From Lebanese writer al-Shaykh (The Story of Zahra, 1994, etc.): a finely wrought epistolary novel of lament and loss that mourns the fate of a beloved city. In ten lengthy letters that, moving back and forth in time, reveal details of lovers, family, and childhood, the 30-ish Asmahan, an architect by profession, records the irrevocable dislocations of the civil war. Asmahan takes no sides; she is writing about the personal, not the political, since, as she admits: ``It no longer interests me to follow the warring factions and put them into categories.'' With bombardments, fears of kidnapping, and pervasive factionalism making work impossible, Asmahan spends time at home with her grandmother, with neighbors, and memories. As she tells good friend Hayat, now living abroad, ``How can I answer your questions about the state of the country when my chief worry is the rat occupying our kitchen?'' In a letter to Jill Morell, the wife of a hostage, she describes how she too resembles the hostages since, like them, she has ``no alternative but to follow the uncomfortable daily routine.'' To Naser, a former lover and activist, she relates the household members' reaction to battles, their escape in a tank, and her memories of their last meeting. And in letters addressed to Beirut itself, her ``Dear Land,'' and Billie Holliday, she describes the changes in the countryside, where drug-dealers have taken over the farms; her grandparents' strained marriage; and her reactions to Jawad, an ÇmigrÇ writer who accuses her of being ``addicted'' to the war. Jawad, she writes, wanted her to go to France with him, but at the last minute she chose to stay: She must still ``confront the city which had made its war die of weariness.'' Appropriately elegiac, but the mood is more poetic than urgent, diminishing its power to affect. Still, lovely measured writing from a voice deserving to be heard.
Pub Date: June 1, 1995
ISBN: 0-385-47381-8
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Anchor
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 1995
BOOK REVIEW
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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