The tragic moments of [It's Like This, Cat] ostensibly concern cats, but in a larger sense they are clarifications of two forms of loss.

The first tragic moment occurs after Cat has been seriously hurt in a fight. Cat often returns home wounded from his night rambles, but this time he comes close to death. Kate says that the animal can survive only one or two years in the back alleys, and Dave, loving his pet, realizes that he must decide whether to take Cat to the hospital for an operation. The boy places high value on his pet's masculinity and "catness" and cannot bear that this should be lost, but with tears in his eyes, he decides that the preservation of Cat's life must take precedence. At this moment, Dave becomes a tragic hero. Forced to choose between "two goods," he solves the difficult problem alone, taking the way that seems best, although it involves the loss of something he values. He has found the tragic balance, knowing that it is important to him to keep Cat from further suffering. "I'm sorry," he tells his pet, before they leave for the hospital. "Be tough, Cat, anyway, will you?" (p. 153)

The second tragic moment again involves a cat—this time, one of Kate's kittens. After the spinster inherits her fortune, her quiet apartment is suddenly crowded with reporters and curious persons. A litter of new kittens has recently been born, among them a strong young cat who is of an adventurous spirit and will not stay in his box to avoid the unaccustomed traffic. But his fearlessness becomes his undoing; one of the reporters carelessly steps on him, wounding him horribly. With one swift blow, Kate ends the kitten's agony, and then, without tears, disposes of its corpse in the garbage. To the undiscerning observer it might seem that Kate's action was hardhearted. It is not. She has loved the kitten. But Kate is tough—durable and resilient in spirit. Realizing that the kitten cannot survive, she wastes no time in useless remorse, nor does she permit it to suffer.

These two moments contain the tragic essence. Both present situations in which inevitable tragedy is faced without sentimentality, but with realism and a willingness to go on. The second moment underscores the illumination Dave has received during the first encounter with tragedy. He understands what it means to be tough in the best sense of the word, for it is this resiliency that helps to balance inevitable loss with some gain of the spirit, a clarification that is the cathartic yield of the story. Shakespeare said it more poetically, but his meaning was essentially the same. Surveying the bloody deeds of a fateful night, Lady MacBeth tells her husband, "What's done, cannot be undone."

The essence of this story could have been washed away with tears if it had been written in a sentimental vein, but Emily Neville, the author, is as tough as her characters. One must look hard to find the deep compassion swelling beneath her unemotional words. This is a story about strays. Cat is called "Cat." because he represents all homeless creatures—loveless and nameless until they find affection and a place to be. The author cares about Tom, about Dave's girlfriend, about Dave and Kate and all the strays, but her emotion has high tensile strength—the kind of strength these characters can understand.

Many stories only seem to be realistic. It's Like This, Cat is a realistic story in every sense of the word. Its title states the author's view. "This is the way life is," she says. "What will you do about it?" The incidents she has chosen around which to wrap her tragic atmosphere have an element of shock in them. Their topics do not make polite conversation. But they are of the stuff of life.

The scene of the tale is a none-too-affluent section of a tough city—New York. With its dirt and danger, it is a perfect setting for the two-fisted clarification the story conveys. But despite the realism of unsavory back alleys and inelegant characters, the story rises above the mere presentation of a realistic situation, into the beauty of the tragic realm, because of the author's intense spirit of affirmation. Although loss may occur in life, she seems to say, a balance may be achieved if one can accept the inevitable and go on. Without preachment, she conveys the idea that only spiritual toughness can balance tragedy. (pp. 153-55)

Almost aimlessly, the narrative [of Garden of Broken Glass] skips from one of the four principals' viewpoints to the next, but mostly this is about Brian, who is helped by the others (in the closest thing to a main plot) to face his miserable family situation. It's not that thin—there are minor characters and involving scenes … but it is that blandly, painlessly integrated. But even disregarding racial tensions, we wonder at Brian's finding any three such stronger, surer kids who are this indulgent of his dreamy, bumbling ways. (p. 612)

Kirkus Reviews (copyright © 1975 The Kirkus Service, Inc.), June 1, 1975.