“What a lovely home I found myself plummeting toward, acquiring, as I fell, arms, hands, legs, feet, all of which, as usual, became more substantial with each passing second.” So begins “Vigil.” Just as we are abruptly dropped into the surreal world of George Saunders’ latest novel, our principal character, Jill Blaine, is dropped onto Earth and into her signature black pumps.
Hot off the success of his 2017 Booker Prize-winning debut, “Lincoln in the Bardo,” Saunders’ “Vigil” is a highly anticipated novel, and in my opinion it doesn’t disappoint. In some ways, “Vigil” is a continuation of his debut novel, as both deftly explore existential questions of morality and seem to share the same limbo-like conception of the afterlife. However, I believe it is important that the comparisons end there. “Lincoln in the Bardo” is largely considered to be Saunders’ masterpiece, with many publications declaring it one of the best novels of the decade. Looking at “Vigil” only in direct comparison to its predecessor creates a biased lens through which we might only see how Saunders’ new novel falls short, rather than how it breaks new artistic ground.
With that said, I might make one more comparison by adding that “Vigil,” just like Saunders’ other works of fiction, is undeniably political, topical and timely. The novel’s heroine is a dead young woman who plays a very familiar role of a kind of spiritual guide — almost like a modern take on the psychopomp trope. Over the course of her (roughly) 40 years deceased, Jill has aided 343 souls (or, as she calls them, her “charges”) in their transition to the afterlife. She believes that she can truly comfort her dying charges, and she treasures the sense of purpose it gives her. Her 344th charge is one K.J. Boone, a cancer-ridden CEO of an oil company who is less-than-popular amongst “libdopes” (because he is utterly loathable) and is dying slowly in the regal bedroom of his mansion. Just next door, a wedding rages on — maybe the most obvious example of a celebration of life.
K.J.’s room becomes the battleground for an ethical debate over climate change. “You stand accused,” Jill says to him. “Something involving the weather.” K.J.’s deathbed is also the site for an internal battle: How does a man responsible for the destruction of innumerable lives reckon with his guilt? How does he convince himself of a lack of accountability? This is a distinctly American attitude, in which a powerful person “makes a reckless speech here [and] its fatal consequences are felt there.” Thematically, “Vigil” is very appropriate — Saunders doesn’t shy away from the present and all of its problems.
Stylistically, Saunders takes flight in this novel. He retains his distinctive tone and punctuation choices while producing a dreamlike, stream-of-consciousness, ethereal effect. Just as Jill enters the minds of her charges seamlessly, so too does Saunders easily wander in and out of the orbs of his characters’ consciousness. With his controlled and precise prose, he makes the technique of stream of consciousness his own.
The product is an artistically impressive piece of writing, developing a world that feels as vividly uncomfortable and familiarly distorted as Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland in “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” or the ghostly world of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” The Mels (two colleagues of K.J. who are referred to simply as G. and R.) have a Tweedledee and Tweedledum-like quality to them, and the ghostly Frenchman’s presence is reminiscent of Jacob Marley and the spirits of Christmas Past, Present and Future.
Still, “Vigil” is not without its faults. It loses momentum at times, and though it has plenty of very quiet and emotional moments, they are sometimes overshadowed by the sheer pace of the story. Despite this, it more than makes up for its faults with its memorable and imaginative moments. At one point, the Frenchman conjures every imperiled species of bird, and at another, the Mels clone themselves until K.J.’s room is filled with their replicas. It is a bold imagining of the state of dying from a voice who has something urgent to say about it.
For much of the book, Jill returns to her ideas of destiny and comfort, the philosophical concepts which guide the novel. She believes that all human action is, to some extent, predetermined in that we are often unable to alter our behavior. With this outlook, certain existential concerns arise. How might we go on when life happens to us? Jill seems to believe that there is nothing left to do but strive for comfort. That is, after all, what a vigil does when there is nothing else to be done. It comforts.
