When I Hit You

Meena Kandasamy has written a novel that is moving, horrifying and poetic all in one. In sum, it is the story of an abusive husband. It puts the reader inside the skin of the woman, but not in any facile or melodramatic way. For example, in one section the wife, in order to cope, imagines herself playing a part in a film about an abuser and walks through the apartment setting up camera angles. The author also explores the cultural and family aspects of this kind of abuse in India. Her parents are slow to face reality, for example, and suggest the daughter's suffering is probably her own fault. Through it all runs Kandasamy's beautiful prose.

Chicago

David Mamet's new novel is didactic. It has many things to impart and it wants to make sure they end up inside your thick skull. For starters, there is the overuse of italics in dialogue, which tells the reader: You must say this line this way. Then there are the pearls of wisdom and philosophy that are dropped by a whorehouse madam and other characters. When it is not teaching, there is a lot of drinking on display as well as unaccountable grief. (Unaccountable because the love story makes little sense and has no predicate. The woman, in fact, says maybe three words.) Mannered and cold, Chicago sinks with barely a bubble.