GO, WENT, GONE by Jenny Erpenbeck is a fictional account focusing on the refugee crisis in Europe. Originally written in German, it is translated by Susan Bernofsky. The main character is Richard, a recently retired classics professor who is increasingly troubled by and drawn to the immigrants he meets in Berlin. Richard learns of ten African refugees who are conducting a hunger strike before Berlin's Town Hall, eventually works to apply for asylum for them, and even invites one to his home to play piano.

For me, this book was a fascinating look at another country as well as an exploration of a hotly debated social issue. I was surprised at how much seemingly tangential information I learned from reading GO, WENT, GONE; for example, did you know that there is more uranium in Niger than nearly anywhere else in the world? Our global inter-connectedness is highlighted by books like this which seek to foster dialogue and understanding across cultures. I am grateful and proud that our local libraries have them available for patrons especially when just this week, the President of the United Nations decried the US government's decision to pull out of yet another non-binding international agreement, the New York Declaration for Refugees and Migrants which pledged to uphold the rights of refugees, help them resettle and ensure they have access to education and jobs. Keep reading and stay informed. Erpenbeck is an award-winning author and GO, WENT, GONE received a starred review from Kirkus.

What is fiction for?

One answer can be found in prize-winning German novelist Erpenbeck’s new novel, a heart-opening story of contemporary immigration to Germany which, in calm tones, asks question both simple and profound about perhaps the most politically seismic issue of our day.

The narrative is written from the perspective of Richard, a retired and widowed classics professor living in middle-class comfort in what was once East Berlin, where he grew up under an absolutist regime that eventually crumbled in a matter of weeks. Through Richard’s eyes, readers come to view the individual horrors and collective misery of a handful of the people who fled their countries, crossed the Mediterranean in immense peril and were welcomed into the unified nation by Angela Merkel.

Escaping wars and massacres in their own or adopted African nations – Niger, Libya, Burkina Faso – these men (Erpenbeck does not include women or children although they are glimpsed on the periphery) are given identity and context by Richard who, cast adrift from his professional life, creates a project for himself of interviewing them, asking about family, food, custom, belief and experience. Thus a group of individuals emerges from the nameless throng, given classical, mnemonic identities by Richard (in, presumably, an ironic nod by the author to the cliché of racial non-recognition), like Thunderbolt-hurler for Rashid, a man of imposing physique, or Apollo, for a young Tuareg man with abundant curls.

But there is nothing disparaging about Richard’s involvement with these survivors, instead we see curiosity, instinctive empathy and a large measure of self-scrutiny as he comes to understand their stories and losses, and the Kafka-esque impossibility of their situations as, trapped in a thicket of supposedly humane rules and laws, they are systematically repressed and crushed.

Richard is too old to be a firebrand and of the wrong temperament for political activism. Instead, he simply makes friends with these figures, offering his piano to Osarobo who wants to play; accompanying Rufu to the dentist. And of course it’s a two-way street. By visiting the men and becoming acquainted with them, teaching them German and assisting in other ways, Richard’s own life expands too. Rashid even keeps Richard company over what would otherwise have been an empty Christmas. Richard’s most heroic act is to buy a piece of land in Ghana – the cost is compared to, and scarcely eclipses, the price of the new lawn-mower he had been considering – for one of the men, thereby lifting a lifetime’s burden of obligation from the African’s shoulders.

Erpenbeck’s voice in all this is unostentatious, restrained, yet powerfully incisive, asking questions at multiple levels, about the meaning of time, history, race, peace, humanity. Her enquiries, sometimes shocking, rarely clichéd, are frequently bolstered by classical reference or quotation which lend an additional if significantly Western element of insight.

This is a cerebral book, and unashamedly so, invoking European culture both good and bad as a counterpoint to contemporary, non-‘first world’ events. Best of all, it looks nationalism, morality and behavior straight in the eye, and challenges any reader to consider her/his own stance.

Isn’t that what fiction’s for?

Meh. Richard is lost in retirement land. He lives in Berlin, Germany. He spends a lot of time pondering the plight of some refugees and their sympathizers. Beyond that I didn't care much for this book.

Where can a person go when he doesn't know where to go?

This book, about the current refugee crisis in Europe (specifically, Germany) asks this question and others - important ones, about what constitutes a border, about what separates us as human beings, about who takes care of whom and whose problem is it anyway? All great questions, and a big part of the reason why I wanted to read this book, by Jenny Erpenbeck who is described as one of Germany's most important writers.

She obviously writes with a great deal of compassion towards the displaced African refugees, and is highly critical of her own country's policies. She must have spoken with many people to learn about cultures, experiences and stories. And it's evident she did loads of research on law and procedures.

But, she failed to draw me into her story. It's only because of my compulsive need to read a book in its entirety that I completed it. I was on the precipice, many times, to jump ship and just flee. But here I am, here to tell you, I read the whole book, and I was not engaged - with a story that could have been so emotional and meaningful (as well as timely).

I don't know what the problem was exactly, except it felt very hollow. It had an empty echo. I couldn't stick to the pages - I kept slipping off them. I found myself routinely glossing over entire paragraphs and having to re-read them in order to reacquaint myself with what the heck was going on. The description and tone of the book was flat and depressing. Also, the message was one sided - I would have appreciated perhaps a rounder view presented, to understand all sides in this complex story. I wanted more action, perhaps. More colour. The prose was communist grey. When the author went into stories of the refugees, it was more interesting, but wasn't enough to really capture my imagination.

Too bad, because it's an important topic - for Germany and for the rest of the world.

Must living in peace - so fervently wished for throughout human history and yet enjoyed in only a few parts of the world - inevitably result in refusing to share it with those seeking refuge, and defending instead it so aggressively that it almost looks like war?

There is a pair of old Latin phrases that have been found inscribed on graves that I thought about constantly as I read Jenny Erpenbeck’s Go, Went, Gone (translated by Susan Bernofsky). The phrases hodie mihi cras tibi (today me, tomorrow you) and sic transit gloria mundi (thus passes the glory of the world) are strangely appropriate for a book that follows recent classicist retiree Richard as he remembers what his life used to be like. Later, as Richard becomes fascinated by the plight of African refugees in Berlin, we are left to ponder how how Germany resists and is changed by an influx of people from very different cultures and histories.

Richard is in his seventies as the novel begins and has just retired from decades of work at Humboldt University. He spends his time reflecting on how very little of his life in the former East Germany remains in modern Berlin. He no longer has his job to keep his brain occupied and knows that other bright young things in the Classics Department will replace him. After he sees a large camp of refugees in Berlin—some of the refugees are on a hunger strike to force the government to take action on their cases and help them find work—Richard becomes a little obsessed with the situation. He arms himself with a battery of questions and heads off to one of the shelters for the refugees. His questions, presumably part of a research project, help him get to know men from Niger, Mali, Nigeria, Chad, Burkina Faso, and other countries. And, suddenly, Richard’s life has meaning again as he tries to help get the men money, work, and shelter.

The plot speeds up as Richard gets more and more involved, but it retains a mournful tone. The novel is nostalgic for the past and Richard misses some of his old life and haunts, but there was—to me at least—a sense of acceptance to the fact that nothing stays the same forever. Richard hears from friends and reads about how the government deals with the refugees that make it clear that not every one is as accepting of the fact that times change and we must change with them. (More Latin: tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.)

Go, Went, Gone is a very levelheaded look at what I think of as the manufactured dilemma of the refugee crisis. Many of the countries taking in refugees create miles of red tape to trip up people who are fleeing for their homes to, presumably, make sure the people coming in are safe to enter. The laws, as Richard finds, make it a lot easier for a country to deport someone that it is for that someone to make a new home in a new country. The red tape smacks of racism and Go, Went, Gone is full of examples of what people say about refugees: Why don’t they solve their own problems? Why doesn’t someone else take them in? Richard’s investigations put unignorably human faces on the refugees so that, while it might be easy to deport almost 500 refugees from various countries, it’s a lot harder to send Rashid, Osarobo, Yaya, Khalil, and the others back to places where they might be killed.

I received a free copy of this book from the publisher via NetGalley for review consideration. It will be released 15 September 2017.

To my shame (since I studied comparative literature in college), I sometimes have to talk myself into reading a book in translation. That's why this book sat on my Kindle for two months after I first downloaded it from NetGalley. But now that I've finally read it, I'm reminded of why books in translation are SO IMPORTANT. Don't get me wrong, reading in English about refugees in Europe is great...but having the perspective of these characters from inside Germany, in language that's beautifully rendered yet still clearly not my own, has ripped my mind open just a little further - always a good thing.

So happy this has been translated! This is a highly important novel especially in the current political climate. I would have liked more interaction with the refugees, but I feel like that is kind of the point of the text. It can be difficult when you haven't a chance to interact with "outsiders" and changing your opinion can be challenging.

I thought Visitation and The End of Days were both brilliant works, but the magic was missing for me in this book. Even though the refugee crisis is such an important topic today, I felt very detached from the story. I think introducing us to a few of the refugees and giving us more of their story may have been more interesting than briefly introducing us to many of them.

Maybe it's the comparison to her earlier books that affected my opinion , but I really missed the originality and the beautiful writing. There were certainly some lovely quotes and sections, but I had trouble connecting with the sections on the refugees.

I will still read anything Jenny Erpenbeck writes, because I think she is extremely talented.