I haven't read Schindler's Ark (or —— List, if you're American), so I can't comment on whether or not The People's Train is better or even the same kind of book; in fact, I didn't even know who Keneally was until after I bought it. I can tell you, however, that it's interesting to see a story about Russians that isn't about the aristocracy before the revolution(s) or the émigré community immediately after, or of the more cynical recent post-perestroika batch. Stories from the perspective of well-meaning Bolsheviks before the 1917 revolutions are hard to find outside of propaganda, and stories about Russian Bolsheviks fighting for worker rights in Australia are even rarer.
Looking back, it's amazing how few rights workers really had, how very far we've come in barely a century, and how hard people had to fight to get here. The realisation that when we were little, we sat on the laps of people who had actually witnessed, or at least been contemporary with, cavalry charges on civilian protesters over basic minimum wage or rudimentary health regulations, in the civilised world, is an astonishingly surreal one.
This is basically what the first part of The People's Train is about. This part of the story takes place in Queensland right before and during the First World War, and centers around an escaped Russian prisoner and friend of Lenin, based on the real Fyodor Andreyevich Sergeyev (a.k.a. Artem or Artyom), who made his way from Siberia to Australia, and takes up the workers' cause there.
It's an interesting insight into the mentality of earlyish labour rights proponents and the extent to which Australia was a horrible shithole (and the reasons for why it in many ways still is), and the worthiness and far-reaching effects of the socialist cause.
The second part concerns Artem's return to Russia after the February Revolution of 1917, and follows him through a parade of the usual protagonists (Lenin, Stalin, Trotsky, &c.) and the ridiculous violence culminating in the October Revolution.
Here Keneally's point becomes rather more trite: the eponymic People's Train, a monorail initially introduced in the first part as a dream to serve as an counterpoint to the private tram of one of Australia's industry bosses, would actually be built as an experiment in newly communist Russia, and the real-life Artem would eventually die in it in an accident in 1921. This isn't a spoiler, because the story ends right after the fall of the Winter Palace, and Keneally goes out of his way not to make this explicit. Even the author's afterword only says he died "a hero's death". Perhaps this obnoxious coyness is an acknowledgment of the cheapness of his symbolism. Either way, it's made quite clear Keneally doesn't approve of revolutionary socialism, and he's quite right not to.
As usual with this kind of book, it isn't always easy to tell where history ends and fiction begins, and perhaps it would have been a better work if Keneally hadn't invented a fictional version of a historical figure, but adhered more to actual history instead. It's not like the real Artem was in any sense less interesting, or that there isn't enough uncertainty about large portions of his life that Keneally's imagination could have filled in with impunity.
To say that the writing is wooden is perhaps to extend a metaphor too far, but there is definitely a cardboard quality to it, particularly early on. Still, I'd certainly recommend it to anyone who's interested in what life was like for people fighting for labour rights not that long ago, or who wants to learn a bit about the Russian Revolutions without actually bothering to open a history book.