This book tells the tale of young Eva Frank, daughter of a depressive mother and of respectable Berlin, who falls in love with an artist and is drawn to marry an unlikely man to travel with him to frontier America. There, Eva must contend with an abusive gambling husband, many miscarriages, a dirt floor, no friends and, not least of all a growing agoraphobia and depression. The latter are not named in the book, which makes sense since the terms are modern and are not available to the inarticulate Eva. As the book progresses, Eva sinks ever deeper into herself. She craves a house, a bathtub, a stove. She sort of gets these things eventually, but they do not bring her peace, nor do they bring her closer to her husband. Some of the most evocative passages in the book recount the way that Eva feels she is disappearing.
But don't write her off just yet. At the end of the novel, in a manner I don't feel I should reveal, Eva makes some decisions that start to bring her into herself and we leave this tale of frontier woe a bit optimistic. In a way, the denouement has a sort of modern feel, but after so many pages of matter-of-fact grimness, the optimism is so welcome that the reader will not care.