My favorite book of all time is Markus Zusak’s “The Book Thief.” I first read it in middle school, then again during the COVID-19 shutdown and am now rereading it in Spain as it is (somehow) the only book my host family has in English. Ever since that first read, I have been desperately searching for a book that holds a candle to Death’s own diary. After unintentionally putting it off for over a year, I finally listened to a friend’s recommendation to read “A Gentleman in Moscow” by Amor Towles. Perhaps an odd introduction to a review for a different book, but “Gentleman” is the closest a book has ever come to my admiration for “The Book Thief.”
In the book’s chapters, I found myself deeply engaged with the life of the Count, a man sentenced to house arrest in Moscow’s Metropol Hotel as punishment for a revolutionary poem written under his name in the time of the Tsarist regime. Opening with Alexander Rostov’s trial and condemnation in 1922, the novel details careers, lovers and friends across three decades under the same roof. The reader is with him as he crosses the threshold into his first day of confinement and redefines the idea of house arrest across its 400 pages. Never once does Rostov complain about his situation, taking each day in stride without the mindset of a prisoner. Written by Towles, a Yale and Stanford University graduate who turned to writing after an illustrious career in investment — perhaps post-Goldman Sachs for our Gabelli School of Business grads — the pages nearly turn themselves. While many books may travel across countries or bounce between characters, “A Gentleman in Moscow” readers will find that during their time in the Metropol’s four walls, the Count becomes as intimate as family and the hotel feels like home.
The Metropol is described in great detail, creating a robust mental image of each step and corner of wallpaper that makes up this novel’s world. The central staircase is home to rendezvous and first impressions, while the grand ballroom hosts foreign language lessons and candlelit movie viewings. Labyrinths of hidden staircases create hiding places for girls in yellow dresses and boiler rooms of confinement. The Count spends his evenings tilted on the back legs of his chair in his room in the attic reading Montaigne essays, walking back and forth between a Narnia-like coat closet.
Throughout the years, Rostov integrates himself completely into the community of the hotel, which serves as a centerpiece of old Russian culture for Moscow natives. Now a man with ample time on his hands, the Count employs himself as head waiter at the hotel’s renowned Boyarsky restaurant, during a time of intense rationing and “property of the People.” He keeps his routines from “before” that are within the hotel like his weekly hair appointments — though his barber notes that not much changes in that timespan — and his nightly aperitif at the bar. His friendship with a young girl growing up without friends in the hotel turns into the gift of a lifetime, though you’ll have to read for yourself to find out. The Metropol played host to one-time visitors and long-term tenants alike, each with their own relationship with and draw to its unique history and the grand piano that sits in one of its great halls, calling out to players of all caliber. From the Count’s perspective, “There would be songs that emptied your glass and called you to your feet. Songs that led you to leap and alight in a manner that belie your age. Songs that made you reel and spin until you lost your bearings not only between the parlor and the salon, but between heaven and earth.”
With every turn of phrase and intentionally unreliable narrating, “Gentleman” is absolutely perfect for fans of Erin Morgenstern’s supple and magnificently descriptive prose of “The Night Circus,” or (and I may be biased) the innovative approach to historical fiction in “The Book Thief.” Unique narration styles in novels are what stand out most to me when reading, even if they are often difficult to explain in detail without giving away key plot points. Towles includes footnotes and direct references to the reader that pull you in even more and somehow titles every single chapter with “A” alliterations. This was the first book I’ve wanted to reread as I was already actively reading it. I wrote, “at the same time that I was itching to finish it, I never wanted it to end,” in my little book journal. There is nothing quite like the feeling of finishing a book you immediately realize you will be thinking about for years, just sitting there with it in your hands in silence.
What do we have to do to find our next great read? Apparently, you just need to listen to your friends.
