Publishers Weekly
05/25/2020
The beautiful English-language debut from German poet Kampmann tells the story of a middle-aged oil rig worker’s emotional crisis after the death of his friend. Wenzel Waclaw is devastated when he discovers that his bunkmate, Matyas, has fallen from the oil rig platform where they work and drowned. After learning Matya’s family hasn’t been informed of his death, Waclaw travels to Bocsa, Hungary, to notify Matyas’s half-sister, Patricia, and realizes he knew little about Matyas’s past and motivations—and perhaps knows even less about his own. Waclaw then revisits his own severed connections: in Malta he breaks things off with his on-again, off-again lover; in the foothills of the Italian Alps he reconnects with his late father’s friend; and in Germany he looks for his common-law wife, Milena, whom he hasn’t contacted in years. He also reflects on the toll coal mining took on his father’s health, and Matyas’s shame and frustration following the Deepwater Horizon oil spill when they were working in the Gulf of Mexico. As Waclaw digs up memories of his drilling throughout the world—in Morocco, Mexico, and Brazil—he ruminates on generations of workers who must eke out a living by exploiting the earth and its resources. Kampmann captures the visceral uneasiness that arises from second guessing one’s past. (Sept.)
From the Publisher
Kirkus Reviews, One of Six Books in Translation to Read Now
"This first novel by an established poet examines the marginalized lives of European laborers . . . Although Kampmann addresses current events, such as environmental degradation and the precariousness of modern Europe, her focus is on how ideas of masculinity affect one man’s ability to grieve." ––The New Yorker
"A grim representation of working-class characters, told through the lens of a man of few words . . . And the author, who juxtaposes an intensely poetic writing style with her main character’s unyieldingly austere inner monologue, drives home the inescapable inevitability of loss and the relentless indifference of time." ―Ashley Sather, Vox
"An evocative road novel, a powerful account of grief and loss, and a subtle portrait of the dangers facing the working class. When you add an array of stark, beautiful sentences into the mix, the result is a thoroughly haunting, deeply moving novel." ––Tobias Carroll, Words Without Borders
"It is unexpected to encounter a modern-day Moby Dick with the same dangerous stakes, but, for workers under global capitalism, the sea remains as treacherous as ever. Capitalism’s disregard for human life is as deadly now as it was on the Pequod . . . Kampmann uses her gifts not to make the ugliness of global capitalism palatable, but to resist it, in the tradition of Audre Lorde . . . This novel fulfills the essentially radical task of poetry." ––Fiona Bell, Chicago Review
"This is climate fiction―a genre that explores climate change in fictional narratives―at its best." ―Amy Brady, Literary Hub
"The beautiful English-language debut from German poet Kampmann tells the story of a middle-aged oil rig worker’s emotional crisis after the death of his friend . . . As Waclaw digs up memories of his drilling throughout the world―in Morocco, Mexico, and Brazil―he ruminates on generations of workers who must eke out a living by exploiting the earth and its resources. Kampmann captures the visceral uneasiness that arises from second guessing one’s past." ––Publishers Weekly
"In her debut novel, German poet Kampmann touchingly and intimately illustrates the fallout of capitalism’s dependence on oil . . . This is a haunting exploration of the devastating costs all kinds of gig workers have to bear to feed themselves and the belly of the beast." ––Booklist
"The story of a man at the edge, a story of displacement and existential loneliness told with restraint . . . A poet’s novel in the richness of its imagery and the exquisiteness of the language." ––Library Journal
"A quiet but powerful novel . . . Kampmann’s characters are memorable; her dialogue spare but realistic. Her prose, ably translated by Posten, isn’t showy, but it’s quite pretty and, at times, gorgeous . . . A thoughtful, unsparing look at loss . . . A promising fiction debut with understated but beautiful writing." ―Kirkus Reviews
"Anja Kampmann’s novel, translated from the German by Anne Posten, is meandering ― in a good way. You feel Waclaw’s pain and sorrow for his lost friend. You feel how terrible the oil drilling business is, and how it crushes the men who work on the rigs." ––Emily Burack, One of Hey Alma's Favorite Books for Fall
"Prose with the brightness of poetry, in a splendidly lucid translation." ―Jennifer Croft, author of Homesick and co-winner with Olga Tokarczuk of the International Booker Prize for Flights
"So beautifully written, Anja Kampmann's novel is one of those very rare things: a debut of a literary master . . . High as the Waters Rise is our time's answer to the timeless Gilgamesh myth: a friend is lost, and a journey begins, teaching us with such passion about our world, its terrors, its injustices, its moments of piercing tenderness . . . Of any time, an epic. I am deeply grateful to Anja Kampmann for the gift to us that is this novel, and to her translator, Anne Posten, for the crisp and precise version in English. This is the book to live with." ―Ilya Kaminsky, author of Deaf Republic and Dancing in Odessa
Library Journal
08/01/2020
DEBUT After his best friend, Mátyás, is swept off an oil platform near the coast of Africa, rig worker Waclaw leaves his job and embarks on a journey of grief through his past and through a Europe changed from his memory of youth and early adulthood. He ventures first to Italy, the residence of Alois, an elderly uncle who was important to him in his youth. Then, borrowing Alois's pickup truck, Waclaw begins an odyssey through Eastern Europe, visiting Mátyás's sister before returning to his old hometown, where he hopes to reconnect with old girlfriend, Milena, only to find her comatose following a car accident. What results is the story of a man at the edge, a story of displacement and existential loneliness told with restraint and overall vagueness around the relationships among the various characters that both deepen the protagonist's sense of isolation and elevate the action to an almost mythic level. VERDICT Award-winning German author Kampmann is a poet, and this first foray into fiction is a poet's novel in the richness of its imagery and the exquisiteness of the language. It's as if the protagonist were a modern Odysseus returning to a home he no longer has—and that may no longer exist.—Lawrence Rungren, Andover, MA
Kirkus Reviews
2020-07-01
An oil worker reckons with the death of his best friend in this quiet but powerful novel.
As German poet Kampmann's debut novel opens, a middle-aged oil worker named Waclaw grows worried that his bunkmate and longtime confidant, Mátyás, is nowhere to be found. The two have worked the rigs together for years, cultivating an extremely close friendship, even spending their vacations together. When it becomes clear that Mátyás has fallen off the rig and died, a stunned Waclaw takes time off from his demanding job, going in search of something, although he’s not quite sure what that is. He travels first to Morocco, staying in a room the two had frequently shared, then to Mátyás’ town in Hungary to give his late friend’s possessions to his sister. Then it’s off to Italy and to Waclaw’s own hometown in Germany, where he tries to finally come to terms with the arc of his life. This is a highly interior novel, with Kampmann laser-focused on Waclaw’s grief, which is portrayed with compassion and honesty. Flashbacks clue the reader in to the details of Waclaw and Mátyás’ relationship, which, it’s hinted, was possibly more than mere friendship. Kampmann’s characters are memorable; her dialogue spare but realistic. Her prose, ably translated by Posten, isn’t showy, but it’s quite pretty and, at times, gorgeous. It can be a difficult novel to read with its insistent quietness and emotional heaviness, but readers who prefer their fiction reflective and not plot-heavy will likely find much to admire in its pages. It’s a thoughtful, unsparing look at loss—as Kampmann writes, “Alone, a person can become so angry or sad, it rubs their eyes dull.”
A promising fiction debut with understated but beautiful writing.
