Reviews

San Francisco Chronicle

Prepare to be seduced straightaway by the sensuous beauty and penetrating wisdom of Sarah Stone’s second novel, “Hungry Ghost Theater” — starring the gifted, tormented, half-Jewish Zamarin family, 1993 through 2005.

At its forefront, the brother-sister team of Robert and Julia strive (against powerful tensions from within and without) to create wake-the-masses art through their political-theater group. Their sister Eva, a neuroscientist, seeks a scientific basis for human empathy: “It makes sense to think you can understand a creature with a hundred thousand neurons. But it’s crazy to think you can understand a creature with a hundred billion, or any systems they invent.”

Eva’s youngest daughter, Arielle, thrashes through ordeals of addiction, by turns anguishing and mobilizing the others. With calm control, Stone spirits us deeply into not just one but an array of worlds, from psychiatric social work to biology and (never least) theater, which may stand both for itself and for the cosmic overview: “[D]aily life … for most performers: waiting tables during the day, taking time off for auditions, getting commercial work sometimes … more often … no work at all … When you’ve been playing regional dinner theater — whether it’s Ado Annie in Oklahoma or a junior hyena in The Lion King — it becomes harder … to get other kinds of roles, and in the process, the very nature and intent of your performances begin to change.”

The grown Zamarin children — their friends, lovers, parents; their own children — feel so molten with life we sense we know them; their preternatural intelligence, embattled history and headlong caring will remind many readers of the ensemble peopling Rebecca West’s “The Fountain Overflows.”

Set in our Bay Area, in Zanzibar, Seoul and later in what another reviewer calls “a series of Tibetan and Sumerian hells,” “Hungry Ghost’s” too-real souls may linger to gently haunt: their fierce particulars accruing to reveal, by book’s end, a lustrous vision.

American Library Association’s Booklist

Two sets of siblings from two generations form the nexus of Stone’s (The True Sources of the Nile​, 2002) tantalizing exploration of the concepts of predestination versus free will and the unresolved questions that pulse through a family beset by shocking tragedies. As children traveling across country in the aftermath of their mother’s incarceration in a mental hospital, Robert, Eva, and Julia are exposed to a troupe of itinerant thespians called the Theater of the Oppressed, setting teenage Robert and five-year-old Julia on a path to eventually creating a similar experimental theater of their own. Ever the skeptic, middle-child Eva pursues a career as a neuroscientist, but her own three children—Katya, Jenny and Arielle—end up supplying her with dramas and tragedies to rival anything her theatrical siblings can stage. Through interconnected stories that travel in time back to Chicago in the mid–1970s to the Santa Cruz mountains in the early 2000s, with stops in Zanzibar and Korea along the way, Stone’s ingenious deconstruction of family life is a shrewd, evocative, and arresting portrait…

from Hungry Ghost Theater: A Novel

The dark warehouse chills Arielle through her coat and gloves—she and her sisters stare at their aunt as she descends an iron staircase, undressing. Torches cast a smoky, wavering light, half-illuminating the audience, who sit in a circle around the stage. A thin, harsh, persistent music turns the warehouse into a haunted cave. Aunt Julia—Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth, according to the photocopied program—has stripped down to her underwear and jeweled armbands. A blue-white spotlight strikes the mirrored floor of the stage, lighting both Inanna and her sister, Ereshkigal, Queen of the Dead and the Underworld, who sits on a throne at the bottom of the staircase. White makeup with sharp black lines and areas of red covers the faces of both queens: they look like warriors, like demons, like the angry dead.

            Arielle, Jenny, and Katya have heard about their Aunt Julia and Uncle Robert’s performances but have never, until now, been allowed to see one. “They’re for adults,” their mother said when they first asked. “Putatively.”

            “Too much sex for us?” asked Katya, and her mother said, “If it were only that.” Later, she said, “When you’re older you can go, if you still want to, but you’ll be sorry.” They badgered her this time, though, until she gave in—sooner or later, she always does if they keep at her.