A DESERT IN BOHEMIA

Well-known for both her YA and adult fiction (The Serpentine Cave, 1997, etc.), Walsh paints her most crowded canvas yet in this ambitious tale of two countries—one real, one invented—in the wake of WWII and through the collapse of the Berlin Wall in 1990.

Fictional Comenia (an alternative Czechoslovakia, whose natives in fact speak Czech) is the primary theater for the story’s operations, which exfoliate from the ousting of Count Michael Blansky from his ancestral castle (by Communist “revolutionaries”) and the emigration of Blansky’s neighbor, the tradesman Frantisek, to England. Walsh focuses in turn on nine individuals variously affiliated with these two principals and afflicted by their country’s 40-year experience of Communist domination. They include the Count’s distracted sister Anna, a victim of the war for long afterward; Hedva, the villager whose avaricious resentment of her “betters” makes her all but indistinguishable from their country’s oppressors; Blansky’s son Pavel, another emigrant who becomes fully anglicized in the sanctuary provided by his father’s wealth, and Pavel’s daughter Kate, drawn compulsively back toward Comenia by her love for her distant cousin Tomas; and Eliska, a hopeful young woman both matured and compromised by her infatuation with Jiri, a fiery Communist ideologue. Walsh works hard, and occasionally to powerful effect, in demonstrating how these and other characters are shaped and limited by exterior circumstance. Unfortunately, the contrived manner in which most of them (more than a little unbelievably) prevail suggests that her allusive title (from Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale) all too accurately forecasts romance-like patterns and resolutions in a place that never existed.

Here and there, A Desert in Bohemia provokes and moves. But it’s a novel that ought to have had a much sharper edge: altogether, a disappointing successor to the better of Walsh’s books for grownups.