A Gentleman in Moscow
Amor Towles, 2011
“But in setting upright the cocktail glass in the aftermath of the commotion, didn’t he also exhibit an essential faith that by the smallest of one’s actions one can restore some sense of order to the world?”
... ponders Viktor Stepanovich at a scene in Casablanca.
Count Alexander Rostov is one who exhibits this as he navigates his life and relationships. His character channels the turmoils of his own circumstances and turns it into a beacon of kindness, empathy and generosity. Though physically confined within the walls of the luxurious Metropol Hotel, his spirit remains at liberty through literature, fine wines, and relationships with a rich cast of characters that span over decades.
When I first heard of the book’s premise I had assumed its core message would be something along the lines of “appreciate the little things in life”. It runs deeper, for ‘little’ is a relative term. Yes, the book does detail the breathtaking interiors of the Metropol to a point where one may be able to navigate it blindfolded, and it does describe a bowl of bouillabaisse to a point where one could almost taste it… But the Count’s appreciation for the objects and people in the hotel stems from a deep-rooted wisdom that each is a product of a unique individual history waiting to be rediscovered, if only there were someone who was willing to listen.
One (of many) passages that depict this was where the Count was shown the hotel’s wine cellar, where all the labels had been removed from the bottle as it "ran counter to the ideals of the Revolution" and was a "monument to the privilege of the nobility". The Boyarsky had been ordered to sell only red and white wine, with every bottle at a single price. Instead of displaying outrage at the situation, the Count calmly ponders on the infinite permutations of circumstance that resulted in each bottle:
Whichever wine was within, it was decidedly not identical to its neighbours. On the contrary, the contents of the bottle in his hand was the product of a history as unique and complex as that of a nation or a man. In its colour, aroma, and taste, it would certainly express the idiosyncratic geology and prevailing climate of its home terrain. But in addition, it would express all the natural phenomena of its vintage. In a sip, it would evoke the timing of that winter's thaw, the extent of that summer's rain, the prevailing winds, and the frequency of clouds.Yes, the bottle of wine was the ultimate distillation of time and place; a poetic expression of individuality itself. Yet here it was, cast back into the sea of anonymity, that realm of averages and unknowns.
From his interactions in the book, it was apparent to me that the Count saw each of his friends and acquaintances too, as the “ultimate distillation of time and place”. Through this lens, he was able to live a culturally rich life without stepping outside the hotel. Here is a man who derives joy from reciprocal, meaningful relationships with others and rediscover the events that had shaped them - and Towles evokes joy and empathy from their conversations so well. I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic over the apple orchards in Nizhny Novgorod or share pride with the Count in Sofia upon hearing her playing the piano for the first time.
The story was told through an invisible narrator who took the time to give light historical context and addendums throughout the book. The narrator’s style was art in itself, prancing from scene to scene, placing cliffhangers here and there, and leaving just enough to the imagination. The narrator at times speaks directly to readers and therefore gives us more than an observatory role to play, making room for our individual interpretations of the events that were unfolding before us. The ending left me satisfied and satiated with the charm and intelligence that poured out of the book, along with plenty to think about.
There was one scene at the Shalyapin where the Count praises the comprehensiveness with which Tolstoy’s War and Peace investigates "how the individual is shaped by history, and history by the individual". To me A Gentleman in Moscow also achieves this to some extent, though in a completely different way.
Count Rostov is a man of civility and intellect that foresees and takes accountability for, the consequences of his own actions. He made the people around him, myself, and hopefully other readers better for it. Thank you, Amir Towles, for introducing him to the world! I’ll end this with some nuggets of wisdom he bestowed upon his daughter Sofia:
The count had restricted himself to two succinct pieces of parental advice. The first was that if one did not master one's circumstances, one was bound to be mastered by them; and the second was Montaigne's maxim that the surest sign of wisdom is constant cheerfulness.
He said that our lives are steered by uncertainties, many of which are disruptive or even daunting; but that if we persevere and remain generous of heart, we may be granted a moment of supreme lucidity-- a moment in which all that has happened to us suddenly comes into focus as a necessary course of events, even as we find ourselves on the threshold of a bold new life that we had been meant to lead all along.
*As someone who is relatively unfamiliar with Russian history and culture, I found the character names and places to be daunting at first. The character development, context-giving narration, and footnotes definitely helped with this. Though I probably wouldn't be able to recognize all those that came and went out of the Metropol, the array of characters and places that are of significance were given enough of a voice to be picked out from miles away.
I’d definitely recommend this book overall but am especially keen to gift it to those feeling defeated by some circumstances in their life. Count Rostov could play the role of *that* uplifting friend that shed light on the good in things and show them that through nobility, kindness, and intellect, one can master one’s circumstances no matter how bleak, setting cocktail glasses upright, one at a time.
“After all, what can a first impression tell us about someone we’ve just met for a minute in the lobby of a hotel? For that matter, what can a first impression tell us about anyone? Why, no more than a chord can tell us about Beethoven, or a brushstroke about Botticelli. By their very nature, human beings are so capricious, so complex, so delightfully contradictory, that they deserve not only our consideration, but our reconsideration—and our unwavering determination to withhold our opinion until we have engaged with them in every possible setting at every possible hour.”