The first time I met Otto, Madame Vidal said to me, was in April 1935 – a day when, from the early morning to late evening, the most delightful rain of spring fell over Königsberg; a gentle, refreshing rain that washed the streets clean, the grounds of Sternengarten got steam and within a few hours the trees had unfurled their light green little leaves.
With her low-key suggestive language, she slowly brings to life how their lives are gradually being wiped out by the Nazi terror. Still, from studies and eager conversations around Zionism’s ideas, a fragile faith for the future grows – a belief they struggle to preserve even in the vulnerability of exile.
Königsberg is a place that no longer exists, except in the memory of those who once lived there. Today’s Russian Kaliningrad is, the author writes, almost like a backdrop, erected on the graves of the displaced. The conversation, which the whole novel revolves around, follows the threads of the past, a Europe and a civilization that has perished.
The pain comes to the surface when Madame Vidal tells about the losses and all the dead. The result is a personal intense novel narrative, so loaded with grief and loss that reading sometimes feels unbearable.
This novel was shortlisted for the August Prize 2020.