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MANAZURU

Evocative, original exploration of grief—more of a journey than a destination, with plot almost beside the point.

In this debut novel from Japanese writer Kawakami, a Tokyo woman coping with the mysterious loss of her husband finds herself suddenly drawn to a small fishing village.

Kei, the 40-something narrator of this dreamlike novel, has made a life for herself that appears solid, even as her thoughts show it is anything but. A writer, she shares an apartment with her mother and an increasingly distant teenage daughter named Momo. She is also in a long-term relationship with a married man, Seiji, who actually seems more into Kei than she into him. That could be because 12 years earlier Rei, the man she loved, vanished, leaving her and Momo alone. What role, if any, Kei had in his disappearance remains vague, as if Kei herself is unsure of it. Was it another woman? Foul play? Either way, she has on some level shut herself off emotionally. Feeling restless one day, however, she spontaneously gets on a train and ends up in Manazuru, a sleepy seaside burg. There she feels herself “followed” by spiritlike presences and not for the first time. One of these apparitions, a chatty woman, seems especially interested in Kei. Kei in turn wonders if this spirit can help her uncover whatever happened to Rei and maybe even contact him on the other side. Whether or not the spirit woman is real, or a part of Kei’s subconscious, remains a central question. Kei keeps going back, and her buried memories of Rei blend with disturbing and beautiful visions. And it soon becomes clear, as Kei is drawn deeper and deeper into this quest for closure, that she runs the risk of losing herself—as well as the people who care most for her. Subtly compelling, Kawakami’s novel interestingly blends whodunit, travelogue and a dash of tasteful eroticism.

Evocative, original exploration of grief—more of a journey than a destination, with plot almost beside the point.

Pub Date: Sept. 1, 2010

ISBN: 978-1-58243-600-5

Page Count: 224

Publisher: Counterpoint

Review Posted Online: July 21, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2010

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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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