Kathryn Davis (1) (1946–)

British readers will know what I mean when I say that this is a Marmite book. Like the notorious British savoury spread, you either love it or you hate it. [return][return]I love this book. (Marmite, too. Not sure if that means anything ...) I love the beautiful prose, and sharp descriptions. I love the omniscient point of view, in which (among others, and in no particular order) people, dogs, beavers, carp, a moose and (memorably) lichen on a stone are given their say. I love the sharp show more insights into human nature. I love the slow burn. I love the misdirection. [return][return]For what it's worth, this is one that I will cheerfully read again, and again and again. Don't know about you. What do you think of Marmite? show less

I agree with all the reviews of this book, good and bad. The phrase-making is magical and haunting. The story is meagre and dull beneath its cloak of wonder. It is a luminous and timeless evocation of life in an American suburb. It does read like short stories or, worse, prose-poems stitched together. But this is an unusual and daring novel whose flaws only emphasise its achievement. It reminded me a little bit of Ben Marcus (suburbia, paranoia, humans/robots) and a little of "The Yellow show more Wallpaper" and its descendants in its portrayal of deranged/drugged femininity. The whole book is frustrating by its nature, which is fine, but I was left with the sense that if Davis had only mediated her dreams a little more through waking eyes then we'd have a novel here in the transcendent tradition of Gogol and Kafka. show less

By all appearances, the setting of Duplex seems familiar: a suburban street where middle aged teacher Miss Vicks lives alongside her students, school sweethearts Mary and Eddie, with her childlike dachshund. But this suburb is folded in time and place, dominated by a sorcerer and populated by both humans and robots. In the blurred lines where fantasy and reality meet, Kathryn Davis has found her space.

My first inclination after finishing Duplex’s slim 208 pages was to turn the book over show more and start again, a luxury I’ve not often had with books that toy with my mind because of their length. Even on a first read, what becomes clear is that, despite its small size, there are endless pieces to pull apart and examine within the pages of this novel. The figures Davis creates appear more as vignettes than directly connected characters, many with just the slightest threads binding them together. Combined with the overall dreamlike feel of the book, there seems to be a single unifying piece missing – though, that may be the intention.

What cannot be overlooked is Davis’s incredible ability to spin together a sentence and bring her world to life in such a small space. Duplex is an ambitious novel, best for readers who don't mind an eccentric mix of characters or working out puzzling bits of ambiguity.

Blog: www.rivercityreading.com show less

Kathryn Davis wrote the multilevel and arresting Duplex in a feminine palette, by which I mean the chief characters, the main driving focus, and the lens through which life is viewed, are all female. And on this palette she has loosed an array of forces and fictional effects, which readers (like me) will struggle to come to grips with. She tells a story of shifts in the fabric of space and time, of robot guides to eternity, which features a sorcerer who takes souls. I find it quite the show more challenge to pin down and evaluate.

The main plot, if there is one, concerns a woman who, as a young girl, falls in love with a neighbor boy. A sorcerer in a metallic gray car steals the boy’s soul, however, and in a Faustian transaction the boy becomes a famous baseball player. This girl, Mary, later marries the sorcerer, perhaps while hypnotized (so little of this episode is rendered in the story). Mary then becomes the mother of Blue-Eyes, a machine-daughter who started life as a yellow Teddy Bear. Mary leaves the sorcerer late in life, is transported through a wormhole, and performs admirably with poorly identified but heavy cosmic stakes on the line.

Obviously I’m having a hard time prioritizing plot elements. I only want to give the potential reader a flavor of what’s on offer.

Most clearly, however, this book contains a series of lovely chapters each of which stands as a memorable short piece, particularly “The Four Horsewomen,” “The Rain of Beads,” and “Descent of the Aquanauts.” The clear theme carried by these pieces is the murderous mistreatment of girls and women, and the need such mistreatment engenders for escape. But girls and women own these themes; Ms. Davis expresses them through their voices and points of view. An oracle of dubious trustworthiness enraptures the girls as they reach puberty, and continues to lecture them through their lives into advanced middle age. We learn a substantial amount from this irascible know-it-all, much of it told in dreamy monologue, as though she were talking to herself.

One striking element: grade-school girls experience a large portion of the angst and express many of the opinions and instruct a considerable number of the lessons here. Time shifts backward and forward with startling ease, so this is readily possible in Ms. Davis’s plot. However delightful the author’s skill in rendering the shifting universe in vivid visuals, there are so many elements that no single one dominates. Robots inhabit homes and look like people and can see infinitely forward and back in time. The sorcerer steals souls, but getting rich from shady real estate deals can’t be the reason he does it, can it? Who is Downie, and how does he know the robots so well? Why does the grade school teacher figure so prominently before utterly disappearing? How come there are overgrown rabbits in the countryside?

I ask too many questions, I know, and perhaps it proves I’m missing the point. This is a highly diverting read from a very inventive author. It takes an unorthodox (to say the least) approach to explore essential human themes, and recondite cosmic themes as well. Unfortunately I find myself nonplussed. If these treatments and tropes interest you, by all means take it up. Ms. Davis’s talent for invention speaks for itself. show less