I did not find this an easy read. It starts out in a relatively straightforward manner with the narrator Tadeus, a Polish writer, on a search for Isabel, the woman he loved and lost during Salazar’s dictatorship in Portugal. He goes from eyewitness to eyewitness and assembles pieces of the puzzle. Was she arrested? Did she die in prison? Each of her old acquaintances has his or her story to tell. But this isn’t in fact a straightforward detective tale at all, something which I only really appreciated after reading some articles and reviews. Tadeus is in a “metaphysical journey across continents and time”. Apparently he is dead and comes from a distant star, from Outside Sirius, where he has become a “pure light”. The novel’s structure references the mandala of the subtitle , a mandala being a colourful circular design representing unity, the idea that life is never-ending, and can also symbolise a journey through life. Well, I’m afraid much of this passed me by. And without knowing all this the novel soon becomes pretty meaningless. But if enjoying a novel relies so heavily on being already knowledgeable about certain esoteric aspects of it, then to me it hasn’t succeeded, and I didn’t enjoy it this one at all. The basic story of Isabel’s disappearance under Salazar interested me, but the symbolism of the mandala, and Tadeus being from a star was just too much for me.

"The photographer went over to what seemed to be a storage shelf. He rummaged in a box a while, then returned with some photos and held one out to me. Take a look at this picture, he said, a photo’s something that watches us, pursues us, maybe; look at this baby sitting on a blanket, a bow in his hair– that’s me. He paused. Now I ask myself, is this who I am? Is this who I was? Who I’ve been? Who was this I that I now say is Tiago and is with me every day? He held out another photo. A more recent picture this time, of a boy and girl. He smiled pensively and said, look at these two on their little bike, the girl in back is hugging the boy and leaning forward, smiling innocently for the camera, I took this picture years ago, and these were my children, and I ask myself, are they still my children? That’s not possible, I tell you, and I’d like to do a better job of documenting what was, but what was?

"Do the photographs of a lifetime represent time divided among several people or one person divided into several different times?"

This cyclical, poetic novel is full of quotes like these above, and beautiful mediations on time and death. And yet, I failed to engage much with the world of Tadeus, who is in search of the mysterious Isabel, who disappeared during the time of Salazar. The story ranges through Lisbon – but the city is like a dissolving presence. This is less a novel rooted in the gritty grounds of reality than a metaphysical journey into concepts and theories, bordered by the effects of oppression and dictatorship.

It’s a hard read, if you like your fiction real and tangible, with characters you can empathise with and touch with your imagination. If you let that go, and revel in the concepts and the beautiful writing, you’ll be submerged and intrigued by this story.

"I’m from endless time, I answered, from the endless time that outstrips us both, you, living in this now of yours, and I who lived in my then, you, writing your poetry, and I who wrote my poetry, not as beautiful as yours, mind you, simpler, without the personal tragedies of yours. There’s no personal tragedy in my poetry, he whispered, it’s the story of my generation, a period transformed into poetry."

Hmmm... a rum one this, partly because of it's very nature - an Italian specialist in Portuguese writing, pretending to be a Polish author in search of a political victim of the Portuguese dictatorship. The modernist style, with no speech marks and extended paragraphs, is not exactly a problem, but what remains as such is the fact that the journey, taking our narrator from Lisbon to Asia and then outer space, is pretty much only for the specialist. This has some entertainment for the average reader (like myself) but can ultimately remain too obtuse. As a swansong from someone oft deemed in line for the Nobel Prize for Literature, it's OK, but it's hard to love without inside knowledge.

Who is Isabel, where is she, what happened to her so many years ago in a Lisbon that was still under the iron fist of the dictatorship? And furthermore, who is this mysterious man that keeps circling this mandala made of concentric figures in order to get closer to her and unravel the past?

When the book came up for grabs on Netgalley I jumped for the opportunity because, as a Portuguese born in Lisbon, I always like to know how other people perceive my country, my city and my history. Of course, Antonio Tabucchi is no stranger to either of these things, and often uses them as the background of his books, but being this my first read by this author I was curious all the same.

Funny enough, this was his last book, and in it the author duels on things like mortality, the closeness to the ones that have left, the search for the things left unsettled in our past.

I really liked it, and even tough it is prose, it feels like a poem, and it mixes a real story with some mysticism. Not for those who live their lives surrounded only by hard facts, recommended to all the dreamers.

This book takes place in Lisbon. It is not just a search for Isabel, but a search for oneself as well. I loved the concept
of a Mandala and found it interesting. I would read this book again.

Thank you Net Galley. Another wonderful story from Antonio Tabucchi. The title captures the nature of the story well. The search is not just for Isabel but for self. Beautiful and lyrical, this is a book to read again. Superb.