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A Constellation of Vital Phenomena A Novel Anthony Marra Books

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A Constellation of Vital Phenomena A Novel Anthony Marra Books

One myth about the literary novel is that only the prose counts, that literary novelists don't bother with character development or plot. In "A Constellation of Vital Phenomena" Anothy Marra puts the lie to that myth. Akhmed, Khassan, Ramzan, Dokka, Sonja, Natasha, Havaa--all the main characters of this tremendous novel about the plight of Chechnians under the brutal occupation of Russia, are drawn so carefully, so astutely, that the reader feels they are family members living in this war-torn far away land. And the plot is brilliantly conceived and tightly woven throughout this masterful novel. And yes, the prose is to die for; the prose is braided with poetry and philosophy and with tears. Here's an example:

"In 1956, three years after Stalin's death, the Chechen ethnicity was rehabilitated by the pen stroke of a distant bureaucrat. On the evening of the day the first trains arrived to transport them home, Khassan followed the pale stone road to the pale stone cemetery, carrying with him a spade and the brown suitcase his parents had last packed twelve years earlier. The earth was hard and dry, and it took several hours to reach them. His mother's index finger pointed at him through the dirt. The burial shroud had replaced their skin. They were lighter than he had expected, their muscles hard in desiccation. He folded their arms, pulled on their legs until the tendons snapped; he was as reverent as possible. He packed them tenderly within the discolored suitcase lining. Their bones lay bowed and prostrate. He performed no ablutions, and the brown of earth and decay had rusted his hands, but God wold forgive him these lesser blasphemies. They had given him as good a life as they could. He wished he could have given them a better death. He decided then, that he would write a history of his parents, of his people, of this sliver of humanity the world seemed determined to forget. Standing in the mounded dirt the spade was a slender tombstone. He wasn't alone. Hundreds of others had come to raise and return their dead, and the dust reddened the night."


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A Constellation of Vital Phenomena A Novel Anthony Marra Books Reviews

Anthony Marra has written a beautiful book about an ancient theme small lives caught up in great conflict, over which they have no control. The scene is Chechnya, but it has been repeated in life and literature all around the world. The recent literature of Biafra, Uganda, Cambodia, India during the partition, all come to mind. Mr. Marra is a fine writer, with a clean dramatic style. He employs many turns of phrase that are little jewels in an otherwise under adorned prose. The characters are sympathetic, and the horror of the Chechnyan conflict unimaginable, if it weren't such close kin to so many others. Thanks to this novel, the litany of war-torn communities comes to life.
I confess to knowing nothing about the conflict in Chechnya. Okay, like most Americans (I'm assuming) I know a little. I know Chechens rebels took hostages in a Moscow theater. I know the Boston Marathon bombers were radicalized ethnic Chechen-Americans. But my eyes always glazed over whenever PBS News Hour featured a story on the wars and although I'm a daily NPR listener, I turned a deaf ear to any news Chechen. If you'd asked me to find it on the map, I couldn't. 

But like all good fiction, Anthony Marra's extraordinary novel A Constellation of Vital Phenomena touched both my mind and my heart.

Spanning ten years and both Chechen wars, Marra tells the story of three neighboring families in the small village of Eldar as well as two sisters in Volchansk. The novel opens with neighbor Dokka taken away in the night to the Landfill by Russian Feds, his house burned, and  neighbor Akhmed hurrying Dokka's eight-year-0ld daughter Havaa to safety at the city hospital in Volchansk.

There they meet the head surgeon Sonja (who also happens to be the only surgeon), and she is none to pleased to find them in her waiting room. Akhmed makes the case that since he did attend medical school years ago, he might be of some use--even though he graduated in the bottom three percent of his class. Anything to find sanctuary for Havaa. Sonja, an ethnic Russian, runs on amphetamines, cigarettes, and contempt. But she's desperate for help. She's also desperate to find her sister Natasha, gone for nearly two years to where Sonja doesn't know. 

Havaa spends her days trailing Sonja or simply sitting in the waiting room clutching her blue suitcase of souvenirs, flotsam and jetsam that refugees had given her father as payment for a night (or two) in their house on the way to refugee camps. Havaa doesn't open her suitcase until the end of the novel, and when she does, she reveals a poignant link to Natasha. 

Tucked next to Akhmed's house is the old professor Khassan, who has spent most of his life writing a history of the Chencen people, and his informant son Ramzan, who has made eleven villagers disappear, but whose trade as a fink keeps the electricity on, food in the refrigerator, and Khassan's insulin needs supplied. Father and son haven't spoken in months, but Ramzan's last betrayal is what set the story in motion. 

A Constellation of Vital Phenomena is a sweeping novel that uncovers the characters' pasts and propels them into the future. Each chapter is set in one of the ten years the book covers and the alternating stories require the reader's attention. It's also a difficult book to read. There's nothing easy about torture. Sex slavery. Dismemberment. Murder. But it's a story about love as much as it is about hate. About what connects us as much as what divides us. Most of us experience (at some point or another) estrangement from those we love dearly, and Marro's wide view gives us hope. 

Marra's writing is lush and evocative, his storytelling tender, the ending oh-so-satisfying. I'm only sorry A Constellation of Vital Phenomena sat neglected on my TBR pile for so long. 
This was a great book and very well written. It wasn't so fast moving, nor was it a page turner, but nonetheless I loved this book. The characters were multidimensional figures, and the story shed light on a plot that I wouldn't have otherwise known about. The story was not predictable, but there was some graphic descriptions, so if you don't think you can handle that, perhaps this isn't for you.

Who should read this book
- Someone looking for a well-written novel, not a quick beach read
- Someone who is not taken aback but graphic, violent descriptions
- Someone looking for an incredible novel and the opportunity to learn about lifestyles in other parts of the world
One myth about the literary novel is that only the prose counts, that literary novelists don't bother with character development or plot. In "A Constellation of Vital Phenomena" Anothy Marra puts the lie to that myth. Akhmed, Khassan, Ramzan, Dokka, Sonja, Natasha, Havaa--all the main characters of this tremendous novel about the plight of Chechnians under the brutal occupation of Russia, are drawn so carefully, so astutely, that the reader feels they are family members living in this war-torn far away land. And the plot is brilliantly conceived and tightly woven throughout this masterful novel. And yes, the prose is to die for; the prose is braided with poetry and philosophy and with tears. Here's an example

"In 1956, three years after Stalin's death, the Chechen ethnicity was rehabilitated by the pen stroke of a distant bureaucrat. On the evening of the day the first trains arrived to transport them home, Khassan followed the pale stone road to the pale stone cemetery, carrying with him a spade and the brown suitcase his parents had last packed twelve years earlier. The earth was hard and dry, and it took several hours to reach them. His mother's index finger pointed at him through the dirt. The burial shroud had replaced their skin. They were lighter than he had expected, their muscles hard in desiccation. He folded their arms, pulled on their legs until the tendons snapped; he was as reverent as possible. He packed them tenderly within the discolored suitcase lining. Their bones lay bowed and prostrate. He performed no ablutions, and the brown of earth and decay had rusted his hands, but God wold forgive him these lesser blasphemies. They had given him as good a life as they could. He wished he could have given them a better death. He decided then, that he would write a history of his parents, of his people, of this sliver of humanity the world seemed determined to forget. Standing in the mounded dirt the spade was a slender tombstone. He wasn't alone. Hundreds of others had come to raise and return their dead, and the dust reddened the night."