Night Roads • Gaito Gazdanov

Some authors can consistently impress and completely captivate me — and Gaito Gazdanov belongs to this category without any reservation. His book The Phantom of Alexander Wolf is a wonderful classic that I consider one of the great titles of world literature. When I looked for more of his works, I was disappointed to find that there are not many available in German. Fortunately, the Hanser Verlag has taken it upon itself to gradually unearth and retranslate these treasures. When I discovered Night Roads on the Hanser Verlag website, my joy was immense. It was a book that didn’t have to wait long on my pile of unread books.

Gaito Gazdanov, born in 1903 in St. Petersburg, joined the White Army as a soldier when he was just sixteen. After their defeat, he fled from the Bolsheviks in 1923 along with many other Russian émigrés to Paris. There, he worked various jobs, survived through casual labor, and later spent many years as a night taxi driver. At the same time, he attended lectures at the Sorbonne, particularly on literature. All the novels I’ve read by him so far deal with his own past — his wartime experiences, his service on an armored train, but also his time in Paris and how he perceived exile. In An Evening with Claire, the war and his past were central themes.

In Night Roads, he recounts his experiences as a night taxi driver, describing the nightlife of 1930s Paris, the people he encounters, and episodes from their lives and his own. The novel doesn’t have a clear plot; instead, the reader listens to his stories — a mosaic of encounters and observations of the people the nameless protagonist meets and how he perceives and judges them. This reveals much about the narrator himself, as his impressions are always subjective and colored by emotions that often fluctuate. The way Gazdanov tells his stories — the depth of his thoughts, his inner conflict, and sense of homelessness — are recurring themes throughout his works. I find this style gripping, with its smooth and fluid language and thought processes that never seem fully resolved but always reveal something of his emotional life. His writing, always profound and introspective, deeply fascinates me.

The reader encounters a variety of characters from the nocturnal underworld of Paris: prostitutes, alcoholics, demi-mondaines, taxi drivers, and laborers — all representatives of a social milieu that Gazdanov was forced to move within. They are portrayed vividly, with beautiful language and philosophical reflection. The narrator is an observer — anything but neutral — yet he never intervenes in the fates of those around him. The sense of homelessness, longing, and a hint of emerging madness reveal a displaced, melancholic, yet highly intelligent man who observes his surroundings with keen perception. Gazdanov brings this world to life with remarkable precision.

“In nocturnal Paris, I felt during my work, day after day, like a sober man among drunkards. This entire life was alien to me and stirred in me nothing but disgust or pity — all those friends of night bars or certain establishments, these lovers in their own way […] whose shamelessness resembled that of monkeys in the zoo — the whole thing turned my stomach […]” (p. 239)

The book is complex and conveys thoughts and emotions on many levels. There is Paris and its nightlife, its people and their portraits. Translator Christian Körner sees clear connections between Gazdanov’s style and that of the existentialists, particularly Camus. The blurb even refers to him as the “Russian Camus.” The comparison is apt — Gazdanov constantly grapples with the question of the meaning of life in the existences he portrays. Yet this question remains open, unanswered — left for the reader to ponder. I found that artistic and effective — another layer through which one can experience this book. Interwoven with that are the narrator’s reflections, memories, and the lingering influence of war and exile, which shape his emotions and worldview. The longing for home and a constant sense of nostalgia run through the novel, expressed in many small scenes — in the music, in the figure of a fallen demi-mondaine, in memories, and in the many Russian émigrés who were once generals and high-ranking men. The blending of French nightlife figures with the world of Russian émigrés creates a deeply subjective portrayal of Gazdanov’s environment.

“And at the same time, my old fear returned, born of long and sad experience, which essentially came down to the thought that this baleful and miserable Paris, crisscrossed by endless nocturnal roads, was merely a continuation of my almost always half-delirious state — into which, strangely and incomprehensibly enough, fragments of living reality were inserted, yet surrounded by a dead architecture in darkness, by music resounding through a desolate and impenetrable space, and by those human masks whose falseness and pretense were probably obvious to everyone except me.” (p. 249)

While reading, I constantly had the feeling that Gazdanov was writing autobiographically — and that’s probably true. According to the afterword, most of the characters were based on real people he knew. His thoughts, emotions, and conclusions feel authentic. He comes across as a subtle and reflective person, yet surprisingly harsh toward others. It’s a strange contrast — on one hand, I imagined him as a calm, well-educated gentleman; on the other, as someone inwardly distant and aloof.

At 280 pages, the book isn’t particularly long, yet it took me unusually long to read. That’s because of Gazdanov’s long, beautifully written sentences — reading them is pure pleasure. This is not a book to rush through; it must be read slowly, letting the words flow through the mind. There’s a calmness, a strength, and a deep resonance in them, which — through context and the author’s personality — take on a second layer of meaning. It’s a bit like listening to a melody.

With this edition, Hanser Verlag once again proves its mastery of book design. The dark blue dust jacket, featuring cars from the period and muted colors, perfectly captures the tone of the text. The circular cutout on the jacket reveals the book’s gray-yellow cover beneath, which continues the design — almost as a metaphor for Gazdanov’s approach of showing a fragment and illuminating a part of the nocturnal world around him. Wonderfully done.

The book, like Gazdanov’s other works published by Hanser Verlag, feels pleasant in hand. I really like it, although it unfortunately lacks a ribbon marker and thread binding.

Conclusion: Night Roads is a wonderful book, quintessential of Gaito Gazdanov’s style. With a steady yet gentle sense of melancholy, the reader accompanies the narrator through the social world of Parisian nightlife in the 1930s. With masterful sentences, Gazdanov describes episodes from the lives of workers, prostitutes, taxi drivers, and lost, alcohol-dependent souls — interpreting what he sees, exploring his own emotions, and portraying a protagonist who, intelligent yet misanthropic, observes a lost society from a disillusioned, seemingly neutral stance. A fascinating read that I will certainly revisit, as it contains so many thoughts and feelings that one reading is not enough. The edition, with its cut-out circle, is beautifully designed — a perfect visual match to the story’s atmosphere. This book is undoubtedly one of the highlights of the year and brings a remarkable work by an equally remarkable author to a wider audience.

Book information: Night Roads • Gaito Gazdanov • Hanser Verlag • 288 pages • ISBN 9783446258112