by Louise Erdrich ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 12, 1988
Erdrich keeps to her cast of rich Chippewa characters here—Pillagers, Kashpawa, Lazarres: familiar to readers of both Love Medicine and The Beet Queen—but has placed them chronologically before the setting of those other novels. It's at a period (1912-24) that sees the death knell of their most natural Indian identity, thanks to famine and economic rapaciousness and the pressures of missionary Christianity. Two narrators hold sway here: one is Nanapush—an old but still sapid man, in touch with the throngs of dead all around him in the woods near the sacred lake Matchimanito (the most striking poetry of the ever-lyrically inventive Erdrich is this book's frequent and moving invocation of the spirits as milling within sight of the living—a seamlessness of states), and desperately trying to hold on before the lumber interests come and buy his land for nothing from him. Holding on is all but impossible, though—for there is no food: the Chippewa are dying like flies, and pittances matter. If Nanapush is the totem of the book, his antipode is mixed-blooded Pauline, at book's end a nun but until then ablaze with sexual jealousy and torment. Her chief nettle is Fleur Pillager, widely believed to be a water-witch, whose ease in love and revenge and self-confidence makes her a frighteningly awesome presence to most men and women. Erdrich's prose is rich, her imagination remarkably agile (paragraphs take strange jerky turns, rarely going where you thought they might), her sympathy and unsentimentality striking—yet this is a diffuse book, one lacking a core—either of emblem, as in Love Medicine, or screwy, heartbreaking story, as in The Beet Queen. If you've read those others, you'll read this too—its pages about the famine are unforgettable—but in a mood of generality, of taking in characters we're told are extraordinary but are rarely shown as such. Not the best Erdrich, in other words, but a block nonetheless in her quite special ongoing oeuvre.
Pub Date: Sept. 12, 1988
ISBN: 0060972459
Page Count: 262
Publisher: Henry Holt
Review Posted Online: Sept. 22, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 1988
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by Genki Kawamura ; translated by Eric Selland ‧ RELEASE DATE: March 12, 2019
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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by Donna Tartt ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 16, 1992
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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