HIGH AS THE WATERS RISE

An oil worker reckons with the death of his best friend in this quiet but powerful novel.

As German poet Kampmann's debut novel opens, a middle-aged oil worker named Waclaw grows worried that his bunkmate and longtime confidant, Mátyás, is nowhere to be found. The two have worked the rigs together for years, cultivating an extremely close friendship, even spending their vacations together. When it becomes clear that Mátyás has fallen off the rig and died, a stunned Waclaw takes time off from his demanding job, going in search of something, although he’s not quite sure what that is. He travels first to Morocco, staying in a room the two had frequently shared, then to Mátyás’ town in Hungary to give his late friend’s possessions to his sister. Then it’s off to Italy and to Waclaw’s own hometown in Germany, where he tries to finally come to terms with the arc of his life. This is a highly interior novel, with Kampmann laser-focused on Waclaw’s grief, which is portrayed with compassion and honesty. Flashbacks clue the reader in to the details of Waclaw and Mátyás’ relationship, which, it’s hinted, was possibly more than mere friendship. Kampmann’s characters are memorable; her dialogue spare but realistic. Her prose, ably translated by Posten, isn’t showy, but it’s quite pretty and, at times, gorgeous. It can be a difficult novel to read with its insistent quietness and emotional heaviness, but readers who prefer their fiction reflective and not plot-heavy will likely find much to admire in its pages. It’s a thoughtful, unsparing look at loss—as Kampmann writes, “Alone, a person can become so angry or sad, it rubs their eyes dull.”

A promising fiction debut with understated but beautiful writing.