Some folks enjoy light reading in summer, but I save those extra daylight hours for the heavies.

I’d been dying to read William T. Vollmann’s massive cold war epic Europe Central since it won the National Book Award in 2005. And it was well worth my wait. Europe Central is a work of art as brutal and heavy as the 88mm shells which litter its chapters. However, this doesn't mean the story lacks moral delicacy. Tough times require tough decisions, and Vollmann explores this through his use of prosopography.

He presents a cyclical narrative that spans from the German invasion of Russia to the height of the Cold War in the 1970s. Equivalent German and Russian historical figures are paired, and their psychological responses to fanatical ideology are contrasted in a mesh of recurrent tropes. The cast of characters is diverse and includes German printmaker Kathe Kollwitz, communist documentarian Roman Karmen, Nazi general Friedrich Paulus, and Soviet general Andrei Vaslov, both of whom defect to the enemy's side when captured.

Last but not least is Dimitri Shostakovitch, whose life and work epitomize the moral ambiguities and ideological confusions that Vollmann aims to highlight. Even today, musicologists debate the thematic intention of Shostakovitch's body of work. The ambiguity exists within the personal sphere, while in the public sphere, the result of hard line ideology is, of course, mass murder.

Amidst all this death, denial, and despair, there is also a love story. Vollmann casts Elena Konstantinovskaya as the love of Shostakovitch's life. She is his mistress, not his wife, and their relationship is idealized in his mind, crystallizing into a perfection that may or may not conform to the reality. His love for Elena is like the political fantasies of Hitler or Stalin, unattainable.

The horror of the novel is nearly spoiled by the story of SS officer Kurt Gerstein, who clandestinely tried to expose the Holocaust. This is the only section that comes dangerously close to an elementary school morality lesson. Fortunately, at least on an aesthetic level, Gerstein's end is as tragic as the rest.

You might be thinking, “Bryan, this book sounds terrible!” But I recommend it to anyone interested in Nazi and Soviet culture, the history of the Eastern Front during World War II, or the life and music of Dmitri Shostakovitch. Though the cast of characters is based on historical persons, Europe Central is a work of fiction, and the primary reason to experience the book is the artistry of William Vollmann. His prose is precise and evokes a modernist tone. Recurring themes, repeated vocabulary, and chronological interlacing weave a snowy, bloodstained tapestry across fifty years of heartbreak and political violence. Think of Europe Central as a photo negative of Tom Brokaw's The Greatest Generation, or a constructivist War and Peace.

Europa is Elena, and it is practically impossible not to fall in love with her for life.

She is like a precious gem, shining with an irresistible charm. Her beauty is not only on the surface but also in her kind heart and gentle nature.

Every time you see her, your heart skips a beat. Her smile can light up the darkest of days and her presence makes everything seem more wonderful.

You can't help but be drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Europa is the kind of person who makes you believe in love at first sight and forever.

She is truly one of a kind, and once you have met her, you will never be the same again.

The sound of machine guns chittering in the fields outside Leningrad is a haunting one. It's like a starving cellist learning to play a snare drum, with a "rat-tat-tat" rhythm. Dimitri named it his "Rat Theme," the heart and soul of his wartime Seventh Symphony, composed during the Great Patriotic War against the Fascists.

Both sides were led by that glorious little black telephone, or rather octopus, the god of the signal-corps. We open on a snow-covered radio tower in Romania, where a member of the Reich's Signal Corps eavesdrops on conversations. In Moscow, a woman fails to assassinate Lenin, and another fails to love him. They meet in a prison cell, by Stalin's hand. Meanwhile, the Nazis' Teutonic mysticism sweeps across Germany.

On the other side of Europe, a love triangle forms. Elena Konstantinovskaya meets Dimitri Shostakovich in Leningrad. They sleep together, and she inspires his Opus 40. But then she is abducted by the NKVD and tossed into a torture prison. After being released, she flees to Spain and marries Roman Karmen. Shostakovich pines for her and turns into a formalist and class enemy, watched by the NKVD.

Steel is set in motion as the Germans launch Operation Barbarossa. Leningrad is under siege, and the novel shows parallel portraits of moral actors. We see Paulus and Vlasov as their forces meet outside Stalingrad. Young men die in droves. Vlasov surrenders to the Wehrmacht, while Paulus surrenders to the Soviets.

There are also portraits of resistance. Zoya, a proletarian hero, is killed by the Fascists, but her sacrifice inspires others. Kurt Gerstien, an SS man, tries to sabotage the genocide but is hanged. The narrator and Comrade Alexandrov are the last moral actors profiled. Their strands alternate throughout the novel.

The narrator deserts the German army at the battle of Berlin and is sent to assassinate Shostakovich. He clashes with Alexandrov and hides in Elena's apartment. But he is forced to leave her when he becomes paranoid. Roman Karmen, abandoned by Elena, ages and is forgotten. He writes his Opus 110, an ode to Elena.

Elena loves them all in different ways. She is Europa, beauty, and goodness. She is the victory they chase and holds the power they cannot live without. But no one will ever be enough for her. In November 1942, Paulus's artillery guns are silenced so that Shostakovich's 7th Symphony can premiere in Leningrad. Three musicians die during rehearsals, and their skulls are obliterated. It's a tragic end to a story of love, war, and sacrifice.

The poem by Ewa Lipska sets a profound tone: “After the death of God, we will open the testament to know to whom the world belongs and that great trap of men.”

The images of Vasili Vereshchagin's “The Apotheosis of War” and Max Ernst's “L'Ange du Foyer” add a visual dimension to the complex themes explored.

“Central Europa” is indeed a book about Stalinism, Nazism, the Holocaust, and World War II, but it's not just a fictional account. It's also the story of a love triangle involving Dimitri Chostakovich, Roman Karmen, and Elena Konstantinovska, the mysterious figure. Vollmann's creative license in this aspect is clarified in the final note.

The reading was painful due to the suffering of the victims, but it also opened new horizons in the world of music. It taught valuable lessons in history and the joy of listening to and understanding composers like Chostakovich and Wagner.

Nelly Sachs' poem further emphasizes the themes of shadow, victimhood, and the drama of war. The note at the end warns that “Central Europa” demands a lot from the reader, both emotionally and in terms of time. However, for those seeking knowledge and emotion, it's a rewarding read that leaves a lasting impact.

Finally, the link to Dimitri Chostakovich's Eighth String Quartet (Opus 110) provides a musical accompaniment to this thought-provoking exploration of Central European history and human experience.

It's truly difficult to recall a time when modern popular music didn't have an electronic beat as its backdrop. However, in the grander scheme of things, it's still a relatively new phenomenon. In fact, it's been less than 100 years since orchestral music held supreme, and it reigned for an incredibly long time - literally hundreds of years. It almost seems absurd to consider now (and even more so when you read about it), but not too long ago, people would gather at a symphony or around a talented pianist and be deeply moved to tears by the performance. Of course, there are still those who do so today, but I'm referring to the masses, the popular culture. When a renowned composer had a new symphony, it was the absolute talk of the town.

Nowadays, it's clearly more of a niche genre. Most of us aren't eagerly awaiting the day when Croatian composer Ivan Božičević's latest mixtape drops on Spotify. It's strange to think about the changes we've witnessed in music, even from the 70s to the 80s to the 90s and now, in such a short span of time. But I would guess that most of us lump most music from before 1940 into the "classical" category. (And before that, what was there? Renaissance music? That must have been way back in the 1400s!)

When we think of "offensive" music these days, we're mostly concerned with issues of language - naughty words, sexy lyrics, and such. The musical elements themselves aren't really considered. There aren't many sounds in the Western world of music that are offensive to our ears (aside from all the Justin Bieber jokes). The top 40 is centered around pleasing vocal melodies and harmonies, while the music serves little purpose other than providing a foundation of a basic chord progression. In reality, the vocal melody and the beat are what matter - it's hard to find anything offensive on a sonic level.

I bring all this up because for most of this massive 800+ page book, I grappled with the concept of formalism, specifically as it relates to music. Because formalism, you see, was a crime punishable by death in the 30s and 40s. This music was considered offensive. It wasn't the words, it wasn't the beat - it was the music itself, a series of small circles on a musical staff, played by a group of musicians, creating a sound that could make you an enemy of the state.

Much of this book details the life of Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich, who achieved great fame and success but also incurred the wrath of Stalin and the Communist Party (which was not a good thing if you were Russian back then). His music was deemed formalist, "coarse, primitive, and vulgar." He fell out of favor and was constantly in fear for his life, not because of something he said or did, but because of the music. Its very sound was considered offensive. I think I had a hard time understanding the concept because this isn't something you'd come across in today's top pop songs.

Formalism, technically speaking, means that a piece of music's meaning is derived from its form - its structure, notation, and overall organization - not from its lyrics or any feeling it evokes. For example, today if you want to hear something that cheers you up, you might listen to a light, poppy, uptempo song with simple lyrics. Something like Katy Perry. The meaning of that music is derived from the feeling it evokes: happiness. If you're angry, you might listen to death metal. Again, the meaning isn't necessarily derived from the rapid-fire percussion or screamed vocals - it's an overall feeling. (These points could definitely be debated, but hopefully you get my point.)

Shostakovich used his music to attack the oppressive Stalinist regime, and he was either fortunate or cursed to live in a time when the popular music of the day allowed him to do so. Over the course of this book's 800 pages, Shostakovich endures the horrors of World War II - specifically the battle between Russia and Germany, as the Nazis attempt to invade and the Russians strive to repel them, with both sides paying a terrible price. What Shostakovich witnesses, he incorporates into his music - he takes the tone of a sobbing mother who has just lost her child and infuses it into his music. He hears the marching of soldiers' boots and inserts it into his 7th symphony. The wail of a siren, the falling of a bomb, the trickle of blood down a dead man's face - all of these are assigned notes and incorporated into his music.

I had never listened to Shostakovich before, but I did while reading this book. You can hear everything. It's loud. It's tragic. It's angry. There's a 12-minute section in the first movement of his 7th symphony that simply repeats the same phrase over and over again, slowly increasing in volume and gradually becoming more urgent, until eventually it descends into chaos. The drums are overpowering, the trombones blare like a siren, and the woodwind instruments crash with the force of a warhead. It's absolutely terrifying.

It's no wonder, then, that high-ranking party officials were constantly pressuring Shostakovich to write something happier, lighter, perhaps a nice hero's anthem or something to boost the spirits of the troops. They heard the pain in his symphonies and determined that it would be dangerous for the populace to hear it. There was a war on; they needed to keep the propaganda machine running smoothly, and this music wasn't helping. It was offensive to them. It was formalist - the meaning of the music (the pain of war, the tyranny of Stalin) was inherent in its very structure, embedded in its very essence.

It's truly fascinating. This kind of thing would never happen today because music just isn't like that anymore. It's not as formalist, which in this book seems like a bad word (an offensive word). Maybe music has evolved the way it has precisely because of things like this. Who can say? If Shostakovich were alive today, how would he react to what we call top 40 music? Would he lament the lack of depth? Or would he be relieved by its simpler structures and the freedoms that come with it?

If you have any interest in World War II and the intricate relationship and events that took place between Russia and Germany, then this book is a must-read for you.

It not only delves into what was happening in these countries leading up to the war but also explores the aftermath.

The story is told through the perspectives of various historical figures such as the composer Shostakovich, Paulus, Gerstein, and others.

The author has beautifully crafted this narrative and conducted exhaustive research, resulting in a book that is both engaging and informative.

I absolutely loved this book and it has rightfully earned its place on my best reads pile.

Despite its length, I didn't mind at all as I enjoyed every single minute of it.

I will definitely be reading more of Vollmann's works as the writing was simply outstanding.

It should be noted that the book does contain some graphic sex and vivid depictions of war tortures.

If this kind of content bothers you, then you might not be a fan of this book.

However, I thought that the sex added an interesting dimension to the story and humanized some of the characters.

And of course, when telling a story about World War II and the relationship between Germany and Russia, it is impossible to pretend that everything was nice and nothing bad happened.

The gruesome depictions of war and tortures are simply a part of what actually took place.

The way all this is presented is on such a high level that it truly showcases great writing in my opinion.

I was captivated from the very start and couldn't put the book down.

Highly recommended. 5 stars and a definite addition to the list of best reads.

Perhaps I should rate this as 3, or 3.5 stars.

This is a book that demands an enormous amount of effort, time, prior knowledge, dedication, and perseverance.

Effectively, it is a collection of linked short stories (or parables, as the author refers to them). The whole is not greater than, but equal to the sum of its parts. At times, the novel is prosaic, poetic, and sublime. At other times, it is a struggle, a slog, and grinding. Since it is a post-modern tome, the struggle, the slow pace, and the grind are purposeful, aiming to make you experience the hardships of D. D. Shostakvich, or the USSR, of class struggle, of the soldier on the Eastern Front, of the organs.

I believe this book might be magnificent, but I require time to mentally recover to be able to affirm that. It demands everything from you. You will conduct as much extra research into film, music, art, and history as you would when reading Proust or Joyce.

I will revisit this "review" because there is a great deal to process in the immediate aftermath.

This beast of a novel was my entry point into Vollmann's writing. I largely enjoyed this book, yet it wasn't without flaws. Surprisingly, this novel delves into the theme of love, specifically a love triangle involving Dmitri Shostakovich, Roman Karmen, and Elena Konstantinovskaya. Set against the backdrop of World War II, their relationship unfolds. What's truly remarkable is that all of these characters are real and actually existed. The amount of research that went into writing this book is astonishing, with about 50 pages of sources listed at the end.

To fully enjoy this book, having a basic knowledge of World War II, especially regarding the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany, is essential. Vollmann doesn't waste time explaining the historical context behind the events in the novel. Instead, he simply places you in the middle of it, leaving it up to you as the reader to piece everything together.

This book is dense and demanding, but it largely rewards the reader for their effort. Some parts are truly breathtaking, and I particularly liked the sections about World War II. That's where the book truly shines. The love triangle plot line was decent.

So, who should read this book? If you're a history buff, Europe Central should appeal to you. As I mentioned earlier, the research in this book is astounding. Read it if you're a fan of historical fiction and literary fiction. Overall, Europe Central is a tremendous achievement in fiction and should be celebrated. While the novel wasn't perfect and some parts dragged, I have to admit that I was largely impressed. Yes, it's messy, but I'm glad I read it.

I'm setting this aside after just 98 pages.

It has to be stated that although his subject matter is interesting and his prose can sometimes be inspiring, there is a creepy, pervy, voyeur lurking within his work. He writes with one hand and engages in inappropriate behavior with the other. His work is self-indulgent, and the reason he refuses to let editors modify his books is so that he can continue this self-indulgence until he reaches a climax.

Vollmann and I are finished for a while...

EDIT 9/25/14: Alright, I'm going back in. I'm going to read the next 100 pages and observe what occurs.

This decision to put the work aside initially was due to the disturbing undertones that became evident. However, with the edit on 9/25/14, there is a newfound curiosity to see if the next 100 pages will offer a different perspective or perhaps confirm the initial impressions.

It remains to be seen whether Vollmann's work will redeem itself or continue to be a source of discomfort. Only time and further reading will tell.

With Europe Central, I've now delved into a dozen books by Vollmann. This might seem like a significant number, but in reality, I've only scratched the surface of his two major undertakings: the Seven Dream series and Rising Up & Rising Down.

His works span a wide range of subject matters, yet it's evident that the same unwavering mind is at play in all of them. He convinces you that engaging in activities as disparate as smoking crack with a street prostitute and spending hours poring over research on WW2 in a library can be driven by the same manic curiosity about the human condition.

However, he's not a flawless writer. His first novel was subtitled 'a cartoon,' and I believe this is a very telling self-description. He's no Henry James. His characters often lack truly complex inner lives. Despite the extreme diversity of experiences presented, everyone appears to have a rather limited emotional range. I felt this issue resurfaced in Europe Central. The great love between Shostakovich and Elena is somewhat based on hearsay and remains rather empty, serving as a placeholder until the end.

I find this problem less prominent in his books set in the present. Generally, I have a preference for those that focus on prostitutes and other marginalized individuals in contemporary urban settings. I'm unsure if I'll continue to explore the Vollmann canon, but I do eagerly anticipate the publication of the novel described here:

http://observer.com/2013/10/do-ya-thi...

After decades of writing about prostitution more or less from the perspective of the client, it seems he's now going to attempt to present the whore's point of view. I'm intrigued to see if he can succeed in this endeavor.

Five stars pause, which means I am in the process of selecting "amazing".

So, yes. That's correct as a designation, but I have to admit that I did not enjoy reading this award-winning book. If I had more confidence in myself, I would pen a poem about my experience of reading it, as it seems to demand that level of response.

I quickly looked through some of the reviews here and was disappointed not to see anyone quoting my favorite chord that Vollmann struck throughout this hefty volume: "What's that sound?" Had he not repeated it throughout the book, I might not have been able to persevere with reading. It served as a kind of anchor that kept me going.

Steel, the war machine, rumbles through the pages, apparently emitting the B-sharp sound. We observe Shostakovich following, closing in on and yet avoiding the sound. He "was stripped of his teaching jobs at the Leningrad Conservatory and the Moscow Conservatory alike...Thank you, thank you, he replied, rising from his seat. I was never here, so how can I feel humiliated? ...I'm under the piano keys."

Vollmann is indeed a brilliant writer. However, this was a very difficult book for me to get through. "And what they did to his wife, it makes me want to...What's that sound? That's what the neighbors heard when they started in on her left eye. Remember it, please, for Opus 110. Then he expressed his total faith in the wisdom of the Party."

I feel sometimes that certain writers can be roughly divided into two camps.

On one hand, there are those who are completely obsessed with every single page. They might produce around 800 pages that are truly brilliant in terms of the writing itself. However, they don't seem to be as concerned with the overall structure and coherence of the entire work.

In contrast, there are others who may lack a true gift for the art of prose. Their writing might not be as polished or refined. But they are consummate storytellers. They have the ability to engage the reader and keep them hooked from beginning to end with their captivating narratives.

Vollman, in my opinion, falls with a rather loud thud into the former camp. Although, to be fair, he can sometimes flirt with the latter. There is no doubt that the guy is technically gifted. His writing skills are quite remarkable. But, oh my god, what a brutally long and dull book he has produced. It seems as if he has sacrificed the overall enjoyment of the reading experience for the sake of showing off his technical prowess on each individual page.