I had the opportunity to read an advance reader's copy of this novel, the first by Daniel Lowe (his short stories have appeared in a number of literary and little magazines over the years). This is a provocative, powerful and deeply absorbing work of fiction, one that challenges not only the assumptions we have about human relationships, but also the assumptions we often have about storytelling, imagination and what it means for something to be 'real.'
The narrative here is timely and artfully constructed: a midlevel executive, Marc Laurent, at a US corporation is kidnapped in Pakistan, apparently for ransom. "Apparently," because his kidnappers couldn't have made a poorer choice - estranged, adrift and emotionally disconnected from family, work and history, it's not clear that there's anyone who would ransom him - or that, when push comes to shove, he'd even welcome being returned to a life he seems, in the first third of the novel, to be anesthetized to.
It's only when he begins, almost against his will, to engage in conversation with one of the kidnappers, a woman called 'Josephine,' that Marc's estrangement from the world begins to make sense - to the reader, to Josephine and to himself. Their conversations are initially transactions - is he really worth anything, and if so, to whom? - but begin to grow more intimate, as Josephine draws from him stories that serve as points of departure for her own storytelling.
It is at this point that it becomes clear to the reader that this is not a straightforward novel at all, and that it is as much about how we use language to capture what we hold dear as it is about captive and captor. Prodded by Josephine and facing, blindfolded, an uncertain fate, Marc reveals more, perhaps, to Josephine than he has even told himself, and in return, she takes the novel into the realm of the imagination. She tells Marc stories of his own life, sometimes interwoven with what he has told her, but more and more, in which the characters, including Marc, take on lives of their own.
That we are drawn, willingly, into a world where lives and events are purely conditional - we have nothing but the power of the storyteller to sustain us - is testimony to Lowe's exceptional skill with language and its nuance. It's something of a surprise to use words like 'stark' or 'spare' to describe a novel that is told mostly in intimate conversation between a man and a woman in a small room, but the success of the narrative derives in large part from being drawn into this intimacy: they hold each other rapt in the strands of their stories, forestalling - perhaps? an inevitable end.
The power of the stories they tell each other is almost incredible - less like overhearing an intimacy and more like listening to someone under the influence of hypnosis or what spy novels used to call 'truth serum.' An early review alluded to Scheherazade - I'm reminded more of Beckett, or James Joyce (there is an Irish bleakness to the prose), where what is 'real' is what the reader is drawn into believing he is imagining.
It is a nuanced release at the end of the novel - an emotional conclusion, rather than a corporeal one. If stories preserve lives, then Marc - and Josephine - live on.
A lovely and masterfully crafted novel, intricate and painfully human.