I have been captivated with the story behind the novel for a long time: somewhere in Sarajevo, amid the rubble of a once-magnificent city, a lone unnamed cellist plays. It is a tale of defiance of hate, of beauty in darkness and hope kinded in hearts of men regardless of political stripe or military manifest.
Steven Galloway's novel The Cellist of Sarajevo seemed like it was going to preserve this man's bravery and immortalize the hope that he shed on desperate times. The intertextuality of stories, character voices at once weaving tales of similar moments in isolated corners, seemed to be filled with promise. And perhaps it is a failing of novels like this (see Joy Luck Club for similar feelings) but I grew attached to only one or two characters and found myself impatiently wading through the other storylines in order to reach the characters I felt more in line with.
But the importance of this novel should not be understated because it brings attention and reality and compassion to a place that lacks so much. In a world where news is something that tears you down and makes you feel helpless and distant from humanity, novels like Galloway help us to reconnect. And in our world, filled with hurting and misunderstanding, we need to capitalize and spread our empathy as far and wide as we can, lest we forget that "but for the grace of God, there go I".
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