Some moving moments in George Saunders’ Lincoln in the Bardo. Here is Abraham Lincoln reflecting (via a body-sharing ghost) on his grief at the death of his 11-year-old son, Willie:
“He came out of nothingness, took form, was loved, was always bound to return to nothingness.
Only I did not think it would be so soon.
Or that he would precede us.
Two passing temporarinesses developed feelings for one another.
Two puffs of smoke became mutually fond.
I mistook him for a solidity, and now must pay.”
Unsurprisingly, this is the heart of the book, particularly when set against the backdrop of the U.S. civil war.
This backdrop is shown through a mish-mash of excerpts from a variety of historical accounts. It’s a device that Saunders has fun with — particularly when those accounts contradict each other:
“In several accounts of the evening, the brilliance of the moon is remarked upon. (In “Long Road to Glory,” by Edward Holt)
A common feature of these narratives is the golden moon, hanging quaintly above the scene. (In “White House Soirees: An Anthology,” by Bernadette Evon)
There was no moon that night and the sky was heavy with clouds. (Wickett, op cit.)”
In one stroke, Saunders demonstrates that humans rarely come to an agreement, even when it comes to the shape of the moon.