Editors’ Picks: Grief and Longing in Novels
The humanity that rests at the core of some novels invests itself not within joy but, instead, within the grief that accompanies longing. Though typically ascribed to the sphere of loss, longing nevertheless reveals a unique rawness, a tenderness that escapes neat categorization. This month, editors of the Review’s Editorial Board reflect upon longing, grief, and, perhaps most importantly, love as literary vehicles through which to inspire contemplation.
Reunion by Fred Uhlman (1978)
“He came into my life in February 1932 and never left it again. […] I can remember the day and the hour when I first set eyes on this boy who was to be the source of my greatest happiness and of my greatest despair.” (pg. 1)
Reunion is a novella, just over 100 pages long, and was what I assumed would be a quick, light read. My mother had given me a copy, a Korean edition with the translated title of Classmate, and told me to read it because, according to people’s reviews online, the last page was unforgettable and left them in tears. I’d scoffed at the light hardcover; I barely cried reading 800 page tragedies, so I hardly expected this book to have any substantial effect on me. But a story about a Jewish boy and a German boy set against the impending doom of WWII was something I could set aside an hour for, regardless of how good it was.
I started this story expecting to cry, and while that might have emboldened me to try my hardest not to react, once I closed the book, fat tears rolled down my face and I couldn’t stop crying.
Reunion is about the pure love and friendship between two boys, Hans Schwartz and Konradin von Hohenfels, both too young to know what to believe in, in a world of increasing absolutes and hatred.
— Angie Kwon, Books Editor
When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro
When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro is a work that, much like his others, defies a description that does not betray the heart of the book. Set in London and Shanghai in the years leading up to the Second World War, this book jumps to and from various points in the past, and is particularly poignant in its core paradox. The main character, a politically engaged detective, though celebrated for many cases, can’t seem to solve the puzzle that stings and persists over the course of a lifetime. This book is certainly not a light read, but is overflowing with a touching sadness that, similar to Ishiguro’s other novels, reaches at the heart of the human condition, and breaks through the alienation the character experiences by bringing him in union with us: the readers.
— Mariam Muhammad, Contributing Editor