HOUSE OF DAY, HOUSE OF NIGHT

A woman moves to a small Polish village that seems to contain the entire world within it.

If the unnamed narrator of Tokarczuk’s latest novel appears to bear certain similarities to Tokarczuk herself—an abiding interest in mushrooms and astrology, say—that’s neither here nor there. The novel is set in a remote Polish village close to the Czech border: so close to the border, in fact, that when a visiting German tourist suddenly dies, border guards from both countries take turns moving the man’s body back and forth to avoid dealing with the paperwork. As in the tour de force Flights (2018), Tokarczuk favors a storytelling style that more closely resembles a constellation—horizontal, spread-out, continually growing—over a single plotline. One chapter follows the life of a woman saint who was crucified by her father after suddenly growing a beard; others, the life of the monk who recorded the saint’s biography and couldn’t help feeling he’d been born into the wrong body. These chapters alternate with more mundane, domestic ones in which the narrator exchanges visits with her neighbor, Marta, or the other villagers go about their lives. And while at first there might appear to be little connection between the various narratives, gradually, and then more and more quickly, the connections accrue. One character is driven mad by the sudden realization that a planet he’d never known to exist had existed all along: “If you aren’t aware of something, does that mean it doesn’t exist?” he wonders. “If a person becomes aware of something, does that knowledge change him?” As a whole, the book is at once simpler and, at the same time, infinitely more complex than it at first appears.

An exquisitely constructed, mercurial gem from the Nobel prizewinner.