BOOK REVIEW

Netherland – Joseph O’Neill

Ludicrously lauded for its emotional thrust, themes of immigration and long-distance love remain unpacked

It has been a large window of time – in truth, years – since I wrote my last book review. Shamefully, for much of that period I chose to substitute leisure reading for the consumption of work-related materials, such as industry news, MD&As and research notes. This occupied the entirety of my brain’s capacity for reading until late 2019, when I hauled myself up from beneath the surface of ignorance to reinstate the daily education of global news intake and contemplation. The successful resuscitation of this once-moribund facet of my self-identity has also fueled the happy reintroduction of books over the last year, and it is now that I endeavor to recommence the practice of writing reviews. A sizeable backlog looms before me but my principles are not so strong that I must review in chronological order. Thus I start with a cerebrally light work, which also happens to be my most recent read.       

I hopped into Netherland while at my Greek summer home, the book chosen for me by the dreadful circumstance of having finished the only literary companion I’d brought (a mistake I’ll never repeat) and being left without any English options save for whatever my mother was not reading herself. Glancing at the reviews and back cover endorsements, I was prepared for a confluence of mystery and romance but Netherland didn’t really deliver on either. Both were teasingly dangled before me at various junctures but then evaporated as quickly as the steam off a hot cup of tea. I do wonder if I misread it, expecting a hefty plot rather than a memoir of a beloved friend.

Written from the vantage of Hans, a Dutch banker with a love for cricket, it recounts his relocation from London to New York together with his wife, and then back again, although this time not together. The meat of the book occurs against the backdrop of post-9/11 America, injecting an undertone of metropolitan worry and tension to Hans’ dealings with his family. This makes for some interesting exchanges, including moments that prompt reflection on the nature of love, particularly love at a distance. Despite this, Hans is on whole a frustratingly unrelatable character, whose dealings with his wife and Chuck, his cricket-loving Trinidadian friend, typify the antihero’s qualities of ostensible apathy. He reminds me of Camus’ Meursault but executed much more poorly, for how Meursault floated resiliently emotionless through life’s storm, Hans seems to want to care so it’s unclear if he is a willing observer or just socially inept.

Beyond that cause for vexation – not to be understated, especially in the context of a tragic terrorist attack leading to his family’s break up, from which one would understandably expect an outpouring of feeling – my other main criticism is the absence of any meaningful story line. Instead, Hans recounts various memories of Chuck, whose role is to mirror Han’s experience of being an immigrant in New York, primarily through the unappreciated appreciation of cricket. Chuck’s stories offer some mildly amusing insights on the city’s treatment of newcomers, but it is hard to visualize a friendship grounded in a strictly one-way monologue. The potential of a major cricket stadium project flares up from time to time but never receives enough oxygen to catch fire, leaving it as singed, unused kindling.

O’Neill also spends too much time detailing the scenes of these memories, to the point one feels he’s been instructed to describe the view of a 360-degree camera every few pages, at the detriment of plot or character development. These shortcomings stack up, leaving not much to recommend. If a personal tribute to a friend, Netherland would be a heartwarming statement of admiration, but as a bestselling novel I was expecting a great deal more.

        -NP, August 2021