Andy Hasselwander

Austerlitz is a book about the holocaust, but more broadly, about the geography and architecture of modern Europe. Jacques Austerlitz is a ghost who is trying to find out where he came from, and his method is exploring physical spaces—buildings, cities, towns, railways, lakes, train stations, and concentration camps. Each building’s description, in his words, is lyrical and points to a larger meaning of Europe and how the Second World War, and the extermination of Jews, came to pass. This is literature in a pure form, practically poetry. It stands with Gravity’s Rainbow as an epic attempt to get to the emotional roots of modernity, with WW2 as its apotheosis, in all its glory and horror.

A darkly comic morality play that takes place over three years in a struggling fishing village dominated by a brother and sister. It is never totally clear who the adversary is; one gets the sense that it might actually be Satan, who takes many forms throughout the book. The characters are delectably odd and drawn as well as the widow’s sketches. This is simply a magnificent book. Crummey also takes the time to recreate the language of the early 19th century as it would have been spoken in New Brunswick, including laugh out vulgarities that punctuate the scenes with the detestable evil brother. I get the sense that this book will get better on a second reading. Crummey is a poet first, and not a single line of this book is wasted.

A carefully constructed, well researched mystery novel that seamlessly connects at least four key themes. First, the changing experiences of Italian, Irish, and “Native” Americans from the Depression to WW2. This is done by simply including characters from each background and following their lives as they intersect. Egan does an amazing job painting a picture of immigrant Catholic, old money WASP, and other cultures in NYC in the 1930s and 1940s. Second, the impact of organized crime on both its customers and its criminals, and the changing nature of economic forces that ultimately did it in. Without resorting to (too many) cliches, she shows how the nightclub, gambling, and drug rackets evolved, operated, and were enforced. This provides much of the tension in the novel. Third, the struggles of independent women during the war, and how the lack of men opened opportunities that ultimately persisted and expanded into the modern era. The heroine, Anna, is likable, complex, and believable. The conflict between her very real duties (most notably to her badly disabled sister) and her ambitions drives the novel forward. Finally, the sea and all of its beauty, vastness, and terror. The sea is ever-present; the action happens all within a mile of the ocean. Its presence is always there, and this creates an intoxicating atmosphere. This book needs to be read in long stretches, which shouldn’t be a problem, as the plot is rich and fairly linear. Once you are taken in by its many unanswered questions, this shouldn’t be a problem.

There is so much potential in this novel. I think it was meant to be a book about 2020, told in three centuries. It’s got pandemics, gender and sexuality, and race. It’s not predictable; the first book, in particular, was wildly original. But at the same time, the third book was an overly long YA novel. The second book was more like a traditional American lit novel. The problem is, after reading 750 pages, I still don’t know what the book was about. I guess it was about trying to find happiness for your family. I think about it a lot; that’s good. I ponder it a lot. But I don’t want to read more of it, and I struggle to weave it together. In short, a hard book that is half rewarding and half frustrating. One of the blurbs compared it to War and Peace—probably not, but maybe in 100 years it’ll be in the pantheon.