4 and a half stars, rounded up.
This book really felt like a birthday present: it was released two days before my birthday, and on the day itself, my husband took me to a reading and signing by Heather O’Neill and it was the best way I could imagine ushering in my fortieth year on this fixer-upper of a planet. Thank you, Jason, and thank you, Heather! I actually met her, Julie!!
I know I fangirl about Heather O’Neill quite a bit; her book “Lonely Hearts Hotel” is one of my absolute favorite (I got my copy signed, obviously), and she writes how I wish I did, which makes me both insane with admiration and a touch jealous. I know some people don’t like her, and that’s fine, but I love her unconditionally, so you have to humor me and my gushy reviews. Suck it!
Lost children. Art. Betrayal. The meaning of storytelling. Those are some of O’Neill’s favorite elements and themes, and in “The Capital of Dreams”, she weaves a tale that includes all of them, set in a small and forgotten European country which will soon see its peace destroyed by invading soldiers. Sofia Bottom is given a delicate mission: she must smuggle her mother Clara’s latest manuscript on a train meant to take children out of the titular capital and to safety, and thereby, preserve a bit of the culture of Elysia, which might perish under occupation. But of course, nothing is quite that simple, especially in times of war, and Sofia will be put in the delicate position of having to choose between loyalty and survival when the train stops in the middle of a forest, and she is left with no other option but to run for her life. She might be 14, but she will grow by leaps and bounds as she makes her way through the countryside, in search of both safety and redemption.
The way O’Neill manages to turn dark stories into fairytales will never cease to amaze me; I have always had a soft spot for the original Brothers Grimm versions of the classic fairytales, those that kept their ominous and often darkly sensual tone amidst the quirky magical elements, and I would bet that those are the versions she prefers as well, if the idea of a young girl wandering the woods during a war with a talking goose as her only companion is any indication. I loved the deliberate vagueness of the time or place the story is meant to be set it, because what’s being captured on the page is not unique to a specific moment or location: it’s a reality that humanity has had to live through many times, all over the world. And yes, art is often one of the few ways we have left to hold on to our humanity in times of tragedy and violence. Emily St John Mendel blurbed this book, and I think that fans of “Station Eleven” might see a similarity in spirit and message between the two novels. Art keeps us human in more ways than we imagine.
This novel is also an exploration of mother-daughter dynamics. O’Neill has often written about female characters who are motherless: Baby, Noushka and Marie were all raised by their respective fathers, and Rose was an orphan, abandoned as a baby. This is the first time the mother is living, if not present, in the main character’s life. While Clara is alive, she is not a very typical mother: during the launch, O’Neill mentioned that her main inspiration for Clara was Simone de Beauvoir (one of my heroes!) who was of the (admittedly controversial) opinion that you can’t be a full-time intellectual or artist and a mother simultaneously. Clara is not a naturally maternal person: she clearly prefers her status as notable female intellectual to her role as mother, and consequently, doesn’t put the same amount of effort towards Sofia than she does towards her manuscript. Sofia loves and admires her mother, but she doesn’t feel like her mother has much affection towards her, yet constantly strives to please her and to earn her praises – which are hard won. But the way we see all our relationships change during major upheaval (as most of us have experienced during the pandemic), and Clara and Sofia’s bond is tested in many ways by the war.
I found myself thinking of Zweig’s “The World of Yesterday” as I read about Elysia; it made me think of the Vienna Zweig wrote about and loved so much, this city of artists, writers, and intellectuals, and how its very soul was crushed by the German invasion who considered the artists to be degenerates and perverts. O’Neill was very clear that her story was inspired by WWII and that she always wanted to write something set in that time and place, and I am not surprised that in her version of such a tale, the place of art in society would be a central element. I was also thinking a lot about Irene Nemirovsky’s “Suite Française”, her famously unfinished novel about a small French town during the Occupation, which had to be smuggled as a manuscript before Nemirovsky was sent to Auschwitz. It’s been years since I have read it, but I remember being quite struck with the compassion and nuanced outlook she had captured on the page, and O’Neill realizes a similar level of finesse in building characters who are multi-faceted and complex, and who live in a time where absolutely nothing is simple.
I finished it knowing I would re-read it, probably sooner rather than later: this is the sort of book that merits another visit in order to be examined more closely. It made me think a lot about the more subtle violence that is generally experiences by women during war time, especially back then, when they were very few (if any) female soldiers: it’s certainly on a smaller scale than what soldiers faced at the front, and sometimes it is much more psychological than physical, but the bottom line is really that no one makes it through a war unharmed, even if they never touched a gun. If you are a fan of O’Neill’s writing, “The Capital of Dreams” is a worthy addition to your library, and if you are unfamiliar with her, it would be a good place to start exploring her catalogue!