Edvard is a diplomat, sent on a mission to chair international peace talks between two evidently disturbing and violent sets of people in order to end a civil war. Opening at a resort high up in the Tyrol mountains, this novel takes us on a journey through the opening days of the talks, the reasons for their hiatus, and the frustratingly subtle game that both sides are playing. Set alongside this fascinating insight into the process of the peace talks themselves, we are also invited to explore Edvard's relationship with his wife as he works through their enforced separation.
Alternating between text that is hauntingly beautiful and words that are unforgivingly bleak, there is no doubt that this novel is masterfully crafted. However, the main issue for me was that I was unable to connect with the diplomat enough to care. Despite learning a lot about the process of international peace talks, the narrator always kept me at such a distance as to deny me the chance to fully build a relationship with him. Perhaps this is why I found myself lacking in empathy, drawn down as I was into a pool of detached depression. If nothing matters and everything is transient, why should we care what is happening to this man or his loneliness?
This novel is so expertly crafted in its portrayal of the detachment of a person from the realities surrounding them that it manages to keep the reader always at arms length, reflecting Edvard's ability to do exactly that with his colleagues and associates. Unfortunately, it left me with a lack of cathartic release, as I was unable to create that empathetic bond with the protagonist that is usually so crucial in fiction. I suspect this was part of Finch's plan all along. With simple elegantly crafted narratives, he brings the ultimate depressing truth: nothing is eternal in the lives of humanity.
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