Some will find this morally ambiguous little romp delicious, others repellent.
Marie truly is bad—a toddler kidnapping, husband stealing ex-con with a giant chip on her shoulder.
As the novel by Dermansky (Twins, 2005) begins, Marie’s just served six years in prison for helping her boyfriend (of less than a week) Juan José escape to Mexico after he was involved in a fatal bank robbery. For reasons that never ring true, as soon as she’s released Marie lucks into a nanny job with her childhood friend/nemesis Ellen, a successful New York lawyer. Marie’s widowed mother worked as a part-time housekeeper (despite her doctorate) for Ellen’s parents, who forced the two girls into friendship. Marie used to steal from Ellen then and she steals from her now—at first jewelry, liquor and money. Ellen’s two-year-old daughter Caitlin adores Marie, and Marie is happily ensconced until the night Ellen and her handsome French husband Benoît come home to discover Marie passed out in a full tub with Caitlin. Ellen is outraged; Benoît, the author of Marie’s favorite novel, is aroused. By the next day he’s in bed with Marie, and soon, using hapless Ellen’s credit card, he’s buying airline tickets to Paris for himself, Marie and Caitlin. But on the plane he runs into his old girlfriend, now a famous actress. By the time Marie realizes that he took credit for writing his sister’s novel after she committed suicide, he’s abandoned Marie for the actress. With Caitlin and a stolen stroller in tow, Marie heads to the Riviera with a kindly movie star. When he asks Marie to leave, she and Caitlin head to Mexico where she remembers spending happy times with Juan José, who later committed suicide in prison. But his family hates her. She abandons Caitlin on the beach to attempt suicide but has second thoughts. Miraculously Caitlin remains safe. Marie checks them into a resort with a stolen credit card and waits for what will happen next.
Some will find this morally ambiguous little romp delicious, others repellent.Pub Date: July 1, 2010
ISBN: 978-0-06-191471-3
Page Count: 224
Publisher: Perennial/HarperCollins
Review Posted Online: Sept. 21, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 2010
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
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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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