The Unloved is an unsettling novel, primarily because at its core, it concerns Western violence inflicted upon Algeria in its struggle for independence which began almost as soon as WWII ended. But it is also unsettling because it begins as a comedy of manners amongst rich tourists who come to a chateau in Normandy to spend the Christmas holidays. That something is going on is apparent from the beginning because there is a dead body and an 11-year old girl says she knows who did it. But nothing is told straight here, even the characters are sometimes referred to by nationality (the American, the Algerian) and two girls of different parents may be called "princesses" based on whether they are wearing a paper crown. There is a further layer of puzzling, since the time is the 90s with the integration of Eastern Europe into the West, which to a European reader may be memorable, but to an American has become obscure. This layer is not intended by Levy, since she published this poetic but gothic (a chateau is a Castle, of course, and death surrounds tourists (suicide, overdose, bombs, torture) novel in 1994. By its end it feels like a deconstructed Agatha Christie novel, or rather one of revenge of the colonized who often played incidental and mechanical roles in British mysteries during its age of Empire. For the most insistent conflict is that of Nancy the American to learn more about her mother who lived the 60s expat life in Tangiers, but killed herself in a situation that recalls that of Jane Bowles, another American woman abroad in North Africa playing helpmeet to her genius husband (a physicist whose research is on time), and stifling her own talent. Yasmina the Algerian crossed paths awkwardly in Algeria as a teenager with Jane, Nancy's mother (named one should think to evoke Bowles), and remembers telling details about her. The remainder of this crossing is a diary that fascinates illicitly the two daughters, and Yasmina's memories, which will evoke moments of the revolution in Algeria, and helpfully provide more connected narration, but only just. Covering allusively so much material in short space necessitates Levy's dry but evocative sentences that linger because of their precision, but deceive in how direct they are. One persists in reading because of the sentences, but perhaps at one's peril, since the comforts of a Christie are not anywhere to be seen. The novel also divides its characters from the unloved and loved, but by the end the distinction seems minimal. Even the cat who figures in the plot is not universally loved, and is found purring on the belly of the dead Mary, herself not discerned as gone until long after the night she died. Perhaps by the end, The Unloved should be called a bleak comedy, as it offers none of the comforts of superiority usually delivered by a black comedy. There are more recent books by Levy, including the Swimming Party, which seem to promise the same conjunction of readerly pleasure, and mordant social and psychological analysis. In the end, it destroys the fashionable construct of newspaper reviewer, that ironic and athwart ways of telling render a story schematic. No, what they do in this case is deliver a more powerful blow as one never knows what is coming next.