- Hardcover: 336 pages
- Publisher: Alfred A. Knopf (April 2001)
- Language English
- ISBN-10: 0375406514
- ISBN-13: 978-0375406515
- Product Dimensions: 21.6 x 15.2 x 3.6 cm
- Average Customer Review: 3.5 out of 5 stars See all reviews (2 customer reviews)
- Amazon Bestsellers Rank: 2,743,394 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
The Right Hand Of Sleep
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Product Description
Product Description
Oskar Voxlauer is in flight from his past—from his bourgeois Austrian upbringing; from horrific memories of fighting on the Italian front in 1917 as a teenage recruit; and from the twenty years he has spent in the Ukraine watching his socialist ideals crumble and the life of the woman he loved slowly waste away. Alone, he finally decides to return to the Austrian village of his birth, where his mother is waiting to greet a son she hasn’t seen since he was a boy.
But the year is 1938, and despite Oskar’s attempt to live a reclusive existence as a gamekeeper in the hills, he cannot escape the tensions that are threatening the once tranquil village of Niessen. Hitler marches into Austria and the Black Shirts come to the valley. Voxlauer watches as his Jewish friend and benefactor is driven to ruin. The only things saving him—a “Red,” a deserter and a “Yid lover”—from the attentions of the SS seem to be the respect the community has for his parents and his growing love for the mysterious Else Bauer, cousin of the new SS Führer.
In his extraordinary first novel, John Wray has given both a poetic evocation of the Austrian landscape and an acute portrait of the dark side of its past. His subtle and human understanding of the ambiguities of history, the complexities of his characters and the stunning richness of his prose mark him as one of America’s most gifted new writers.
But the year is 1938, and despite Oskar’s attempt to live a reclusive existence as a gamekeeper in the hills, he cannot escape the tensions that are threatening the once tranquil village of Niessen. Hitler marches into Austria and the Black Shirts come to the valley. Voxlauer watches as his Jewish friend and benefactor is driven to ruin. The only things saving him—a “Red,” a deserter and a “Yid lover”—from the attentions of the SS seem to be the respect the community has for his parents and his growing love for the mysterious Else Bauer, cousin of the new SS Führer.
In his extraordinary first novel, John Wray has given both a poetic evocation of the Austrian landscape and an acute portrait of the dark side of its past. His subtle and human understanding of the ambiguities of history, the complexities of his characters and the stunning richness of his prose mark him as one of America’s most gifted new writers.
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Customer Reviews
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Format:Paperback
With this incredible debut novel, Wray leaps onto the literary stage fully mature, with a book so polished and assured that lovers of great writing will be celebrating this book for a long time. Wray shows no uncertainty. He has total control of his dramatic raw material--the rise of the Nazis in Austria, the Dollfuss Affair, and the Anschluss--and he never once stoops to sensationalism, never pushes any of those easy anti-Hitler buttons, never loses his characters in the intensity of the action, and never lets us forget that Hitler's rise was possible because ordinary people allowed it to happen.
As the book opens, Oskar Voxlauer, is returning to Austria after twenty years in the Ukraine, where he has lived following his desertion from the horrors of Isonzo in World War I. His Socialist ideals have crumbled in the face of the communist reality, his lover has died, and he hasn't seen his family or his former home since he was seventeen. Unable to adjust to the changes which have taken place in Niessen, he finds work in the mountains as a gamekeeper for a Jewish friend, occasionally visiting the town and his somewhat dotty mother. Although Oskar finds love in the mountains with Else Bauer, he sometimes worries about his stability, suffering from occasional hallucinations and panic attacks and sometimes reacting violently to the injustices he sees and feels. He finds comfort in nature, even when the Nazi menace begins to threaten him, his relationship with Else, and his Jewish friend, Pauli Ryslavy.
The lively third person narrative alternates wth Oskar's poignant and lengthy memories from his past--in the Ukraine and in the Austria of twenty years ago. When Else's cousin, Kurt Bauer, a high-ranking SS official, arrives, a new point of view opens, as Bauer, too, contributes reminiscences--about the growth of his Nazi commitment, the killing of Austrian Chancellor Dollfuss, and his plans for a Nazi Austria. These interior monologues are incredibly powerful, highlighting the similarities and contrasts in the lives of Oskar and Bauer, both ordinary people who have been caught up in different political movements, committed to them for different reasons.
Putting all the politics into perspective are some of the most lyrical and gorgeous extended descriptions of nature you'll ever read--including butterflies with their "parchment-like wingbeats," two fox cubs, one of which "held the spine of a trout in its teeth like a diadem," and even inkpot toads, with their "bright yellow undersides [that] bled a dark, poisonous-looking ink from tiny vents along their ribs." This is a successful novel on every level, and it is not far-fetched to read of comparisons between it and Joseph Roth's earlier Austrian masterpiece, The Radetzky March, which focuses on World War I. Mary Whipple
As the book opens, Oskar Voxlauer, is returning to Austria after twenty years in the Ukraine, where he has lived following his desertion from the horrors of Isonzo in World War I. His Socialist ideals have crumbled in the face of the communist reality, his lover has died, and he hasn't seen his family or his former home since he was seventeen. Unable to adjust to the changes which have taken place in Niessen, he finds work in the mountains as a gamekeeper for a Jewish friend, occasionally visiting the town and his somewhat dotty mother. Although Oskar finds love in the mountains with Else Bauer, he sometimes worries about his stability, suffering from occasional hallucinations and panic attacks and sometimes reacting violently to the injustices he sees and feels. He finds comfort in nature, even when the Nazi menace begins to threaten him, his relationship with Else, and his Jewish friend, Pauli Ryslavy.
The lively third person narrative alternates wth Oskar's poignant and lengthy memories from his past--in the Ukraine and in the Austria of twenty years ago. When Else's cousin, Kurt Bauer, a high-ranking SS official, arrives, a new point of view opens, as Bauer, too, contributes reminiscences--about the growth of his Nazi commitment, the killing of Austrian Chancellor Dollfuss, and his plans for a Nazi Austria. These interior monologues are incredibly powerful, highlighting the similarities and contrasts in the lives of Oskar and Bauer, both ordinary people who have been caught up in different political movements, committed to them for different reasons.
Putting all the politics into perspective are some of the most lyrical and gorgeous extended descriptions of nature you'll ever read--including butterflies with their "parchment-like wingbeats," two fox cubs, one of which "held the spine of a trout in its teeth like a diadem," and even inkpot toads, with their "bright yellow undersides [that] bled a dark, poisonous-looking ink from tiny vents along their ribs." This is a successful novel on every level, and it is not far-fetched to read of comparisons between it and Joseph Roth's earlier Austrian masterpiece, The Radetzky March, which focuses on World War I. Mary Whipple
0 of 1 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
Having been dazzled by John Wray's Lowboy, I rushed to order this, his first novel. But while I started reading it eagerly enough, by the end I was forcing myself to finish.
This is one of those books where I found myself questioning not the characters' motivations but the author's. Why did he decide to tell us so much about the protagonist's first partner when the protagonist proceeds to stop thinking about her less than halfway through the book? Why did he eschew quotation marks to indicate direct quotes? Why does he assume we know who the head of Austria was in the early 1930s? Why do we never learn the reasons that the love interest does not have custody of her daughter, despite a big deal being made of the matter? Why are we supposed to care about these dull characters who communicate as much by meaningful (to them; meaningless to me) glances as by aphorisms?
It hurts me to write this review, because reading Lowboy was a major event for me. Also, I worry that perhaps the fault is with me; after all, the book was critically praised. All the same, I'm now hesitant to buy Wray's second book because I'm not sure whether it will be more like Lowboy or this one.
This is one of those books where I found myself questioning not the characters' motivations but the author's. Why did he decide to tell us so much about the protagonist's first partner when the protagonist proceeds to stop thinking about her less than halfway through the book? Why did he eschew quotation marks to indicate direct quotes? Why does he assume we know who the head of Austria was in the early 1930s? Why do we never learn the reasons that the love interest does not have custody of her daughter, despite a big deal being made of the matter? Why are we supposed to care about these dull characters who communicate as much by meaningful (to them; meaningless to me) glances as by aphorisms?
It hurts me to write this review, because reading Lowboy was a major event for me. Also, I worry that perhaps the fault is with me; after all, the book was critically praised. All the same, I'm now hesitant to buy Wray's second book because I'm not sure whether it will be more like Lowboy or this one.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews on Amazon.com (beta)
Amazon.com:
14 reviews
17 of 20 people found the following review helpful
Magnificent!
29 May 2001
Format:Hardcover
With this incredible debut novel, Wray leaps onto the literary stage fully mature, with a book so polished and assured that lovers of great writing will be celebrating this book for a long time. Wray shows no uncertainty. He has total control of his dramatic raw material--the rise of the Nazis in Austria, the Dollfuss Affair, and the Anschluss--and he never once stoops to sensationalism, never pushes any of those easy anti-Hitler buttons, never loses his characters in the intensity of the action, and never lets us forget that Hitler's rise was possible because ordinary people allowed it to happen.
As the book opens, Oskar Voxlauer, is returning to Austria after twenty years in the Ukraine, where he has lived following his desertion from the horrors of Isonzo in World War I. His Socialist ideals have crumbled in the face of the communist reality, his lover has died, and he hasn't seen his family or his former home since he was seventeen. Unable to adjust to the changes which have taken place in Niessen, he finds work in the mountains as a gamekeeper for a Jewish friend, occasionally visiting the town and his somewhat dotty mother. Although Oskar finds love in the mountains with Else Bauer, he sometimes worries about his stability, suffering from occasional hallucinations and panic attacks and sometimes reacting violently to the injustices he sees and feels. He finds comfort in nature, even when the Nazi menace begins to threaten him, his relationship with Else, and his Jewish friend, Pauli Ryslavy.
The lively third person narrative alternates wth Oskar's poignant and lengthy memories from his past--in the Ukraine and in the Austria of twenty years ago. When Else's cousin, Kurt Bauer, a high-ranking SS official, arrives, a new point of view opens, as Bauer, too, contributes reminiscences--about the growth of his Nazi commitment, the killing of Austrian Chancellor Dollfuss, and his plans for a Nazi Austria. These interior monologues are incredibly powerful, highlighting the similarities and contrasts in the lives of Oskar and Bauer, both ordinary people who have been caught up in different political movements, committed to them for different reasons.
Putting all the politics into perspective are some of the most lyrical and gorgeous extended descriptions of nature you'll ever read-including butterflies with their "parchment-like wingbeats," two fox cubs, one of which "held the spine of a trout in its teeth like a diadem," and even inkpot toads, with their "bright yellow undersides [that] bled a dark, poisonous-looking ink from tiny vents along their ribs." This is a successful novel on every level, and it is not far-fetched to read of comparisons between it and Joseph Roth's earlier Austrian masterpiece, The Radetzky March. Mary Whipple
As the book opens, Oskar Voxlauer, is returning to Austria after twenty years in the Ukraine, where he has lived following his desertion from the horrors of Isonzo in World War I. His Socialist ideals have crumbled in the face of the communist reality, his lover has died, and he hasn't seen his family or his former home since he was seventeen. Unable to adjust to the changes which have taken place in Niessen, he finds work in the mountains as a gamekeeper for a Jewish friend, occasionally visiting the town and his somewhat dotty mother. Although Oskar finds love in the mountains with Else Bauer, he sometimes worries about his stability, suffering from occasional hallucinations and panic attacks and sometimes reacting violently to the injustices he sees and feels. He finds comfort in nature, even when the Nazi menace begins to threaten him, his relationship with Else, and his Jewish friend, Pauli Ryslavy.
The lively third person narrative alternates wth Oskar's poignant and lengthy memories from his past--in the Ukraine and in the Austria of twenty years ago. When Else's cousin, Kurt Bauer, a high-ranking SS official, arrives, a new point of view opens, as Bauer, too, contributes reminiscences--about the growth of his Nazi commitment, the killing of Austrian Chancellor Dollfuss, and his plans for a Nazi Austria. These interior monologues are incredibly powerful, highlighting the similarities and contrasts in the lives of Oskar and Bauer, both ordinary people who have been caught up in different political movements, committed to them for different reasons.
Putting all the politics into perspective are some of the most lyrical and gorgeous extended descriptions of nature you'll ever read-including butterflies with their "parchment-like wingbeats," two fox cubs, one of which "held the spine of a trout in its teeth like a diadem," and even inkpot toads, with their "bright yellow undersides [that] bled a dark, poisonous-looking ink from tiny vents along their ribs." This is a successful novel on every level, and it is not far-fetched to read of comparisons between it and Joseph Roth's earlier Austrian masterpiece, The Radetzky March. Mary Whipple
7 of 8 people found the following review helpful
agree with the NYTimes
18 Jun 2001
Format:Hardcover
This book is stunning. I wasn't really interested in the subject matter to tell the truth (don't care for historical novels in general - I'm more interested in how writers portray their own eras), but picked it up anyway because of the rave review in the NYTimes. Not really sure how he pulled it off, but it's an incredible and beautifully written book. I'd like to see what the author can do with a 21st century setting.
8 of 10 people found the following review helpful
strangley distanced, affectless examination of pre-Holocaust
27 Jan 2003
Format:Paperback
John Wray, in his debut novel, "The Right Hand of Sleep," has chosen several ambitious topics to explore: the rise of facism in a sleepy Austrian town, its impact on the town's population and the response of a "Lost Generation" soldier to the post World War I period. Lofty goals, however, do not make a novel successful. "Sleep" is eerily emotionless; its protagonist fails to elicit either sympathy or identification, and the author's style is alternately dense or elipitical. Though the novel deserves praise for its attempted illumination of the causation of facism's appeal in rural Austria, its narrative is sapped by excessive and unnecessary descriptive passages and vitiated by shallow characterizations.
"Sleep" focuses on the moral degradation and consequent alienation of its protagonist, Oskar Voxlauer. Debased and scarred by his front-line experiences during World War I, Oskar emerges as a quintessential representative of blighted youth. Shorn of frivolous idealism, Oskar nevertheless tries to reconcile his repressed hope for a coherent life with his silent resignation to the cruelty of the world and the absolute irrelevance of politics. Indeed, Oskar's passivity and unwillingess to accept personal risk for ideas (even for defending one of his few friends, a Jewish tavern-keeper, from the facist onslaught) is part naturalist impotence, part stoic refusal to acknowledge pain and part selfish desire to lead an invisible life. Regardless of Oskar's motivation to avoid direct confrontation with life, he disdains any political movement as unworthy of commitment. After all, his own life's experiences, as a soldier for a purportedly noble cause, as a companion to a Ukranian woman under the iron grip of Bolshevik excesses or as a irrelevant gamekeeper to his Jewish friend's landholdings, have proven the worthlessness, even the danger, of adherence to ideas.
Unfortunately, the banality of evil as the cause of facism is not groundbreaking philosophy. Wray's single greatest failure is to shed any new light on this perception. The people who surround Oskar never receive adequate depth. Even his Nazi adversary, Kurt, fails to arouse much disgust. Ironically, Mr. Wray, in writing about disaffection, disillusion and lack of connection, composes his work in much the same vein. If that weren't disappointment enought, his publisher, Alfred A. Knopf, permits him to use an absolutely arcane method of dialogue, one which requires the reader to not only wonder who is speaking, but when and if the spoken word has begun or concluded. The simple and proper usage of quotation marks would have made "Sleep" more comprehensible. Equally confusing is Wray's inexplicable replacement of Oskar's valuable first-person flashbacks mid-way through the novel with those of the Nazi Kurt. What is a successful and thoughtful inclusion becomes an irrelevancy.
"The Right Hand of Sleep" proves that works about Nazism, Jew hatred, and the rise of facism are not easy compositions. Despite the rich possibilities of dealing with the horrific loss of dignity and conscience of raw recruits in World War I, the novel never maintains dramatic tension or serious character development. Consequently, this well-intentioned work falls far short of its hopes.
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