From Publishers Weekly
Imagine cartoonist Lynda Barry rewriting
Tobacco Road, and you'll have a decent idea of what Lehman, a retired University of Cincinnati freshman comp instructor, is trying to achieve in his debut novella. "Revenge" in the title is misspelled because the story is narrated by soon-to-be-eight Little Carrie, who mangles the English language phonetically and otherwise. Carrie lives with her mother and older sister in a small town in Ohio. (Little Possum is based in Cincinnati.) A visit from Carrie's uncle Mocky and her mother's marriage to an aspiring auto restorer drive the action: Mocky is a gay French prof, and the stepfather is an angry, bigoted loser with a chip on his shoulder. The story is as slender as the book—Carrie adores her uncle and despises her new father—but Lehman does a charming job presenting Carrie, whose sister is a "pre-Madonna" and whose stepfather "reeks havick where ever he goes."
(Feb.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
The pen, albeit a youthful, relatively unlettered one, still proves mightier than the sword in Lehman's fiction debut written from the perspective, complete with misunderstandings, partial understandings (shot through with astonishing insights), and misspellings, of eight-year-old Carrie in small-town southern Ohio. Lehman's stylistic decision (borrowed, perhaps, from Alice Walker, who handled it with greater delicacy and fluency), especially in the misspellings, rather slows the narrative and may irritate some readers: "chocklit icing . . . cake crums and bloons . . . samwitch and pretzels." Whew! Still, the book has charm, as Uncle Mocky, a gay, 40-year-old professor of French from Columbus, visits his hometown to see his dying father and forges a deep bond with his precocious young niece only to have it shattered by his sister's redneck boyfriend's drunken, homophobic cruelty. Carrie, though painfully naive in some ways, is no one's innocent and is a fine antidote, if any is still needed, to the kind of idealized child-narrator who used to spoil even the best storytelling.
Whitney ScottCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved