Reviewed by Henry Bowles
I love weird dudes. Well, not the dudes themselves. Usually I quite dislike them as people. But in stories, I find them both fascinating and wildly entertaining. Entering the mind of a massive loser who thinks they’re awesome and seeing how they interact with the world around them is always such an interesting exploit, and perhaps nothing I’ve read to date does this quite as well as Ada by Mark Haber.
Ada is a comedic historical fiction novel that explores the mind of Gerard Desacroux IV, the begrudging ruler of Berchtesgaden, a land which is either Saxon or Barovian, he’s not quite sure. When we meet him, he is awaiting the arrival of his past flame, the titular Ada, whom he was forced to abandon after a long night of passion some years ago due to his father’s exile from France to Berchtesgaden. Anxious to be reunited again, he paces the Great Hall, his mind racing with thoughts as he awaits the peal of the Guardhouse bell to indicate either Ada and her bothersome husband’s arrival or a peasant uprising, depending on the number of peals. Fundamentally, the book can be read as an extremely in depth character study of this petty tyrant.
Through the vessel of Desacroux’s mind, the reader becomes acquainted with a variety of characters that possess his thoughts. Key among them, of course, is Ada herself, though perhaps not as much as one might expect. Though pivotal, she serves more as a symbol to Desacroux than perhaps a wholly realized person, despite his repeated convictions stating his love for her. Most of what we see of her stems purely from Desacroux’s fantasies, born of a singular night some years ago that have blossomed into obsession. Much richer is his relationship with his servant Hans, a hard-working buffoon (at least as far as Desacroux’s concerned) with whom Desacroux has a love-hate relationship, to say the least, and often serves as a personal punching bag for the young tyrant. However, what may be the truly most significant relationship in the novel is the relationship he has had with his father before the man was unfortunately exploded. It is through his frequent mention of his father that much of Desacroux’s character and story is pulled into focus, utilizing his horrendous unresolved daddy issues to explain why he is the man he is and make him almost sympathetic at times, only to immediately rip that away and remind us that this is an unquestionably bad dude. And yet, though certainly not to the extent of making him likable, this additional context really helps to flesh out and motivate him as a character, allowing the reader to stay hooked for the ninety pages we spend with him. The setting(s) of this story are also just as much of characters as the characters themselves are, as Desacroux is all too eager to point out. Desacroux sings the praises of Paris, marveling in its glorious architecture, its beautiful landscapes and, most of all, its wonderful whores and drinks, of which he sampled at every opportunity. Much to the contrary, he seems to be unable to sufficiently deride the land of Berchtesgaden and its people, who are either Saxon or Barovian, but he isn’t exactly sure.
Overall, this book is able to dive extremely deep into Desacroux’s psyche throughout its pages, primarily through the decision to lock itself completely within his mind and his perspective, framed entirely in one room and one day. This format is its biggest strength, creating a character study the likes of which I genuinely cannot compare to any other. However, it giveth and it taketh away. Haber does what I would consider to be a masterful job at keeping things fresh and dynamic despite the limitations of the structure, but masterful does not necessarily mean perfect. There were a few times throughout the novel that things dragged a bit as Desacroux transitions from one thought to another, a few times where certain points proved largely repetitious. At times, this contributed to the intentional “stream of consciousness” feeling that the novel is shooting for, yet there was undeniably a present redundancy. The other limitation of this structure was in ending the story. When, technically speaking, nothing is currently happening narratively for the majority of the novel, how can you achieve a satisfying conclusion without an extreme switch-up of the style in the last fraction of the story? It is an unenviable task, to be sure. As is, I think the ending is perfectly satisfactory, as sensible as any other could have been, but there is a sense of anticlimax to it all that I feel was likely inevitable.
These few complaints of mine should not be seen as a significant deterrent; to call them even a small blemish would be hyperbolic. If you like historical fiction, rich characters and worldbuilding, a deep exploration into how the powerful idiots and narcissists in the world are created, and stories about weird dudes as much as I do, Ada is definitely worth a read.