PORTRAIT OF A MAN KNOWN AS IL CONDOTTIERE

Name: PORTRAIT OF A MAN KNOWN AS IL CONDOTTIERE
Author: Georges Perec
ISBN: 978-0-226-05425-4

by Georges Perec ; translated by David Bellos ‧ RELEASE DATE: April 6, 2015

The translation is pleasingly idiomatic, the translator’s introduction illuminating. Perec’s yarn, though, will largely be...

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“Leonardo is dead, Antonello is dead, and I’m not feeling too well myself.” Thus we read in French experimentalist Perec’s long-forgotten, rejected debut, now rescued from the dustbin of literary history.

One sympathizes with the Gallimard editor who turned the book down nearly 60 years ago for its “excessive clumsiness and chatter.” Though there’s no real sign of the Oulipo extravagance that would follow, there’s plenty of busy wordplay, a plot that’s not always coherent, and a curiously doubled narrative that turns from internal monologue, complete with bursts of furious paddling down the stream of consciousness (“A single movement and then curtains....One thrust would be enough....His arm raised, the glint of the blade...a single movement”), to more or less ordinary expository prose, though always with a twist. (Or a thrust, for that matter.) The plot, as it is, is fairly slender: A well-born young man with mad skills and loose ethics meets up with an art forger and goes to work revising the history of the Renaissance, churning out an occasional impressionist masterpiece in the bargain, while keeping his cover working the legit side of the art world. Naturally, young Gaspard soon aspires to outdo himself, creating a supposedly unknown work by an Italian master that will be the glory of his career—and accepted at once as the real goods. Blood figures into the plot, as does then Communist Yugoslavia. Not surprisingly, given the time of composition, there are some Camus-ian moments (“Nothing is easy. Nothing is quick. Everything is wrong.”). There are also plenty of loose threads, befitting a work that recounts “the double, triple, quadruple game of a fake artist pastiching his own pastiche.”

The translation is pleasingly idiomatic, the translator’s introduction illuminating. Perec’s yarn, though, will largely be of interest to students of postwar French literature and social history, who will find that it makes a nice if not especially memorable puzzle.

Pub Date: April 6, 2015

ISBN: 978-0-226-05425-4

Page Count: 144

Publisher: Univ. of Chicago

Review Posted Online: Jan. 28, 2015

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 15, 2015

Categories:

LITERARY FICTION

- BOOK REVIEW
'53 DAYS'
by Georges Perec & translated by David Bellos & edited by Harry Mathews & Jacques Roubaud

- BOOK REVIEW
A VOID
by Georges Perec

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THE HANDMAID'S TALE

by Margaret Atwood ‧ RELEASE DATE: Feb. 17, 1985

Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.

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The time is the not-so-distant future, when the US's spiraling social freedoms have finally called down a reaction, an Iranian-style repressive "monotheocracy" calling itself the Republic of Gilead—a Bible-thumping, racist, capital-punishing, and misogynistic rule that would do away with pleasure altogether were it not for one thing: that the Gileadan women, pure and true (as opposed to all the nonbelieving women, those who've ever been adulterous or married more than once), are found rarely fertile.

Thus are drafted a whole class of "handmaids," whose function is to bear the children of the elite, to be fecund or else (else being certain death, sent out to be toxic-waste removers on outlying islands). The narrative frame for Atwood's dystopian vision is the hopeless private testimony of one of these surrogate mothers, Offred ("of" plus the name of her male protector). Lying cradled by the body of the barren wife, being meanwhile serviced by the husband, Offred's "ceremony" must be successful—if she does not want to join the ranks of the other disappeared (which include her mother, her husband—dead—and small daughter, all taken away during the years of revolt). One Of her only human conduits is a gradually developing affair with her master's chauffeur—something that's balanced more than offset, though, by the master's hypocritically un-Puritan use of her as a kind of B-girl at private parties held by the ruling men in a spirit of nostalgia and lust. This latter relationship, edging into real need (the master's), is very effectively done; it highlights the handmaid's (read Everywoman's) eternal exploitation, profane or sacred ("We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices"). Atwood, to her credit, creates a chillingly specific, imaginable night-mare. The book is short on characterization—this is Atwood, never a warm writer, at her steeliest—and long on cynicism—it's got none of the human credibility of a work such as Walker Percy's Love In The Ruins. But the scariness is visceral, a world that's like a dangerous and even fatal grid, an electrified fence.

Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.

Pub Date: Feb. 17, 1985

ISBN: 038549081X

Page Count: -

Publisher: Houghton Mifflin

Review Posted Online: Sept. 16, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 1985

Categories:

LITERARY FICTION

- BOOK REVIEW
FOURTEEN DAYS
edited by Margaret Atwood & Douglas Preston

- BOOK REVIEW
OLD BABES IN THE WOOD
by Margaret Atwood

- BOOK REVIEW
BURNING QUESTIONS
by Margaret Atwood

- PERSPECTIVES
Appreciations: Margaret Atwood’s Novel The Handmaid’s Tale Turns 30

- SEEN & HEARD
Nan A. Talese, Legendary Publisher, Is Retiring

- BOOK TO SCREEN
Teasers Drop for ‘Shadow and Bone,’ Other Films

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THE SECRET HISTORY

by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992

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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.