The position of Yasha Mazur in nineteenth century Poland was doubly anomalous: as a prestidigitator, hypnotist, and tight rope performer, par excellence, he mingled with and was acclaimed by every level of society and at the same time consigned to the statusless ranks of the bohemian; as a half-Jew he suffered all the restrictions placed on non-Gentiles in that society without enjoying the spiritual security the ghetto provided observant Jews. Brilliant and magnetic, Yasha finds solace in the women who love him—his wife, his partner, a prostitute, and, finally, a cultured Christian widow. And then his solace turns into his purgatory as he allows his love for the widow to develop into a serious relationship which demands that he upset the balance of his life, abandon his other obligations, and go with her. Yasha's complex infidelities, the inevitable by-product of his search for inner coherence, lead to a suicide. Overpowered with guilt, Yasha abandons the art at which he excels, returns to his wife and the Jewish community, and walled up in an improvised cell, lives the repentant life of the hermit, a spiritual source of strength for his neighbors, who, still convinced of his magic properties, seek council from him. This well written novel represents a departure from the more familiar literature of Eastern European Jewry in that Yasha spans two societies, wrestling with the angels of both. He is a ghetto Jew, strongly influenced by the standards of that society, and yet he is a modern man, attached to order, form, and tradition by only the most casual links. Almost a parable, Yasha of Lublin will have intense sympathizers, primarily among Jewish readers.
Pub Date: May 1, 1960
ISBN: 0374532540
Page Count: 256
Publisher: Noonday
Review Posted Online: Oct. 4, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 1960
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.
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
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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