The pages

Hugo Hamilton

Book - 2022

"A novel in which a book-a first edition of Joseph Roth's masterpiece Rebellion-narrates its own astonishing life story, from 1930s Germany to the present day as an American artist returns to Berlin, the book's birthplace, to decipher a mystery on its last page"--

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FICTION/Hamilton Hugo
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Location Call Number   Status
1st Floor FICTION/Hamilton Hugo Checked In
Subjects
Published
New York : Alfred A. Knopf 2022.
Language
English
Main Author
Hugo Hamilton (author)
Other Authors
Joseph Roth, 1894-1939 (-)
Edition
First edition
Item Description
"This is a Borzoi Book."
"Originally published in Great Britain by 4th Estate, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers, London, in 2021." -- Verso.
Physical Description
261 pages ; 22 cm
ISBN
9780593320662
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

Irish writer Hamilton performs a provocative feat: the narrator of his new book is a book, a battered first edition of the 1924 novel Rebellion by Austrian Jewish journalist and writer of conscience Joseph Roth. The narrating book, which describes itself as a "short novel about a barrel organ player who lost his leg in the First World War," explains that it is "a living thing, with human faculties" because it has "accumulated the inner lives" of its readers. It also narrowly escaped a Nazi book-burning in Berlin when a Jewish professor handed the doomed novel to a student who bravely spirited it away. Decades later, the student's son, a German baker in America, bequeaths the book to his daughter, artist Lena, who is so intrigued by the cryptic map drawn on the book's last page, she goes to Berlin to try to solve the mystery. Hamilton meshes Roth's gripping story with that of Lena's family as the book's new misadventures bring Lena together with Armin, a Muslim Chechen; his musician sister, who lost a leg during the second Chechen war with Russia; and the man who is threatening them. By astutely combining a suspenseful quest, a sharply relevant homage to Roth, and intricate stories of persecution, exile, war, censorship, love, and anguish, Hamilton has created a tale of deep resonance.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

A first edition of Austrian Jewish writer's Joseph Roth's Rebellion, a "short novel about a barrel organ player who lost his leg in the First World War," serves as the narrator of this intriguing mystery from Hamilton (Dublin Palms). The book, published in 1924, introduces itself in the present as part of the luggage of Lena Knecht, an artist flying from New York to Berlin, the place where Rebellion was written. Lena, who has discovered that someone has drawn a map on a blank page at the back depicting a bridge, a path, a forest, and a farm, hopes to find information in Berlin that will unlock the map's secret meaning. The theft of her handbag with the book inside complicates her quest. Hamilton makes buy-in to his conceit easy as he alternates between sections centered on the intrigue surrounding the map and flashbacks to Roth's life and his experiences under the Nazis, who burned copies of Rebellion and forced him to flee Germany in 1933. The pacing and prose are first-rate. This unusual storytelling choice works better than most mysteries told from the perspective of an intelligent animal. (Feb.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Soon after Hitler rose to power, Joseph Roth's books were burned in the streets of Berlin. But what if a copy of Rebellion, Roth's third novel, were secreted away and handed down through the generations? Here, Hamilton (Dublin Palms; Every Single Minute) muses on that possibility and positions Rebellion itself as the narrator. The story unfolds around Lena, who inherits the book and discovers a hand-drawn map inside. While she is en route to Germany to follow the map's trail, the book is stolen, and her chance encounter with survivors of the Second Chechen War leads to the denouement of the story. The copy of Rebellion narrates this journey while also regaling readers with the story written on its own pages, interspersed with details of Joseph Roth's life. Hamilton parallels and interweaves the lives of these characters to flatten and preserve the conversation between the past and the present. VERDICT Much like Ian McEwan's Nutshell, narrated by a fetus, Hamilton's latest novel conceals a clever literary element with beautiful prose and a deeper meditation on time itself. --Joshua Finnell

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

A well-known novel comes to life. Rescued from a Nazi book burning in Berlin in 1933, a copy of Joseph Roth's novel Rebellion--the tragic story of a German soldier who becomes a barrel organ player upon returning to Germany missing one leg after World War I--serves as the unusual narrator of Hamilton's novel. Nearly a century after the book's publication, Lena Knecht, an artist living in New York City whose grandfather received the volume from the professor who saved it from the flames, returns to Germany with the book in hand hoping to discover the significance of a cryptic map sketched by its original owner on one of its blank pages. Hamilton's artful story teems with subplots that include the account of Roth's disastrous marriage to Friederike Reichel, a union destroyed by her mental illness and his alcoholism; Lena's relationship with Armin Schneider, a young Chechen refugee who returns the book to her when it's stolen shortly after her arrival in Germany and then joins her search; and Armin's sister Madina, who lost her leg in a bombing in Chechnya and is stalked by her dangerous former lover, a violent right-wing nationalist. There are disturbing parallels between the world of Roth's novel, published in 1924 as the Weimar Republic began to slide toward the Third Reich, and contemporary Europe, where the growing presence of immigrants like Armin and Madina sparks fear and distrust. The novel neatly balances these realistic storylines with fanciful images described in Rebellion's distinctive, appealing voice, as when the book refers to its "two years on the shelf right next to a small book on insects," recalling how it was "the happiest time of my life, living with all that buzzing, like a constant summer." Lena eventually solves the map mystery, bringing the story full circle to an emotionally satisfying conclusion. A haunting story that provides a welcome reminder of the enduring lives of books. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Chapter | 1 | Here I am, stored inside a piece of hand luggage, being carried through the departure lounge at JFK airport. The owner of the bag is a young woman by the name of Lena Knecht. She is getting on a flight to Europe. Bringing me home, so to speak. Back to Berlin, the city in which I was written. Where I was first printed by a small publishing house almost a hundred years ago, in 1924. Where I was rescued from the fire on the night of the book burning in May 1933. The city from which my author fled the day Hitler came to power. My homeless author. My restless, refugee, itinerant, stateless writer on the run. Living out of a suitcase. Fleeing for his life. His name--Joseph Roth. The title--Rebellion. I was born-- I came to life--between the wars. During the Weimar Republic--what they call the waiting room between the First World War and the Second World War. Between what was first thought to be the fields of honor and later became the fields of shame. A time of orphans and child poverty. Women running the cities while men were left behind on the battlefield. Defeated men who came back missing limbs and needed help to bring beer to their lips. Men with nightmares of decomposing hands emerging from the trenches. Cold winters they called God's fist sweeping across from the East. And hunger in the blank expression of a tram conductor munching on a box of chocolates left behind by a passenger after the cinema. A time of hardship and glamour. A time of revolution. Emancipation, cabaret--love and art without rules. Everybody was in a club. Everybody wanted to belong to groups and social federations--chess clubs, dancing clubs, dog-breeding clubs, stamp-collecting clubs, orchid-growing clubs. Women's fraternities. Gentlemen's fraternities. Hunting clubs. Drinking clubs. Laughing clubs. Prankster clubs in which members challenged each other to look stupid and eat too much, or reward a passing pedestrian for permission to pour a bottle of wine into the pocket of his trousers. Everybody was in a league or a trade union. The League of Blinded Warriors. The Association of Newspaper Vendors. The Central Association of German Watchmakers. The League of German Butchers. The League of German Brewers. The League of German Canteen Leaseholders. Everybody was against something. Everybody had a manifesto. Right and Left. A time of envy and grievance and clubs with closed membership. When a book was no longer safe. When Hitler was already busy plotting to eliminate me and my author, and his people. What does time mean to a book? A book has all the time in the world. My shelf life is infinite. My secondhand value is modest. Some devoted collector might pick me up for a few dollars on eBay and keep me like a species gone into extinction. Rebellion--I have been reprinted many times. Translated into many languages. Scholars can find me in most libraries. Twice I was turned into a movie. But here I am in person, first edition, slightly bashed up and faded. Readable as ever. A short novel about a barrel organ player who lost his leg in the First World War. The cover image shows the silhouette figure of a man with a wooden leg raising his crutch in anger at his own shadow. Lena, my present owner, has the habit of throwing things into her bag in a congested heap--passport, purse, mobile phone, makeup, medical things, a frayed toy duck she's had since childhood, along with a partially eaten pastry. Here I am, living in a dark sack with these fellow travelers, all hoping to be brought into the light of day when her blind hand comes diving down. Mostly it's her phone she picks out. How can a book compete with such an intelligent piece of equipment? It contains her whole life. All her private details, her photographs, her passwords, her intimate messages. It knows her mind and shapes her decisions. It does everything a book used to do. It behaves like an unfinished novel, constantly in progress, guessing her worst fears and her wildest dreams. Her father was German, but he didn't speak the language to her. He was a baker from East Germany who arrived in the United States after the Berlin Wall came down and, denied his mother tongue, didn't want to be known as German. His eyebrows were often covered in flour. He came home from work with white eyelashes. And white floury hands that gave him the appearance of a ghost, alive and moving, his inner being left behind in a country that no longer existed. Her parents became uncoupled when she was around twelve. Her mother went back to live in Ireland and Lena stayed with her father in a two-room apartment in a suburb of Philadelphia that smelled of yeast. Where I was kept in a bookcase by the door, unread, unborrowed, until I was handed over to Lena one evening when her father was dying of cancer. In a slow voice that held on to the accent of a lost country, he made her promise to take care of me. Look after this book like a little brother, he said. Is the past more childish than the present? Does history need to be kept safe like part of the family? I have been defaced a little. Some annotations were written into the margins by my original owner, a Jewish professor of German literature at the Humboldt University in Berlin. His name was David Glückstein. He drew a map on a blank page at the back. It's more like a diagram--half map, half illustration. No specific location given. It shows a bridge crossing a stream. A path with an oak tree and a bench underneath. There is a forest to one side of the path and some farm buildings on the other. The shadows cast by the farm buildings have been sketched in as though you'd have to arrive there at the same time of day to recognize the place. It's a private memory, drawn to remember a day on which the professor stood in the company of the woman he loved, and buried something precious under a sundial to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Needless to say, the map has nothing to do with me. It's not part of the original publication. The sole purpose of a book is to live another day and tell the story ascribed to it by the author. In my case, the story of a man with a barrel organ who is down on his luck. It could be said that I am lucky to be alive. On the night of the fire in Berlin, with a large crowd of spectators gathered on the opera house square to watch books being burned to death, I somehow managed to escape. While all those human stories were being disfigured by the flames and dispatched as smoke and charred remnants into the night sky above the State Library, the professor looked into the future and handed me over to a young student for safekeeping. The student was Lena Knecht's grandfather. He kept me hidden inside his coat. That's how I was rescued and passed down through the family into Lena's possession, why she is now on a flight back to Berlin to find out where that map leads to. Excerpted from The Pages: A Novel by Hugo Hamilton All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.