A mother’s frantic postwar search for her daughter is the highlight of Landau’s latest.
Landau’s second novel—like her first, The Empire of the Senses (2015)—portrays haut bourgeois European Jews who find their carefully crafted assimilation no defense against barbarism. Having fled the Russian Revolution for Paris, Vera Volosenkovahas achieved success as a novelist. In June 1940, she and husband Max, an opera composer, are ensconced at their villa in the south of France, surrounded by prominent artists and intellectuals, all in denial about the coming German occupation. Landau effectively depicts the psychological disconnect between Vera’s expectations—that civilization could not fail her twice in less than three decades—and the sudden reality of being ordered to “report for internment.” Vera and Max are among the privileged few who manage to escape over the Pyrenees and sail to the United States. Out of necessity, Vera leaves their 4-year-old daughter, Lucie, in France in the care of trusted governess Agnes. Having relocated with many stellar contemporaries to Hollywood, Max finds a comfortable niche as a film composer. Wrongly or not—Max’s inner turmoil is withheld from us in a way that seems manipulative—Vera resents his seeming indifference, particularly after news breaks of a massacre in Oradour-sur-Glane, Lucie’s last known refuge. An alternating thread involves Hollywood screenwriter and aspiring director Sasha, whose origins lie in the shtetls and the Lower East Side. Plotlines converge, like America’s entry into the war, at first too slowly and then breathlessly as Vera returns to chaotic, post-Liberation France on a desperate quest to find Lucie among thousands of missing children. Hollywood’s prewar reluctance to offend Hitler is scantly touched on, and the United States’ embargo on refugees not at all. As the novel progresses, the main conflict is between Vera’s remorse about leaving Lucie and the protective bubble she inhabits.
With muted power, this book plumbs the role privilege plays in fate.