American writer George Saunders' latest novel Vigil, released early this year, places the idea of compassion in its crosshair—what does it truly mean and what are its limits? The book concerns two protagonists. There’s Jill "Doll" Blaine, best viewed as a guardian spirit or an afterlife attendant. Her calling is to “comfort” the near-dead, without any judgement on her part, until they transit from here to eternity.
Vigil takes Jill to the Texas home of KJ Boone, a captain of the oil industry and the story’s other anchor. Not only did he accrue all his riches through a tenacious mendacity, but he also made it his mission in life to cosset Big Oil from any accountability for climate cataclysms around the world. Saunders sinks readers into Boone’s mind, in the final hours before his death, with Jill for constant company, as they intersect with other funny, wise and tragic apparitions.
Boone’s unrepentant aggression may ring a few bells in 2026, when ruthless mascots of wealth dominate the American media landscape. Saunders, however, isn’t too bothered with “slavish real-life representation”. “I didn't have any interest in portraying a specific person because that’s inherently anti-novelistic,” says the author, speaking from his home in Los Angeles over Zoom.
By modern standards, Boone’s diabolism appears quaint, Saunders offers. “KJ Boone is version 1.0 of the people running my country now. He lies, obfuscates and misleads, but he does so within the rules-based order. His ilk shares a lot of the blame for the present because they invented the language for denial and nurtured this mentality that ‘power is everything.’”
Young Saunders once worked in oil exploration in Sumatra, Indonesia. In retrospect, he sees that experience as an “imperialist immersion” from which he has drawn some of Boone’s ideas. “I had a double moral vision, of understanding the politics of oil, but, from my limited perspective at the time, riding the high of a great adventure. I was, at my low level, complicit.” He finds the KJ Boones of today are strikingly one-dimensional. “I have a feeling that the inner monologue of some of these people in power now would be dull because they seem vacant from the inside.”
Vigil’s inner monologues are colourful, mostly shifting between the consciousnesses of Boone and a cast of deceased characters: the always-peaceable Jill or a comically dramatic Frenchman, who finds fault with Jill’s judgement-free approach to comforting souls. The space between life, death and afterlife also loomed large in Saunders’ 2017 Booker Prize-winner Lincoln in the Bardo, and remains a continuing fascination for him. “As a writer, the device gives me wings. It opens up time, space and philosophy, fully engaging my imagination. Besides, I always found the finiteness of life greatly enriching. Almost as if you were at a fabulous party, from where you are likely to be kicked out at some point. That makes the party seem more alive.”
Unlike the ancient ghosts of Bardo, this time Saunders turns a polite married woman from Indiana into a spirit. Having died in her 20s, she has now “elevated” to a higher state. Elevation allows Jill smooth passage into the minds of souls awaiting their salvation. No matter the life they lived, she considers each one of them with a detached grace. Until Boone puts her stance to test. “The Buddhists call it 'idiot compassion' wherein compassion is often confused with being sweet,” says 67-year-old Saunders. Jill’s elevation, perhaps a form of enlightenment, has made her deterministic. People are “inevitable”, she says, their mind-body “a lavish jailing”. From the time they are born, they will become who they were always meant to be. Saunders oscillates on this notion of personhood. “I'm sceptical. On some level, I believe it, but you can't live that way. We have to believe that we have choice.”
