Veronesi’s point, that Pietro is no crazier than anybody else in a world that has lost its bearings, is made sympathetically...
Your wife dies suddenly. You’re left with your little girl. Now what? The Italian Veronesi (The Force of the Past, 2003, etc.) explores a widower’s eccentric behavior in his prize-winning eighth novel, later an art-house movie.
It was a roller-coaster day for Pietro Paladini, surfing off the Italian coast with his brother Carlo. Everything was cool until they saw two women drowning. They rescued them, heroically. But when Pietro returned to his beach house he found Lara, his common-law wife, dead from an aneurysm witnessed by their 10-year-old, Claudia. Pietro is a middle-aged, affluent executive with a cable-TV channel in Milan. He feels numb rather than overwhelmed by grief; Claudia mimics his reaction. On her first day of school, he promises to wait in his car until the end of her day, and this day-long wait becomes a months-long vigil as Pietro tamps down the “quiet chaos” of his emotions. He has no incentive to return to work. Facing their company’s merger, his co-workers and bosses are fearful in this new dog-eat-dog world. One by one, they visit Pietro, an attentive, calming presence. They range from the distraught head of HR, leaving for Africa, to the megalomaniac architects of the merger, locked in their own death-struggle. Even his kooky sister-in-law Marta gets into the act. These visits, or vignettes, form the bulk of the novel. They’re lively, but it’s frustrating that Pietro’s character is not developed, and his long relationship with Lara remains a blank. The only scene showing Pietro in action happens back at the beach house, where he has rough, risk-taking sex in the yard with the woman he saved from drowning, while Claudia sleeps inside. It’s a brave attempt to shake up the routine, but it doesn’t quite work; it’s the small, everyday occurrences that are the most telling.
Veronesi’s point, that Pietro is no crazier than anybody else in a world that has lost its bearings, is made sympathetically but at too great length.Pub Date: April 12, 2011
ISBN: 978-0-06-157294-4
Page Count: 432
Publisher: Ecco/HarperCollins
Review Posted Online: Jan. 25, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2011
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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
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