This novel of four generations of women is so intricately structured that they all seem to be living at one time, together, fighting, arguing, loving, digging deeply into what becomes a history shared by the living and the dead.
Hannah's journals from over a hundred years ago are astounding, so full of life and curiosity and sensual, doomed love that you think she's sitting there reading them to you herself. And that there hasn't been a more compelling character in literature for ages. ("I wanted nothing but to break the barriers," she writes--and does she!) Yet when her daughter, Bassie, starts to talk, and snarl, and argue, you feel she's worthy of Dickens. Bassie and Meg go at each other with a kind of vicious tenderness that only blood and family can bring to bear.
And the men...the men these women love. All are strong. All are deeply flawed. And each is worthy of the passion he inspires. Hannah's yearnings in particular are so intense that she finds them "despotic in the night" (lovely phrase, never mind how apt in terms of the novel's title) and must send herself literally into exile from her desire. Meg, who lives in, and must try to emerge from, the shadow of the women she was born from ("she felt a need to be rid of the past, unwillingly captured by it"), falls in love like the cerebral, conflicted character she is, hesitantly, confusedly, compellingly.
THE NIGHT JOURNAL combines the sweep of an epic with the intimacy of a love story. It has horrendous train wrecks (you want to turn your eyes away) and appalling massacres and monumental feats of engineering and intricate details of archeology and beautiful scenery in the midst of which its characters fall into forbidden, tragic love.
Elizabeth Crook has attempted, and accomplished, a vastly ambitious work of fiction. You will lose yourself in this book, and in the process find a precious, unforgettable work of narrative art.