An inventive exploration of the place where love, chance, expectations and ambitions intersect in the city that never sleeps.
A novel within a novel spanning one eventful spring day in New York.
There’s nothing special about Larry Bloom, a city tour guide, aspiring novelist and loser in love. As the novel begins, he laments that “there hasn’t been a civil rights movement for the nondescript and homely people of the world.” On the flip side is the object of Larry’s affection, Starshine Hart, whose physical beauty shines. Larry has written a novel for and about Starshine, from her perspective, an imagined narrative about the day he will reveal his love for her as well as the existence of his book and—with luck—the fact that it is to be published. Everything hinges on the contents of the letter from Stroop & Stone, Publishers, which Larry picks up in the book’s opening pages and tucks away to open later. At first, the structure of Appel’s (The Man Who Wouldn’t Stand Up, 2012, etc.) novel—the purportedly real-time adventures of Larry interwoven with chapters from Larry’s book—seems a familiar approach in emulation of John Irving (The World According to Garp, 1978), Kurt Vonnegut (Mother Night, 1961, Slaughterhouse-Five, 1969, etc.) or Margaret Atwood (The Blind Assassin, 2000). What’s different here, though, is that the “real world” action and the fictional events of Larry’s novel are taking place on the same day and that all of the events and musings from each narrative thread will somehow have to come together at day’s end, in a real-world conclusion, when Larry and Starshine have their date. To read the book—to separate out the “fact” of Larry’s story from the “fiction” of the book about Starshine and to realize that all we learn of Starshine is filtered through Larry’s romantic and novelistic ambitions—is to undergo an exercise in what Appel describes, in the question-and-answer section at the end of the book, as postmodern romance: “hyper-aware, ambivalent, fragmented.” Interwoven plot points—things Larry couldn’t possibly have known about in order to have written about them in advance—further stress the fact that readers’ understanding of time, cause and effect is fragmented and partial at best. Still, Appel’s clever, evocative prose deftly navigates the story’s witty dialogue, high drama and only occasionally overblown imagery.
An inventive exploration of the place where love, chance, expectations and ambitions intersect in the city that never sleeps.Pub Date: Oct. 7, 2013
ISBN: 978-0975374689
Page Count: 234
Publisher: Elephant Rock Books
Review Posted Online: Jan. 11, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2014
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.
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
SEEN & HEARD
BOOK TO SCREEN
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.
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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