AGAIN AND AGAIN

An elderly man looks back on his life—or is it lives?

Eugene Miles, the narrator of Evison’s eighth novel, is about to turn either 106 years old or a thousand and change. Living in an eldercare facility, he regales one of its housekeepers, Angel, with tales of his past lives as Euric, a petty thief in 11th-century Seville; an Incan princess; an assistant to Lewis and Clark during their expedition; Oscar Wilde’s housecat, and more. (“I’d lived a full life—seven full lives!”) The facility’s mental-health staff is skeptical, naturally, but Eugene's storytelling skills are top-notch, and Angel is particularly enchanted with Eugene's long-ago romance with Gaya, who saved him from the Moors’ clutches and may have been reincarnated as a woman he knew in 1940s Los Angeles. As Eugene's stories pile up—and as he assists Angel with his own romantic struggles—some cracks in the unreliable narrator’s facade begin to emerge. But Evison is concerned less with the factual accuracy of Eugene’s experience than he is with how stories (even far-fetched ones) inspire empathy, and that togetherness, driven “purely by the desire to connect, is more meaningful than just about anything else.” It’s a sweet, borderline saccharine notion, and the novel is often nakedly sentimental when it isn’t organizationally ungainly; Euric’s tale dominates the past lives, with the others adding relatively little to the narrative. In prior novels like The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving (2012) and This Is Your Life, Harriet Chance! (2015), Evison demonstrated deep compassion toward hard-luck cases, the elderly, and the unwell. That’s just as true here; true or not, Eugene’s efforts to slay his past demons is affecting. But that plotline is subsumed by some cloying prose.

Emotionally robust but structurally cumbersome.