A powerful novel of love and loss and the reverberating effects of historical atrocities on our children, Great House by Nicole Krauss (Norton, $24.95) is a testimony to the relentless grip of memory on our present, a series of interconnected stories rendered with poise and striking clarity.

As she proved in her previous novel, the international bestseller The History of Love, Krauss is an astute and compassionate author. She cares for her characters, cares to probe deep, spend time navigating the emotional geography of each protagonist -- the old as well as the young -- to expose their most intimate conflicts, reflections and desires.

Great House brings to life the complex relationships of a solitary writer and an inherited desk, a father and his alienated son, a husband and his dying wife, and the suffocating hold a father, who is an antiques dealer, has on his son and daughter. Central to these stories is a massive desk owned by a Chilean poet who disappears at the hands of Pinochet's secret police. And always present, never forgotten, are the profound effects of the Holocaust, the way tragedy and loss shapes each character, and the plight of Israeli families -- those who lose children in war, and those who live in perpetual fear of the ring of a doorbell that might herald devastating news.

"Your Honor, in the winter of 1972 R and I broke up," begins the first sentence of "Great House," situating the reader in a courtroom. The speaker, a writer, is explaining how she came to own, and eventually lose, the mysterious, wooden desk with 19 drawers, "some small and some large, whose odd number and strange array, I realized now, on the cusp of their being suddenly taken from me, had come to signify a kind of guiding if mysterious order in my life, an order that, when my work was going well, took on an almost mystical quality."

After years, a woman who maintains that she is the poet's daughter appears to claim the desk, disrupting the writer's life; so much so that she decides to lock her apartment and travel to Jerusalem, perhaps to claim the desk back, although she denies it. The reason the protagonist is in court will be revealed much later; in the meantime, being led by a sure-penned author, we settle back and enjoy the journey.

In Israel, a father is reminiscing about his estranged son, Dov, a barrister, returned home from England to sit shiva for his mother. Krauss reveals a deep understanding of the human psyche and of a father's pain, anger, longing and envy in the old man who, in the little time left to him, aches to mend his relationship with his son -- even if father and son might not possess the right tools to do so. Always present is the all-consuming fear of losing his sons to war: "It was the doorbell we feared the most. Across the street they arrived at the Biletskis' to say that Itzhak, little Itzy whom you and Uri played with as children, had been killed in the Golan."

Across the oceans, in England, the doorbell rings to announce a different kind of trouble: at the door is a stranger the husband suspects of being his wife's lover, setting a series of incidents into motion that will unearth a far more disconcerting secret. And here, too, looms the presence of the mysterious desk that "overshadowed everything else like some sort of grotesque, threatening monster, clinging to most of one wall and bullying the other pathetic bits of furniture..." A desk that will someday reveal its own set of secrets.

In the meantime, a love affair is blooming "in the house in Belsize Park that [Yoav] shares with his sister, Leah." The house is wonderfully gothic, a significant character with eccentricities of its own, "a large and dilapidated brick Victorian... filled with darkly beautiful furniture that the father, a famous antiques dealer, kept there... the rooms were always changing, taking on the mysterious moods of houses and apartments whose owners had died, gone bankrupt, or simply decided to..." In the house in Belsize Park, under the austere shadow of their father, Yoav and Leah are "locked within the walls of their own family, and in the end it wasn't possible for them to belong to anyone else." Not unlike their father who, unable to free himself of the past, dedicates his life to reassembling his own father's study that was plundered by the Nazis -- an obsessed son who will not rest until every piece of furniture is sought, transported and arranged in its rightful place.

Once again, the doorbell rings. This time Weisz, the antiques dealer, is at the door:

"Forgive me for not calling in advance... There's something I'd like to discuss with you... A desk..."

To discover the fate of the desk, and whether the possessed Weisz succeeds in his quest, pick up Great House and read it, and once you have, circle around and read it once more to better appreciate the interconnected stories and doubly enjoy the magical prose and insight of an author at the top of her form. ( )

Dit is een boek waar ik me daadwerkelijk doorheen geworsteld heb. Hoewel de schrijfster echt wel kan schrijven, vond ik haar hoofdpersonen vrijwel stuk voor stuk niet interessant. De enige die me echt wist te raken was de oude Joodse vader die wel met zijn jongste, maar niet met zijn oudste zoon wist op te schieten. Hij was echt. De rest van de personages waren me te afstandelijk, te eenzaam, te zeer van zichzelf vervuld om mij binnen te laten. Dat mag dan wellicht de bedoeling zijn geweest: het zorgde er tevens voor dat ik me totaal niet kon inleven. Hun relaas kon me echt niet boeien. Daardoor ging een groot deel van het verhaal aan mij voorbij. En mooie zinnen en een kunstig in elkaar zittend plot schieten dan tekort. ( )

Krauss crafts her prose like a poet. Her word choices are unconventional but not awkward. I found her meditation on the number nineteen (the number of drawers in the desk at the heart of the narrative) interesting. There are many passages with insight into the life of a writer and the craft of writing. ( )

El insólito protagonista es un viejo escritorio que pudo haber pertenecido a Federico García Lorca y que se vuelve un objeto de fascinación o repulsión para aquellos que conviven con él. El imponente mueble, uno de cuyos diecinueve cajones está permanentemente cerrado, se torna así el hilo conductor entre los distintos ámbitos donde se desarrolla la novela. En Nueva York, una escritora ha estado utilizándolo desde que en 1972 se lo prestara un poeta chileno, Daniel Varsky, víctima de la policía secreta de Pinochet. Un día, una mujer que dice ser la hija de Varsky reclama el mueble, y la vida de la escritora ya no será la misma. Al otro lado del océano, en Londres, un hombre descubre el secreto que durante cincuenta años le ha escondido su mujer. Y por último, una joven norteamericana que estudia en Oxford traba amistad con una excéntrica pareja de hermanos cuyo padre es un anticuario israelí especializado en recuperar muebles expoliados por los nazis.

This beautifully written book is set in the US, England, and Israel. It has no primary protagonist. The novel consists of interwoven stories of five people with ties to a massive ornamental desk. The novel opens with an American novelist living in New York, who obtains the desk from a Chilean poet. Subsequent narrators fill in the history of the former owners and portray the mostly sad and tragic events of their lives. Taken individually, the stories can feel disjointed, but together they tell a poignant tale of memory, loneliness, and loss. ( )