A NOVEL
And lastly, chronologically as well, this wartime-and-aftermath, coming-of-age novel is probably the most complex of this month’s four books. For me as a reader, it most likely was also the most rewarding. It tells of a vastly different world from that of Broadway and Hollywood of the later period chronicled by Charyn. Perhaps the landscapes of Warlight depict a universe which, in part, made that life in NY possible.
Warlight is replete with the intricacies of the naughty and the nice within each person, as he or she wages the soul-searching struggle to discover an inner moral compass while serving as spies and foreign operatives during declared war and its inevitable subsequent covert hostilities.
Paradoxes are piled upon personal compromises, as declared from the opening sentence, by the 14-year-old narrator, whose life until twenty-nine years of age is a search for truth. “In 1945 our parents went away and left us in the care of two men who may have been criminals,” to the admission about his mother, made late in the book: “She has accepted a world of secretiveness, where there is a different power, where there is no generosity.”
Warlight graphically demonstrates the dilemma of war and its aftermath as Ondaatje seduces us to grow attached and sympathetic to several “argumentative souls who, having at one time legally crossed some boundary during the war, were now suddenly told they could no longer cross it during peace.”
Ondaatje invites us to feel the pulse of his characters as they race to a fight, escape from an ambush, embrace for assurance that love may still be possible, fall asleep exhausted on a floor, exact violent revenge, or sadly slip away to another place.
And most essentially to us in the 21st century, Warlight is masterful at having us live inside the skin of men and women remaking themselves into warriors and, because they did, agonizing for the rest of their days, to survive with as much honor as they can muster.
A representative scene toward the end of the book is so captivating of this author’s craft and sensibility, I’ll close with it here without comment or making it a spoiler. “Only Felon, she believes, would use the word demise so unconsciously, this man with barely an education before the age of sixteen. The word from a secondary vocabulary he memorized, just as he re-trained his own handwriting away from the course script she’d seen in his childhood notebooks beside those precisely sketched molluscs and lizards he would draw from the natural world. A self-made man. An arriviste. Therefore not trusted as authentic by some in the trade, not even himself.”
© 2018 Alfred A Knopf