The World to Come by Dara Horn
The World to Come is a kick in the stomach. I say this will great respect because it’s often difficult to get such a visceral reaction from the written word. There are portions of Dara Horn’s novel that simply make you want to close your eyes, want you to will what you’re revisiting out of this world. But you know that it exists. The old adage that there is more truth in fiction would certainly apply to how Horn has constructed some of her most heart-wrenching scenes.
The World to Come tracks the lineage and lives of the Ziskinds, from Soviet Russia to the modern day. The turning plot device is the theft of a valuable Chagall from a museum during a singles cocktail hour. The book is heavy on facts, and oddly enough this plot device is also true. You’re then transported back to Soviet Russia and the brutal nature of what occurred there and elsewhere. In the midst of this is Comrade Marc Chagall. Now, I’m not what I’d call an art aficionado or art-junky but I go to modern art museums, I have art on my walls by famed painters as well as my great grandmother. And I’ve liked Chagall since seeing some more of his work at the Guggenheim, particularly the Green Violinist.
So learning more about what Chagall might have been like was interesting, though not always flattering. I got the sense that Ms. Horn had a bit of an ax to grind and wished to paint Chagall in a negative light. (Yes, that pun was intended.) From her perspective Chagall did not suffer as his fellow Jewish artists did, nor come to their aide or defense. And as it’s written, it seems a bit … selfish and Chagall a bit of a flake. I’m guessing there is another side to the story and am inclined to believe that all artists are cut from a slightly different cloth.
The haunting Soviet era material matches well with other material from Vietnam. The contrast is the modern day material which reads far more like Philip Roth. The adolescent yearning, the internal monologues and general pacing feels very much like Roth. Again, not a bad thing really and makes a bit of sense given the topical material. Tossed in the middle is a mystical quality that never fully worked for me. At times it seemed to work, and at others seemed pried into the narrative.
I’m not sure I was thrilled with the ending, but it would be tough to find a climax that works after such intensity. There were times when I simply had to put the book down and catch my breath. That doesn’t happen to me often enough. So I recommend this book, but read only if you’re willing to conjure up some dreadful realities. Read The World to Come and then read some Christopher Moore.
