Marvelous tour de force from the late Austrian writer Bernhard (Wittgenstein's Nephew, 1989, etc.): a mostly unparagraphed account, first published in 1983 in Germany, of an imaginary friendship with the pianist Glenn Gould. Included is a critical afterword by Mark Anderson on Bernhard's vitriolic relationship with the country of his birth. The narrator and his friend Wertheimer are obsessed with Gould (``the most important piano virtuoso in the world''), in part because he's reached a stature that neither of them will reach, in part because they so admire his unflinching devotion, ``...so possessed by his art that we had to assume he couldn't continue in that state for very long and would soon die.'' Like the narrator, Gould suffers from lung disease (Gould ``spoke of his lung disease as if it were his second art''). But soon enough the narrator gives up piano for ``philosophical matters'' and becomes a ``philosophical worldview artist,'' while Wertheimer, who flees (before his suicide) ``into the notion of the aphorist,'' goes downhill when his sister, practically his slave for years, finally leaves him to pursue her own life. Meanwhile, the story is in fact full of aphoristic gems and floating observations, often concerning Austrian philistinism, that are either clever and inventive or effectively splenetic in context. After Wertheimer hangs himself not far from his sister's house, in order to cast her ``into a lifelong guilt complex,'' the narrator concludes that ``we are the ones who continually want to escape from nature, but we can't do it, naturally...we get stuck halfway.'' Clever, difficult, and demanding: an apt swan song from an heir of Kafka and Beckett.
Pub Date: Sept. 1, 1991
ISBN: 0-394-57239-4
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1991
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
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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