Saunders throws convention out the window with 'Lincoln in the Bardo.' The ghosts do most of the talking—Vollman, Bevins, and the Reverend lead the charge, but dozens more chime in. Their dialogue reads like a play script, chaotic yet purposeful. Historical quotes pepper the text, some real, some fabricated, blurring lines between fact and imagination. Lincoln’s internal monologues are sparse but devastating. The structure mirrors grief: messy, nonlinear, and deafeningly loud.
The narration in 'Lincoln in the Bardo' is like a kaleidoscope—constantly shifting, dazzling, and disorienting. Ghosts dominate, but their stories collide with archival fragments, creating a mosaic of truth and fiction. Vollman’s earnestness, Bevins’ poetic despair, and the Reverend’s rigid piety form the emotional core, while peripheral spirits chime in with bawdy humor or tragic asides. Lincoln’s voice emerges sparingly, weighted with historical gravitas, yet intimate in his mourning. The technique mirrors the Bardo itself: a space where voices overlap, memories blur, and time fractures. Saunders’ genius lies in making this cacophony feel organic, each voice a thread in the tapestry of collective yearning.
The narration here is a wild ride. Ghosts argue, joke, and lament, with Vollman, Bevins, and the Reverend taking center stage. Their voices—sometimes overlapping—paint the Bardo as a place of chaos and camaraderie. Historical passages, real or not, add weight. Lincoln’s thoughts, though rare, cut deep. It’s less a story than an experience, a cacophony of lives interrupted and histories rewritten.
What makes 'Lincoln in the Bardo' unforgettable is its chorus of voices. The ghosts are the heart of it—Vollman, Bevins, and the Reverend—each trapped by their own regrets. Vollman babbles about his unfinished life; Bevins luxuriates in sensory details; the Reverend moralizes. Historical snippets interrupt, some genuine, others pure invention, challenging how we remember the past. Lincoln’s grief-stricken musings are the anchor, brief but shattering. The collective effect is like eavesdropping on a crowded, spectral confessional.
'Lincoln in the Bardo' is a masterpiece of narrative experimentation, blending over a hundred voices to tell its haunting story. The primary narrators are the ghosts trapped in the Bardo—a Tibetan limbo—each with distinct personalities and histories. Among them, Hans Vollman, Roger Bevins III, and the Reverend Everly Thomas stand out, offering poignant, often darkly comic perspectives. Their voices intertwine with historical figures, snippets from real and fictional texts, and even Abraham Lincoln himself, creating a chorus of grief and longing.
The ghosts’ accounts are fragmented yet deeply human, reflecting their unresolved lives. Vollman, a middle-aged printer, speaks with wistful confusion; Bevins, a young suicide, rhapsodizes about sensory beauty; the Reverend clings to moral certainty. Historical excerpts—some authentic, some invented—mimic archival research, adding layers of authenticity. Lincoln’s soliloquies, raw with paternal sorrow, anchor the chaos. The result is less a traditional novel than a symphonic meditation on loss, where every voice, however brief, contributes to the collective ache.
2025-07-06 09:17:43
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My husband, Don Axel Thorne, died protecting me in a mob war. I was his widow for six years, until I turned thirty.
The old guard of the Family told me it was time to move on. My friends told me to let him go.
Even in my dreams, his bloody hands would cup my face, begging me to live again.
So I agreed to an arranged marriage.
But first, I went to his grave for one last goodbye.
I’d just left the cemetery when a post appeared in my feed.
[Thanks, hubby, for the six-year anniversary gift! A fifty-million-dollar penthouse in Miami!]
My blood ran cold. My hands shook. The phone nearly slipped from my grip.
In the photo, the man I buried six years ago was slipping a massive diamond onto another woman's finger.
The background was a lavish penthouse. His style.
I put my people on it. We had the location in minutes. Drove straight there. I knocked, the door opened, and I froze.
The woman standing there was Seraphina. His adoptive sister. The one the Family exiled six years ago for her obsession with him.
I only realized I was the protagonist of a mafia novel after I met my husband, and the mafia boss, Lucien Vaughn, was a traveler from another world.
According to the rules of his world, he wasn't allowed to develop romantic feelings for anyone in the story. However, the moment he saw me, he fell in love. And every time his heart stirred for me, he suffered pain so intense it felt as if his soul were being torn apart. He endured it ninety-nine times.
Then, one day, I was kidnapped by a rival mafia family and taken to South Merica, where I suffered brutal torture. Yet somehow, I managed to escape and hide in a basement.
As I listened to my enemies raging outside and searching for me, I quickly used the secret method Lucien had taught me to contact the world beyond this one. The connection worked, and through it, I overheard a conversation between Lucien and one of his friends from the other world.
“Lucien, I thought Olivia was the person you loved most! How could you arrange for your enemies to kidnap her?”
Lucien's voice was calm and detached. “I didn't have a choice. If I hadn't done it, then Emily Carter would've suffered in this storyline instead. She’s only a supporting character. She would’ve died.
“But Olivia is the protagonist. The storyline will protect her. Once this story’s mission is completed, I'll finally be able to stay in this world forever. And when that happens, I'll make it up to Olivia."
Tears streamed down my face. My heart felt as if it had been ripped apart, leaving behind nothing but pain and despair.
So, when my enemies finally smashed open the basement door, I didn't struggle or run.
Mia D’Lorne thought heartbreak would kill her but getting hit by a car did the job faster.
One second she’s running from the sound of her boyfriend and sister fornicating, the next she’s standing in front of an abandoned bus station in what looks like purgatory. The bus that picks her up looks like a prop in a horror movie and she’s introduced to the world of the Soul Recycle Program.
To exist, she has to compete in a twisted afterlife show where the dead fight their way through nightmare worlds for the amusement of unknown and unseen spectators. The rules are simple. Survive or disappear for good.
Mia is joined by two strangers who are just as broken as she is. Axel Rivers, who has been dead for almost a century, and Bree DeBois, a control freak paramedic with more guilt than she can carry. Together they try to survive the challenges of the game.
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~~~
Nova was having a bad day, and all she wanted was for the day to end already. But the universe seemed to have misunderstood her wish, because not only did her day not end, but she met with an accident that left her in a coma.
As if that wasn't bad enough, she became trapped in a dimension between life and death, where she had to face a series of trials that would determine if she wakes... or fades from existence.
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The spirit who never tried to disguise his want for her failure.
The spirit she should've never fallen in love with.
But in a world where survival is determined by the number of challenges a soul can conquer, the heart still found its way around love.
With her complicated feelings in an already complicated world, Nova must decide what she's truly fighting for – her life, or the one being who's capable of ending it.
***
In a short time, the remaining one hundred and twelve souls are pushed out. When we’re complete and standing, a voice – different from on the bus – greets us.
“Welcome, Souls, to the survival games.”
In 'Lincoln in the Bardo', George Saunders masterfully merges historical fiction with fantasy by grounding the story in real events—President Lincoln’s grief after his son Willie’s death—while immersing readers in a surreal afterlife. The bardo, a Tibetan Buddhist limbo, becomes a playground for spirits who refuse to move on, blending factual grief with supernatural introspection. Historical figures like Lincoln intermingle with ghostly voices, each offering fragmented perspectives that mirror the chaos of loss. The novel’s structure, a collage of quotes and spectral monologues, reinforces this duality: the weight of history meets the fluidity of fantasy. Saunders doesn’t just recount Lincoln’s sorrow; he reimagines it through a chorus of the dead, turning a presidential anecdote into a universal meditation on love and letting go.
The fantasy elements aren’t escapism but emotional amplifiers. Ghosts grapple with their unfinished business, their stories ranging from tragic to absurd, yet all tethered to human frailties. Lincoln’s midnight visit to Willie’s crypt becomes a bridge between realms, where historical accuracy bends to accommodate raw, fantastical grief. The bardo’s rules—ghosts fading if forgotten, or trapped by denial—echo real-world struggles with memory and acceptance. This interplay elevates the novel beyond biography, making it a haunting dialogue between fact and the unknowable.
'Lincoln in the Bardo' breaks traditional storytelling rules in ways that make it stand out as experimental fiction. The novel’s structure is a wild mix of historical accounts, ghostly monologues, and fragmented narratives, creating a collage of voices rather than a linear plot. The ghosts in the bardo—a Tibetan term for the transitional state between death and rebirth—narrate their stories in rapid-fire bursts, often contradicting each other, which forces the reader to piece together reality.
Another experimental aspect is how Saunders blends real historical sources with fictional elements. Excerpts from (often fabricated) historical documents are spliced into the ghost dialogues, blurring the line between fact and imagination. The prose itself shifts between poetic, chaotic, and deeply emotional, refusing to settle into a single style. This unpredictability mirrors the uncertainty of the bardo, where the dead cling to their unfinished lives. The book’s refusal to conform to genre or form makes it a bold experiment in storytelling.
If you're looking for a deep dive into 'Lincoln in the Bardo', I'd recommend starting with literary blogs and academic journals. Sites like JSTOR or Project Muse often have scholarly articles dissecting the novel's themes of grief, historical reimagination, and Saunders' experimental narrative style. The book’s unique structure—blending historical quotes with ghostly dialogues—gets analyzed from multiple angles, like postmodernism or the intersection of fact and fiction.
For a more casual but insightful take, platforms like Goodreads or Medium feature reader essays exploring personal interpretations. Some focus on Lincoln’s paternal sorrow, while others unpack the bardo’s Buddhist influences. Podcasts like 'The Lit Up' occasionally cover it too, offering lively discussions on its emotional resonance. Don’t miss Saunders’ interviews; he often reveals layers even critics overlook.