Amor Towles
I was hesitant to write anything about this book for fear that it would take away from its wonderful aftertaste. But not doing so would be an injustice too, so here goes.
The adjective I would use to describe A Gentleman in Moscow is sublime. That applies to the story, the writing, and the protagonist – Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov. On 21st June 1922, a Bolshevik tribunal sentences him to house arrest indefinitely. The “house” is the Hotel Metropol, and he is forced to substitute his suite for an attic room. As the author insightfully notes, “the Russians were the first people to master the notion of sending a man into exile at home.”
Russia, post-revolution, exile – it is difficult to imagine anything that’s not depressing in the 450+ pages that follow. But in the face of imminent disaster, Towles, just like his protagonist, steps up to the plate, shuns maxims, and hits the ball out of Gorky Park. (ok sorry, but bad wordplay is a sure sign of my affection) Hope has a new champion. For Count Rostov is probably a living embodiment of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, and from the time that he is forced to choose from his possessions what he can take along to his new residence, he embraces his future by well, counting his blessings. His poise does not miss a step as he moves from “it is not the business of a gentleman to have occupations.” to becoming a waiter, and he continues to exhibit his “essential faith that by the smallest of one’s actions one can restore some sense of order to the world.”
But one cannot be blamed for thinking that even for such a wonderful character, the four walls of a hotel is bound to be a constraint. The Metropol, though, is a world unto itself. We discover spaces and mind spaces inside, the people who work there, and its visitors. And through the eyes of the Count and his friends, we see Russian history unfold from Lenin to Stalin to Khrushchev.
Amor Towles’ mastery over situations and the words he uses to express them is not something I have seen much of around. It’s genuine craftsmanship. In the Count, he has created a character that brings out the essence of old world charm, and class. Instead of aristocratic snobbery, what one gets is a very human mix of upbeat bearing and wistful serenity – a character for whom one genuinely feels for. The Count has his basic lessons right – “The first was that if one did not master one’s circumstances, one was bound to be mastered by them; and the second was Montaigne’s maxim that the surest sign of wisdom is constant cheerfulness.” And it isn’t just the Count – the support characters also do a splendid job of covering a vast spectrum of predicaments, thoughts and behaviour.
And thus it is, that when one reaches the end of the book, and lets out a sigh, one has the “feeling that this moment, this hour, this universe could not be improved upon”.
