INVERNO

A woman is standing in the snow waiting for a phone call; that much is clear.

Zarin, a poet and essayist, demonstrates little interest in conventional storytelling in her debut novel, which revolves around a couple named Caroline and Alastair and their romantic attachment of 50-plus years, returning frequently to a moment in the middle of that period when Caroline was standing in the snow waiting for him to call, but also pinging back and forth among other apparently important moments—one says "apparently" because it's hard to tell what the point is. For example, there's this: "Caroline is standing in the snow in her fur hat and fur boots waiting for Alastair to call, a few yards from where thirty years before he hacked at the frozen roots of a locust tree with his penknife, and cut his arm." And this: "Caroline is standing in the snow in her fur boots and hat. It is February. It is exactly halfway between the time she saw Alastair again, the previous November, after twenty-five years, and when she would see him for the last time, the following November." And then this: "You have left Caroline in the snow: you have left two characters, standing around! Say the rest of what happened so we can move on." Interspersed with this is a lot of other mysterious stuff: an extended retelling of H.C. Andersen's The Snow Queen, where Gerda and Kai may or may not represent Alastair and Caroline; a critical review of popular music about phone calls; a recounting of the plot of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, with special attention to the line "I’d rather skip that scene, if you don’t mind." In the movie, this line is delivered by a character who's telling Butch she doesn't want him to die, but takes on another, more immediate, meaning in its half-dozen repetitions here.

Somewhere are probably readers who would enjoy this book. May it find them.