Engrossing and provocative: a scarlet narrative thread reminds us how magical the novel can be in telling stories and lives.
With her usual deftness and clarity, Drabble (The Seven Sisters, 2002, etc.) crosses cultures and centuries, linking the story of an 18th-century Korean Crown Princess with that of a British scholar attending a conference in Seoul.
“Ancient Times” presents the Yi period memoir of the Crown Princess: she’s married at ten; consummates the marriage at 15; loses her first-born in infancy; has a second son, who will become king, and two daughters; watches her husband succumb to madness, slaughter his concubine, and be killed by his own father; and somehow survives into her 70s before dying, to watch over future centuries with curiosity and a wish to have her story revived. “Modern Times” follows the trail of British scholar Babs Halliwell, 42, who travels to a conference in Seoul, carrying an anonymously sent copy of the Crown Princess’s memoirs. Reading the memoir on the flight, Dr. Halliwell finds herself entranced, supernaturally enchanted. “The princess is taking her over, bodily and mentally . . . . The princess has entered her, like an alien creature in a science-fiction movie, and she is gestating and growing within her.” Dr. Halliwell, like the Crown Princess, has a mad husband and lost her firstborn to a genetic illness. She craves a red silk blouse, scarlet stockings—as the Crown Princess once craved a red silk skirt. A Korean doctor takes her to visit the Crown Princess’s gardens and other key sites. She tells the story of the Crown Princess to the conference star, Jan van Joost, which leads to a three-day romantic liaison. Jan asks her advice about adopting a Chinese baby girl with his much younger and eccentric Spanish-Swedish third wife, then dies of a heart attack. The third part, “Postmodern Times,” is a mysterious and mostly effective melding of all the story’s strands.
Engrossing and provocative: a scarlet narrative thread reminds us how magical the novel can be in telling stories and lives.Pub Date: Oct. 1, 2004
ISBN: 0-15-101106-0
Page Count: 368
Publisher: Harcourt
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2004
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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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