A very strange tale that could have been unbearably pretentious—but it’s deft and light enough to work, creating just the...
A haunting, elegiac account of a woman’s mysterious death, told by this Norwegian second-novelist (Before You Sleep, 1999) through the voices of the detective and survivors trying to make sense of the case.
There is Twin Peaks–like weirdness to this story, which is much too elliptical to qualify as a typical whodunit. We begin with the death of Stella, an Oslo nurse who falls from the roof of her seven-storey apartment building. Her husband Martin was not only on the roof, too, but seen holding onto her just before she fell—or was he pushing her? The witnesses can’t quite make up their minds. Corinne, the detective investigating the case, is a former ventriloquist whose stomach turns (literally) whenever she is in the presence of a killer. She has a bad feeling about Martin, but there’s not enough evidence to charge him with anything. Corinne also happens to know that in 1934 a lovelorn actor killed himself by jumping off the very same roof. Axel, an old man whom Stella had nursed in the hospital and who subsequently became her friend, had a bad feeling about Martin, too. Martin is a furniture salesman who sold Stella a green sofa and refused to leave after he delivered it—he and Stella had been married for ten years when she died. It seems that Martin had a kind of private game in which he took it upon himself to sleep with every woman who ever bought a green sofa from him. Stella had some quirks, too: She let a plumber move in with her when she couldn’t afford to pay him (he even stayed after she and Martin were married). So, were she and Martin up to something weird on the roof, or was the death just an accident? Or a murder? Suicide?
A very strange tale that could have been unbearably pretentious—but it’s deft and light enough to work, creating just the right atmosphere of foreboding and regret.Pub Date: Aug. 18, 2003
ISBN: 0-375-41499-1
Page Count: 272
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2003
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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