German poet Kampmann touchingly and intimately illustrates the fallout of capitalism’s dependence on oil. The true tragedy here is that Waclaw’s story is not unique. His plight is a perfect vehicle for Kampmann’s lyrical descriptions, which reach from dusty Moroccan cities to the brass-colored balustrades in a Budapest hotel. At times Waclaw’s ennui threatens to slow the pace to a crawl. Nevertheless, this is a haunting exploration of the devastating costs all kinds of gig workers have to bear to feed themselves and the belly of the beast.
Award-winning German author Kampmann is a poet, and this first foray into fiction is a poet’s novel in the richness of its imagery and the exquisiteness of the language. It’s as if the protagonist were a modern Odysseus returning to a home he no longer has.
... quiet but powerful ... This is a highly interior novel, with Kampmann laser-focused on Waclaw’s grief, which is portrayed with compassion and honesty ... Kampmann’s characters are memorable; her dialogue spare but realistic. Her prose, ably translated by Posten, isn’t showy, but it’s quite pretty and, at times, gorgeous. It can be a difficult novel to read with its insistent quietness and emotional heaviness, but readers who prefer their fiction reflective and not plot-heavy will likely find much to admire in its pages. It’s a thoughtful, unsparing look at loss ... A promising fiction debut with understated but beautiful writing.
... beautiful ... As Waclaw digs up memories of his drilling throughout the world—in Morocco, Mexico, and Brazil—he ruminates on generations of workers who must eke out a living by exploiting the earth and its resources. Kampmann captures the visceral uneasiness that arises from second guessing one’s past.
