Just Finished Reading: The Death of the Fronsac by Neal Ascherson (FP: 2017) [393pp]

When Maurycy Szczucki joined the Polish Army he had no idea that he would end up in Scotland as a liaison officer to the French navy. It was something that he could never have imagined even if he had been asked and had time to give it some thought. But that was war. Being able to speak French and ‘get by’ in English certainly helped – along with the fact that the Polish military machine in exile had nothing much for him to do. But, he supposed, what could they do after losing a war and then an entire country as it was swallowed in two great gulps by the Nazis and then the Soviets? Of course thinking about home was never a really good idea. Too many questions, too many dark places to go to, too many people to think about. Unfortunately his position, overlooking the Firth of Clyde, gave him far too more time to ponder things – he pondered about the locals, he pondered about the French navy and more so after France too succumbed to the Germans and its officers had to make the decision to stay or to go home but mostly he pondered about the Fronsac and the day it blew up in the harbour. An accident? Carelessness with a torpedo or something else? Rumours abounded, as they always do in wartime, of sabotage and strange people on board with stranger pasts but this time that stranger, missing presumed killed, was the son of Szczucki’s landlady and the husband of the enigmatic and mercurial Helen. Could he really have destroyed the French ship? Why do so and did he really die in the blast? Long after the sound of the explosion had reverberated around the harbour the consequences of the act echoed through the lives of everyone it touched on that fateful day in 1940.

I’m not entirely sure why I picked up this book a few years ago. Part of it is that it was in the 3 for 2 offer pile. Part of it is that I liked the cover (I’m a sucker for old photographs) and part of it was that it looked ‘different’. It was certainly that! The main character – and ‘voice’ of the tale (although not the only narrator) – Maurycy (AKA ‘Uncle Mike’ to Helen’s daughter) – is a great invention. Being in effect ejected from his country and unable/unwilling to return even after the war is over and his home town is now part of the Soviet Union he is an exile without a place to return to, a refugee without any refuge outside of his own skull. Being as such gives him a unique ability, a unique position to observe from, to consider the events as they unfold around him after the defining explosion central to the story – and there are plenty of events and much unfolding that I haven’t even alluded to! As he struggles to make sense of things whilst remaining a stranger in a strange land he finds himself very reluctantly at the centre of the storm and, through his struggles, we slowly find out exactly what happened the day of the explosion and also much more about the other people – equally complex and well-drawn – involved. I actually finished this about 6 weeks ago due to my review backlog and am still haunted by its story and its often beautifully lyrical style. The nub of the whole thing, I think, is the idea of Home: Where it is, the question of what we do when we lose it and what we will do to get it back – and what we will do when we realise that going back isn’t an option. Quite superb and one of the best books of 2020. Highly recommended.