A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor TowlesMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
If you told me that I would come to love a 462-page novel about an aristocrat held under house arrest in a luxury hotel in Moscow, I probably would have been skeptical at best -- visions of Eloise with a "touch" of Solzhenitzyn? How strange. But given the wide variety of personalities belonging to the myriad friends who recommended this book, I finally dug in courtesy of my local public library network.
I was charmed by Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov, who has been in exile in Paris, only to be arrested upon his return to the mother country after the Bolshevik revolution. It is the arrest that starts the narrative, and Towles artfully employs flashbacks to fill in the backstory of the Count. According to Wikipedia, the formal structure of the novel is what we might call arch form in music -- the time intervals between each chapter double until we reach sixteen years later, and then it reverses, with the time intervals halving (16, 8, 4, etc...) until the final day. I will confess I did not notice this, nor have I confirmed it (having returned the book to the library), but if it is true, it is just one more delightful aspect of this subtle and enthralling book.
Yes, indeed -- perhaps subtly enthralling might be a better description. A few chapters in I was healthily invested, marveling that there were so many pages to go and yet very little had happened. But then we meet Nina, and Towles writes one of the most wonderful relationships between adult and child I've ever read. We don't need third person narration to see what happens to the Count. And what is so wonderful is that this is not a cliché tale of a child warming the stone-cold heart of the cantankerous adult. The Count is seemingly a constant model of affability and good cheer, taking his (relative) misfortune in stride, finding comfort in routine, books, food, wine and the ordinary miracles of the everyday. The relationship reminded me of one of my other favorite books (The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery), although Nina is far less precocious than Paloma , and the Count has social graces absent from Barbery's genius-in-disguise, Renée Michel.
While 98% of the novel takes place in the hotel, we see the Metropol as few do, courtesy of a "borrowed" key and later, as the Count takes up a job in the hotel. Without resorting to maudlin sentimentality, there are some significant shifts in the plot that other writers might lean into, but Towles casts both the dramatic and the mundane through the eyes of the Count, who remains even-keeled and debonaire, but NOT--and this important--NOT aloof. That's what makes him such a wonderful character. He is invested in loving what (and whom) there is to love. By the time we get to the "intrigue" of Book Five, we are already on board with wherever Towles wants to take us -- a planning meeting with the head chef Emile and the maître d' Andrey, or a meetup with the actress Anna Urbanova, or a game of "Zut" with Sofia--and we barely notice the shift into a different genre!
This book is, in short, a piece of art. It deserves to be read even by those who don't think they will enjoy it. Yes, it is literary--allusions and references abound -- to Russian literature, world history, and the movie Casablanca. It is not plot-driven until the last part of the book, but instead an opportunity to read beautifully rendered characters--even the antagonist (such as he is) is entertaining seen through the Count's general bemusement (and occasional amusement). Unlike other books garnering a five star review from me, this wasn't a book I "couldn't put down" but more of a book I "had to pick back up." I only read a few pages at a time (largely because I read before bed and I'm middle-aged), but I always looked forward to tuning in the next night. I was disappointed to say goodbye to the Count, but also pleasantly sated--a rare feeling with books these days.
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