George Saunders, who is already a prolific short story writer and essayist, released this experimental novel in 2017. I would not necessarily have chosen it for myself, but it was the July pick for the Porter Square Books book club and I found the premise to be intriguing. Blending historical fiction and magical realism, Saunders transports readers back in time to the tragic death of Abraham Lincoln’s son, Willie Lincoln, about a year into the Civil War. Willie finds himself trapped in the Bardo, a purgatory filled with restless and self-centered individuals who are kept here by the belief that they are not quite dead. The Bardo is particularly cruel to children, so Willie’s companions in this mournful and desolate place must find a way to convince him to move on.
I would certainly place this book in the category of “entirely unexpected” in terms of style and format. Saunders breaks the entire story out into chunks of dialogue, each chunk spoken by a particular individual. Historical accounts of Lincoln’s shaky leadership and his devastating loss are interspersed among rambling thoughts from Willie Lincoln’s fellow Bardo dwellers, drawing attention to the transience of time and the fragility of legacies. Take this stunning sequence of accounts that capture the final moments of Willie’s life:
“Willie Lincoln thrashed and moaned and nothing could be done.”
“The burning cheeks, the frantically roving eyes, the low moans of despair, seemed to signal a great torment within and a corresponding desire to escape it, and be himself again, a happy little fellow.”
“In his thrashing young Willie kicked off the gold and purple bed-spread. It lay in a heap on the floor.”
“The yellow trimmings, gold tassels and fringes did not relieve the gloominess of the regal decór, but instead reminded visitors that darkness and death came even to princes.”
p. 285
Vivid moments like the one above are written in a fragmented style, with each historian or character adding their own input to create a single compelling passage depicting death, despair, or hope. I struggled to follow along with this fragmented prose at first, but I ultimately feel into a ‘rhythm’ in which I could skim each passage with a general sense of which individual was speaking.
The Bardo dwellers’ various reasons for remaining were often tied to incredibly tragic and traumatic experiences during their lives, and Saunders certainly does not shy away from capturing these experiences in detail, from slavery to child abuse to rape. A very unsavory portrayal of the human condition emerges from the behavior of the tormented spirits who reside in the Bardo, yet there are moments camaraderie among them as well. Perhaps the central message being conveyed to the reader is that all human beings—whether you are a common merchant or the President of a great nation—experience similar shades of sorrow in their lives.
During my book club’s discussion of Lincoln in the Bardo, one attendee made an excellent point — that Saunders is capturing Abe Lincoln not just as the father of a dead boy, but the father of a dying nation ravaged by war. Saunders’s exploration of Lincoln as a complex individual, grieving in more ways than one, forms the core of this novel, while the Bardo is the place where the reader is reminded that the tragedies and victories experienced by the world’s greatest heroes are also experienced by common men and women.
In conclusion: I would not characterize Lincoln in the Bardo as an easy ready by any means; be prepared to have your assumptions of what a “typical novel” looks like challenged, and be prepared to grapple with the heavy topics of death and grief. I do recommend this novel to those who enjoy unique angles on major historical events and figures, as well as those who value the idea of upending a novel’s traditional components and creating something entirely new.
