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We Need to Talk About Kevin: A Novel Paperback – July 3, 2006
| Lionel Shriver (Author) Find all the books, read about the author, and more. See search results for this author |
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- Print length400 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherHarper Perennial
- Publication dateJuly 3, 2006
- Dimensions8 x 5.3 x 1.1 inches
- ISBN-10006112429X
- ISBN-13978-0061124297
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“Ms. Shriver takes a calculated risk . . . but the gamble pays off as she strikes a tone of compelling intimacy.” — Wall Street Journal
“Furiously imagined.” — Seattle Times
“An underground feminist hit.” — New York Observer
“A slow, magnetic descent into hell that is as fascinating as it is disturbing.” — Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Shriver handles this material, with its potential for cheap sentiment and soap opera plot, with rare skill and sense.” — Newark Star Ledger
“Powerful [and] harrowing.” — Entertainment Weekly
“Impossible to put down.” — Boston Globe
From the Back Cover
The gripping international bestseller about motherhood gone awry
Eva never really wanted to be a mother—and certainly not the mother of the unlovable boy who murdered seven of his fellow high school students, a cafeteria worker, and a much-adored teacher who tried to befriend him, all two days before his sixteenth birthday. Now, two years later, it is time for her to come to terms with marriage, career, family, parenthood, and Kevin’s horrific rampage in a series of startlingly direct correspondences with her estranged husband, Franklin. Uneasy with the sacrifices and social demotion of motherhood from the start, Eva fears that her alarming dislike for her own son may be responsible for driving him so nihilistically off the rails.
About the Author
Lionel Shriver's fiction includes The Mandibles; Property; the National Book Award finalist So Much for That; the New York Times bestseller The Post-Birthday World; and the international bestseller We Need to Talk About Kevin, adapted for a 2010 film starring Tilda Swinton. Her journalism has appeared in the Guardian, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, and many other publications. She’s a regular columnist for the Spectator in Britain and Harper’s Magazine in the US. She lives in London and Brooklyn, New York.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
We Need to Talk About Kevin
A NovelBy Lionel ShriverHarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright ©2006 Lionel ShriverAll right reserved.
ISBN: 006112429X
Chapter One
November 8, 2000
Dear Franklin,
I'm unsure why one trifling incident this afternoon has moved me to writeto you. But since we've been separated, I may most miss coming home todeliver the narrative curiosities of my day, the way a cat might lay mice atyour feet: the small, humble offerings that couples proffer after foraging inseparate backyards. Were you still installed in my kitchen, slatheringcrunchy peanut butter on Branola though it was almost time for dinner, I'dno sooner have put down the bags, one leaking a clear viscous drool, thanthis little story would come tumbling out, even before I chided that we'rehaving pasta tonight so would you please not eat that whole sandwich.
In the early days, of course, my tales were exotic imports, from Lisbon,from Katmandu. But no one wants to hear stories from abroad, really, and Icould detect from your telltale politeness that you privately preferred anecdotaltrinkets from closer to home: an eccentric encounter with a toll collectoron the George Washington Bridge, say. Marvels from the mundanehelped to ratify your view that all my foreign travel was a kind of cheating.My souvenirs -- a packet of slightly stale Belgian waffles, the British expressionfor "piffle" (codswallop!) -- were artificially imbued with magic by meredint of distance. Like those baubles the Japanese exchange -- in a box in abag, in a box in a bag -- the sheen on my offerings from far afield was allpackaging. What a more considerable achievement, to root around in theuntransubstantiated rubbish of plain old New York state and scrounge amoment of piquancy from a trip to the Nyack Grand Union.
Which is just where my story takes place. I seem finally to be learningwhat you were always trying to teach me, that my own country is as exoticand even as perilous as Algeria. I was in the dairy aisle and didn't needmuch; I wouldn't. I never eat pasta these days, without you to dispatchmost of the bowl. I do miss your gusto.
It's still difficult for me to venture into public. You would think, in acountry that so famously has "no sense of history," as Europeans claim,that I might cash in on America's famous amnesia. No such luck. No onein this "community" shows any signs of forgetting, after a year and eightmonths -- to the day. So I have to steel myself when provisions run low.Oh, for the clerks at the 7-Eleven on Hopewell Street my novelty hasworn off, and I can pick up a quart of milk without glares. But our regularGrand Union remains a gauntlet.
I always feel furtive there. To compensate, I force my back straight, myshoulders square. I see now what they mean by "holding your head high,"and I am sometimes surprised by how much interior transformation aramrod posture can afford. When I stand physically proud, I feel a smallmeasure less mortified.
Debating medium eggs or large, I glanced toward the yogurts. A fewfeet away, a fellow shopper's frazzled black hair went white at the roots fora good inch, while its curl held only at the ends: an old permanent grownout. Her lavender top and matching skirt may have once been stylish, butnow the blouse bound under the arms and the peplum served to emphasizeheavy hips. The outfit needed pressing, and the padded shouldersbore the faint stripe of fading from a wire hanger. Something from thenether regions of the closet, I concluded, what you reach for when everythingelse is filthy or on the floor. As the woman's head tilted toward theprocessed cheese, I caught the crease of a double chin.
Don't try to guess; you'd never recognize her from that portrait. Shewas once so neurotically svelte, sharply cornered, and glossy as if commerciallygift wrapped. Though it may be more romantic to picture thebereaved as gaunt, I imagine you can grieve as efficiently with chocolatesas with tap water. Besides, there are women who keep themselves sleek andsmartly turned out less to please a spouse than to keep up with a daughter,and, thanks to us, she lacks that incentive these days.
It was Mary Woolford. I'm not proud of this, but I couldn't face her.I reeled. My hands went clammy as I fumbled with the carton, checkingthat the eggs were whole. I rearranged my features into those of a shopperwho had just remembered something in the next aisle over and managedto place the eggs on the child-seat without turning. Scuttling off on this pretense of mission, I left the cart behind, because the wheels squeaked. Icaught my breath in soup.
I should have been prepared, and often am -- girded, guarded, often tono purpose as it turns out. But I can't clank out the door in full armorto run every silly errand, and besides, how can Mary harm me now? Shehas tried her damnedest; she's taken me to court. Still, I could not tamemy heartbeat, nor return to dairy right away, even once I realized that I'dleft that embroidered bag from Egypt, with my wallet, in the cart.
Which is the only reason I didn't abandon the Grand Union altogether.I eventually had to skulk back to my bag, and so I meditated onCampbell's asparagus and cheese, thinking aimlessly how Warhol would beappalled by the redesign.
By the time I crept back the coast was clear, and I swept up my cart,abruptly the busy professional woman who must make quick work of domesticchores. A familiar role, you would think. Yet it's been so long since Ithought of myself that way that I felt sure the folks ahead of me at checkoutmust have pegged my impatience not as the imperiousness of the secondearnerfor whom time is money, but as the moist, urgent panic of a fugitive ...
Continues...
Excerpted from We Need to Talk About Kevinby Lionel Shriver Copyright ©2006 by Lionel Shriver. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Product details
- Publisher : Harper Perennial; First Harper Perennial Edition (July 3, 2006)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 400 pages
- ISBN-10 : 006112429X
- ISBN-13 : 978-0061124297
- Item Weight : 9.6 ounces
- Dimensions : 8 x 5.3 x 1.1 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #277,809 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #180 in Epistolary Fiction (Books)
- #4,652 in Psychological Fiction (Books)
- #9,240 in Family Life Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Lionel Shriver is a novelist whose previous books include Orange Prize–winner We Need to Talk About Kevin, The Post-Birthday World, A Perfectly Good Family, Game Control, Double Fault, The Female of the Species, Checker and the Derailleurs, and Ordinary Decent Criminals.
She is widely published as a journalist, writing features, columns, op-eds, and book reviews for the Guardian, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, the Financial Times, the Economist, Marie Claire, and many other publications.
She is frequently interviewed on television, radio, and in print media. She lives in London and Brooklyn, NY.
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1. The writing style. When I first started reading, I found it pretentious and overdone, but actually it was deep within the character's voice. The whole book is narrated in letter format by Eva, the MC, and this is her voice. Find it aloof? That's because it is intentionally that way. Even her own husband, Franklin, asks her to restate something in plainer terms, which proves the point that the narration is the character's true voice. I got used to the language quickly and felt engrossed in the character herself. The style of writing deepens the reader's connection with Eva, even if you don't find her sympathetic or likable.
2. Taboo issues. Several times the author hits on issues in relationships and especially in motherhood that people just don't talk about. Feeling limited by pregnancy, feeling jealous of the attention the baby gets from the husband, feeling neutral or negative about the child overall. These are all things we don't talk about, that don't seem...acceptable. In an interview at the end of the audiobook version, Lionel Shriver speaks specifically about this. I highly recommend the audiobook version if for no other reason than to hear the fascinating interview. (The audiobook is fantastic anyway.)
3. Feeling Eva's feelings. The way the book is written really gets the reader involved in Eva's life, her innermost thoughts and feelings, and that serves to help us genuinely feel what she's feeling. I felt so frustrated with Franklin sometimes that it felt like I was frustrated with someone real. I found myself fighting with Franklin on Eva's behalf. I kept listing reasons why he should pay attention to what she was saying. But the brilliant part is, if you look at it from Franklin's perspective, you get it (to a degree) as well. The problems in the relationship and the character flaws allow us to feel the layers within their interactions and just how complicated they are.
4. Suspense. Shriver has a way of building suspense that I haven't experienced often. It's a little unconventional, to the point that even when I knew what was coming, I felt nervous during the buildup. This is one of those rare books where it's helpful to know some of what's coming so you can appreciate all the little hints while you read - and there are a lot of them. There is much to be appreciated in this book, and the seemingly small details are really not so small at all. In fact, most things have major significance, even when it seems like Eva is getting off track, so pay close attention.
5. The ending. I'm not going to spoil anything, but let's just say it really affected me. It took me off guard, shocked me, and I had to actually get over it. Normally I go back and read the beginning of a book after I finish it, just so I can try to pick up on little things that might have been blindly significant until you reread. I couldn't start from the beginning again right away. I needed time to recover.
There is so much more to say about this book, I can't fit it all into a review. It's 100% worth the time and then some. I highly recommend it to readers and also to writers as a good writing lesson. I learned a lot from it and have ordered the paperback version so I can study it more closely.
One can easily discuss the literary merit of this book from a variety of perspectives. It's refreshing to read a story told from the perspective of an educated narrator who actually writes like one and doesn't dumb down the prose. It's amazing that, even knowing the ending in advance (because the reader does know right from the beginning where this train is headed), the little details elucidated along the way can be simultaneously humorous, thought-provoking, and heartbreaking. The book merits much from its focus on singular characters, resisting at every turn the opportunity to delve into politicized statistics. All of these are true.
However, I think there is one aspect that renders this book transcendent. The psychological depths explored by the author are significantly more expansive than I would have expected. This is a book that regularly makes the unimaginable seem all too understandable, portraying the psychology of its two main characters with unflinching realism and yet a softness of touch that forces the reader to question kneejerk explanations for everything from the mundane to the earth-shattering. Above all, the psychology seems exactly correct. While it would be folly to claim that any book can encapsulate the horror of mass murder or explain the psychology of its perpetrators, I think this book comes as close to doing exactly that as any single novel could.
It seems to me this book is worth reading both for literary quality and for social importance. It may not be for the faint of heart, but it's well worth the effort.
Top reviews from other countries
I watched the film before I read the book so I was aware of the reveal, but that didn't spoil the reading of it at all. I'd say it almost made it better because you catch things you normally wouldn't notice on a first reading.
Eva is the mother of the titular Kevin and she divides opinion. I found her to be a wonderfully written character and she felt more real than a lot of other mothers in fiction. Eva is intelligent, well travelled, honest, hardworking, but she's also snide, judgemental, and a potentially unreliable narrator. The whole story is from her POV and so the things that her husband, son and daughter think and feel are being guessed at. But, in my opinion, her version of events is a lot more interesting than her husband's would have been!
Eva says the things you're not suppose to even think as a parent, never mind say. She worries about things that you're not supposed to worry about as a pregnant woman-what if my child is too fat? unintelligent? Boring? has a severe illness? She references films like Alien and Rosemary's Baby when she discusses pregnancy.
Franklin and Kevin's relationship is almost as interesting as Kevin's relationship with Eva. Franklin clearly does not know his son at all, as he defends his innocence in a string of creepy events and "boy will be boys" mischief. Eva understands her son very well. I found myself pitying Franklin for his ignorance.
The overarching question is "Whose to Blame?" Was Kevin born with psychopathic and sociopathic tendencies, which no amount of motherly love could help? Or was he born a sweet and innocent baby whose dark side was created by the his mother struggling to love him?
This book divides opinion and it makes you think about parenting, the pressures women are under to have children (that maybe they don't want), and the classic nature/nurture debate.
The film is definitely worth a watch too...a really great adaptation.
So, Why didn’t I like this book. The writing is brilliant. However, she is prone to lists. Eight consecutive sentences, for instance, beginning with, ‘Am I the woman that…’ I can grit my teeth, give an elaborate sigh and ignore that. But, but, but, but, but, but (Try not to begin a sentence with but.) But. She drones on for hundreds of thousands of millions of words about nothing. I had to dredge any element of actual story from the canal of all those empty words. She drones in eloquent soliloquy, but she drones on, nevertheless. She is clever for clever’s sake. She didn’t swallow a dictionary for breakfast—she binges on them bulimicly throughout the day and pukes up even bigger words. The writing is smug. On every page, I imagined her leaning back in her chair and telling herself how clever she is. Just tell us the damned story. The other reason I didn’t like this book is that I felt, and hubby said the same, that she was riding on other people’s misery. Early on in the book, she lists all the instances of ‘Columbine’ killings in America. Isn’t it awful that it even has a name? She made her fortune on the back of all the school killings. Doesn’t every writer do that? If we write killers, aren’t we all riding on every murder victim and their families? This just seemed to be bandwagon jumping. In fairness I didn’t like this book because it was just too wordy and verbose. 1 out of 10.
Shriver raises questions about responsibility, about parenting and about good and evil, and makes the reader feel that there are answers, but we're just not getting them. So, I read the book every couple of years and I don't get any closer. Sometimes I identify with the mother, always I'm irritated by the father, never do I find the linchpin where disaster could have been averted.
At the first reading I was teaching disturbed/disturbing adolescents. Now I have a difficult teenage son. There has to be a linchpin - doesn't there?












