A fine introduction to a quintessentially British novelist who isn’t nearly well enough known Over Here.
With winning charm and wit, two-time Whitbread-winner Gardam (Queen of the Tambourine, 1995, etc.) explores the social and emotional climate of postwar England.
Gardam weaves together the stories of three village girls who, between the summers of 1946 and ’47, earn university scholarships and prepare to leave their former lives behind. Hetty Fallowes stages a hesitant rebellion against her mildly neurotic, maddeningly possessive mother. Una Vane flutters mothlike toward the flame of left-wing politics and the adventure of having a lower-class lover (a somewhat surly delivery boy). And Liselotte Klein, an orphaned German refugee delivered to England by the Kindertransport, tests her steely stoicism against the reflexive compassion of the Quakers who become her foster parents. Gardam moves among their experiences with sophisticated assurance, enriching the novel’s texture with memorable characterizations of the protagonists’ acquaintances and especially their elders, notably Hetty’s shell-shocked father, a traumatized war veteran who has become a philosophical gravedigger with a hilariously mordant sensibility, and her flighty, effusive mother, who’s simultaneously less and more than the smothering monster Hetty believes her to be. This is essentially familiar material (think Muriel Spark’s classic The Girls of Slender Means) redeemed by invigorating detail (especially the piecemeal portrayal of how wartime hardships were patiently endured) and an elegiac affection for the excesses and absurdities of youth on the puzzling, intimidating threshold of maturity. Gardam frames her story in dozens of crisp, brief scenes featuring deliciously dizzy conversation (“I’ve no belief in women with careers . . . It shrinks the womb”). Reading The Flight of the Maidens is a little like listening to your favorite dotty aunt rattle on about bygone days and absent friends: you shake your head in wonder and mild exasperation while the old girl effortlessly charms you.
A fine introduction to a quintessentially British novelist who isn’t nearly well enough known Over Here.Pub Date: July 1, 2001
ISBN: 0-7867-0879-4
Page Count: 288
Publisher: N/A
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 1, 2001
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
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
© Copyright 2025 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
Popular in this Genre
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
