The death of Virgil Book

I was immediately captivated by the first section (Water - The Arrival) of The Death of Virgil, with its masterful, lyrical prose: even in translation it flows naturally, the writing cascading like a poem (bravo, by the way, to the translator of this novel - I cannot image a more difficult work to reshape into another language). What follows does not deliver to the promise of this opening: Fire - The Descent abandons the external world, turning inwards to the tortured mind of the declining Virgil. In this dark, furious dreamscape, we stand upon ever shifting terrain, never in control, unable to separate the real from the imagined. From this foundation rises Earth - The Expectation, which in the dialogue with Augustus - one that discusses the nature of art, power, death, glory and duty - that forms the heart of the novel, returns us to the world of the real, though the fantastic is close at hand. Finally, in Air - The Homecoming, all fetters are removed, and the mind soars where it may.

For all its ambition, much of The Death of Virgil is undeniably dense, abstruse, and difficult to follow. Its philosophy, though rich, is loosely articulated and hidden in language that tends to obscure meaning in ambiguity and tautology. What really elevates this novel is its aspiration, its experimentation, its history: the echo of the experience of Broch's flight from the Nazis with his own manuscript is ever-present, lending the work an additional gravity that roots it deeply in the dark truths of the modern world, even when the narrative seems to have lost all grip on reality. Though it is inconsistent, and difficult, this late work of modernism is notable for what it strives to be, for what it challenges, and for the potentials it reveals in the literary form. The breadth of its ideas and the corresponding lack of structure make for a challenging read, but a rich source for contemplation.