The author George Saunders begins his new novel \u201cVigil\u201d (out now from Random House) from above: Jill \u201cDoll\u201d Blaine is plummeting groundward from some unspecified aerial accommodation \u2014 not necessarily heaven \u2014 physical form assembling midair as her mind pieces together the mission at hand.<\/p>\n
Jill is a ghost who specializes in assisting the dying in their final hours. \u201cTo comfort,\u201d she says. \u201cTo comfort whomever I could, in whatever way I might.\u201d This time, her charge is an ornery oil titan named K. J. Boone, a shadowy corporate mastermind who spent his life undercutting the public perception of climate science.<\/p>\n
\u201cWithin him abided a formidable stubbornness,\u201d Jill tells us.<\/p>\n
Saunders\u2019 previous novel, 2017\u2019s Booker Prize-winning \u201cLincoln in the Bardo,\u201d also dealt with post-life purgatory. As in that book, the ghosts in \u201cVigil\u201d are confused about who they are, where they are and what precisely they\u2019re doing. Saunders, set to speak with author Claire Dederer at Town Hall Seattle on April 7<\/a>, isn\u2019t quite sold on the afterlife.<\/p>\n \u201cBut I think the underlying idea,\u201d he says, \u201cis that if you were well adjusted, you wouldn\u2019t be hanging around. There\u2019s something off<\/em> about these ghosts. If things had gone perfectly, you\u2019d be in heaven or hell.\u201d<\/p>\n Saunders cites Hans Holzer, a parapsychologist and midcentury ghost hunter who chronicled his extensive findings. \u201c(Holzer) did all these investigations of haunted places,\u201d says Saunders. \u201cHe would bring in mediums. And they only ever ran into ghosts who were (messed) up.\u201d<\/p>\n Purgatorial settings are ripe for moralistic parables, and Saunders, who last year became the 38th recipient of the Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters<\/a>, is widely known as a moralistic writer. But when The New York Times\u2019 David Marchese lauded him this January<\/a> for ethical infallibility, calling him \u201ca kind of secular saint,\u201d Saunders grew bashful.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m anxious,\u201d he told Marchese, \u201cand I\u2019m sometimes pretty grumpy and I\u2019m also way too busy. That secular-saint business \u2014 I\u2019m resisting that narrative, because it jars with what I know about myself as an actual person.\u201d<\/p>\n On the level of brass tacks, which is to say, putting words down on a blank page, Saunders is a hugely inventive, detail-oriented writer who has mastered the related intricacies of humor and voice. His characters curse an awful lot. They laugh at bodily functions. They frequently hurt each other. Is this the stuff of saints?<\/p>\n \u201cTo me, it\u2019s not really moralism,\u201d says Saunders. \u201cThat\u2019s just something someone called me once. I always thought, when I wrote my first book, I want this to be funny. But I want it to be the kind of story where you can\u2019t say, \u2018Oh, it\u2019s just<\/em> funny.\u2019 I want to allow you to care about these characters enough to tolerate the funny. But the fun is the message. If some random guy out there sends you a story, and you crack up, that\u2019s<\/em> the moral.\u201d<\/p>\n These impulses align to great effect in \u201cVigil.\u201d For every reflection on morbidity and the meaning of life, Saunders bakes in a sugary layer of the bizarre, such as when two of the tycoon\u2019s old co-workers, Mel G. and Mel R., both ghosts, begin to spontaneously duplicate by his bedside.<\/p>\n \u201cReplicas of the replicas began dropping from the rears of the initial replicas and these secondary replicas grew full-sized and began dropping out tertiary replicas, who also grew, until the room was so packed with full-sized versions of the original G. and R., all talking at once, that several of the replicas were nudged out through the wall and, while still in the process of introducing themselves, tumbled down into the yard below.\u201d<\/p>\n Saunders says of his writing process: \u201cIf something is weird, just stick with it for a while. See what happens.\u201d<\/p>\n These fantastic visions help to crack K. J.\u2019s defiant veneer, allowing regret to trickle in. Saunders worked as an engineer in and around the oil industry prior to his writing days; he knows the material well but takes pains to avoid didacticism. \u201cHonestly, I quickly turned away from the idea of this as an environmental novel,\u201d he says. \u201cBecause it\u2019s like, who am I lecturing? Anyone who has any sense knows (human-made climate change) is true. And anyone who doesn\u2019t isn\u2019t going to read this book.\u201d<\/p>\n Asked if he imagines that any of his fiction reaches the other side of the political spectrum, Saunders gives a one-word answer: \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n Having said that, a strength of \u201cVigil\u201d is the length that Saunders goes to understand K. J.\u2019s pride and aspiration. \u201cHe loved the work and believed in it,\u201d Saunders writes of the dying energy magnate. \u201cHe became part of a tribe, a tribe of brothers (and some sisters, yes, even back then) and soon emerged as a leader of that tribe. He\u2019d loved the tribe. Loved it dearly. Was proud to be part of it, thrilled to be giving his days to it and to find himself rising up effortlessly within it.\u201d<\/p>\n These are the signs of a true passion. For K. J., it\u2019s oil. Taken out of context, it sounds like a creative speaking about their craft. \u201cThat\u2019s one of the things I was trying to get at,\u201d says Saunders. \u201cI asked myself, at this point in my life, do I have some allegiances that are so fixed I can\u2019t refute them? And, yeah. I think if someone came to me and said, \u2018Admit that your whole writing career was a mistake,\u2019 I\u2019d be like, \u2018I can\u2019t.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n