dogs. But after a few peculiar encounters on the beach—involving a deceased hermit crab and a flock of synchronized birds hunting for food—he decides to stay for more than just one night and eventually acquiesces to the simpler lifestyle of Cabo de Gata. And the fact that he’s largely ignored by the locals only makes him more emboldened by his anonymity. The tone of the novel shifts and gradually becomes darker when our narrator meets an elusive ginger tabby cat that takes to him and also eerily reminds him of his mother. With colloquial prose and sardonic wit, Ruge eruditely captures his narrator’s precarious reality and creates a world that’s a pleasure to observe and meander through.
At times ruefully hilarious and absurd, this slight, philosophical book will humor anyone who’s ever questioned his or her place in this unforgiving universe.Pub Date: Nov. 1, 2016
ISBN: 9781555977573
Page Count: 120
Publisher: Graywolf
Review Posted Online: Aug. 8, 2016
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 2016
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BOOK REVIEW
by Eugen Ruge ; translated by Anthea Bell
by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992
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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by Donna Tartt
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by Donna Tartt
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SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
by Madeline Miller ‧ RELEASE DATE: April 10, 2018
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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