It would be foolish for me to say this is the "best" novel I've ever read, that it is better than "Crime and Punishment," or "The Trial," or "The Three Musketeers." It is not. But I'm willing to state that "Wandering Star" is on that same exalted level. There
is
a difference between "good" or "very good," and "great," and "Wandering Star," in my opinion, is a great novel, and after reading only this one work by Le Clezio (something I'll be changing in the very near future)...well...it is good to know there is (at least) one writer at work today putting out fiction of this caliber. The Nobel Committee got it right in 2008!
Sometimes I'd find myself so lost in the beauty and flow of words it would be necessary to go back and reread a paragraph or page so as to understand what was actually being said! It was difficult to pick an excerpt to share, but I wanted to give an example of the flowing beauty omnipresent in this wonderful work. (Even though there are names included, I don't think they qualify as "spoilers"--it's not that kind of book.)
"....They went to the center of the room, facing the lights, speaking their strange language. Esther looked in astonishment at their long white shawls draping down on either side of their faces. As they entered, the light grew brighter, the voices louder. Now they were chanting and the women in black were answering with softer voices. Inside the room, the alternating voices made a sound like the wind, or the rain, that slowly died away, then rose again, echoing loudly off the too narrow walls, made the flames of the candles flicker.
"All around her, the teenage and younger girls, faces turned toward the light, repeated the mysterious words rocking their bodies back and forth. The smell of the soot from the candles mingled with the smell of sweat, the rhythmic chant, and it was like being drunk. She didn't dare move and yet, without even realizing it, she started swaying her bust forward, backward, following the movements of the women around her. She tried to read the strange words on people's lips, in the language that was so beautiful, that was speaking deep within her, as if the syllables were awakening memories. As she watched the star-shaped flames of the candles in the half-light of that mysterious cave, she was overcome with a feeling of giddiness. Never had she seen such a light, never had she heard such a chant. The voices rose, rang out, faded, then surged up elsewhere. At times, a voice spoke alone, the clear voice of a woman, chanting a long phrase, and Esther watched her veiled body rocking back and forth even harder, her arms slightly spread, her face stretching toward the flames. When she ceased speaking, a low murmur rose in the crowd saying amen, amen. Then a man's voice responded elsewhere, bellowed out strange words, words like music. For the first time, Esther knew what prayer was. She didn't know how it had come to her, but she was absolutely certain: it was the muffled sound of voices, suddenly bursting forth with the incantation of language, the rhythmic rocking of bodies, the star-flamed candles, the warm darkness filled with smells. It was the vortex of words.
"Here in this room, nothing else could be of any importance. Nothing could be threatening anymore, not Mario's death, or the Germans who were coming up the valley with their armored vehicles, or even the tall figure of her father walking toward the mountains at dawn, disappearing into the tall grass, like someone sinking into death.
"Esther rocked her body slowly forward, backward, her eyes trained on the lights, and deep down inside of her the voices of the men and women called out and responded, high toned, resonant, saying all those words in the mysterious language, and Esther could soar over time and over the mountains like the black bird her father had pointed out to her, all the way to the other side of the seas, to the place where light was born, all the way to Eretzrael."