The Gap.

That book on the featured image cover? I never finished it, I confess. And I've had it for three years. But hold on - I read a considerable number of pages, enough to know what it was all about.

Frankly, I do think we should judge books by their covers, but that's an essay for another day.

Let me start by admitting I have a soft spot for writers who understand human mess; really understand it. The kind that don’t just tell stories, but quietly hold up a mirror and leave you alone with your reflection. This is where I place an author like Mario Puzo.

I regard him as a creative genius, a master of the literary space he occupied (okay, I'm glazing too hard, but he's good. Period.) Anyone who has read The Godfather, The Sicilian or The Family (chef's kiss!) would agree, but of course, these things are subjective.

Now, the story.

Walter Mosca, a soldier back from the war in Germany, feels so ill at ease at home, with his family and the woman he was supposed to marry before leaving for the war. Home is the same. The people are the same. The life waiting for him is exactly where he left it. But he isn't. He develops new habits, feels like a different person and also acts like one - typical with people suffering the aftereffects of a traumatic experience.

But here's what I found interesting - he doesn't just feel disconnected from home, he longs for the place he has just returned from. The war. The ruins. The destruction. The version of himself that existed when everything was simpler in a strange, twisted way, because all he had to do was survive and follow orders. No choices. No expectations. No pretending. And because he doesn't realize it yet, he attributes this itch to feelings he developed for a woman he he had an affair with during his service in Germany. Same woman who he had gotten pregnant and asked to abort it.

What does our protagonist do?

He leaves - his home, family, his betrothed - and returns to his lover in a war-torn country because he doesn't understand who he has become and believes the "connection" he felt with her will give his conflicted life some sort of purpose.

The pressure of responsibility at home, in contrast to following orders in the field. Similar to people who keep bagging certificates so they don't have to face adulthood or whatever harsh realities the unpredictability of life has to offer.

And this is where it stops being his story and starts becoming uncomfortably universal. Circa 2023 when I started reading this book, pretending my life wasn't falling apart and I was waiting for my 13th reason, there was no difference between this protagonist and me. Dare I include you reading this? YES. How many times have you intentionally self-sabotaged and gone back to something unhealthy, growth-impeding or toxic, just because of the comfort of familiarity? That job, that person, that version of yourself that you already outgrew but keep revisiting like an old neighborhood you pretend still fits?

Can you also think of all the times you've used the phrase "what if"? Negatively, right? Exactly. Even when you try hard to make the tough decision, you come up with a "what if...?"

"What if it’s different this time?"

"What if I misunderstood it before?"

"What if this is where I’m supposed to be?"

What if, what if, what if. The devil smiles.

Back to our protagonist in the book; he returns to Germany and her and the whole thing is anticlimactic. He takes one look at her and doesn't feel joy, affection or even hope that things would suddenly feel right. He feels sad. For himself and for her. She actually tried to keep the baby, but it was born premature and didn't survive. Not only did she lose the baby, she lost herself too, physically as described in the book and emotionally as discerned by this writer.

Their reunion wasn't one of happiness - at least not for him. Just guilt, a lot of doubt, and the quiet realization that whatever he thought he was chasing... isn't there. Not in her, not in that place, nor in the past he had tried to resurrect. It's like, "Now what?"

If you have been following, then I hope that premise wasn't lost on you. Now, the author of The Dark Arena might not have thought of any of these things while he wrote this war fiction back in 1955, but that's the beauty of literature. Author's Death; the idea that an author's intentions does not define the meaning of his/her work, and interpretation belongs to the reader. I read the book and thought of the gap between where we are and where we want to be, and all that stands in the way of that. You can read it and get insight on something else.

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