A postwar Czech novel of great influence in Central Europe (published here thanks to the invaluable reclamation efforts of Philip Roth), Weil's book concerns the underground-man half-existence of one Josef Roubicek, a Prague Jew who lies lower and lower until he seemingly escapes the noosed net of the raging Holocaust. First in a deserted room with only a cat and memories of his lover Ruzena as company, then working in a cemetery crew after being judged physically unfit for harder forced labor, then with an almost hallucinatory anonymity (thanks to being mistaken for another man with a similarly spelled name), Roubicek slinks through his days wearing his yellow star ("" 'It's not at all nice and there's something special about it. It doesn't shine at night, only in the daytime. No helmsman could steer a ship by it, because he'd lose his way. And it must be worn precisely over the heart' "") as he remains alive to the voices of his fellow prey. The book has a Beckett-like, bottom-line sensibility while miraculously remaining a social novel--a record of the conversations and recriminations and grotesque hopes of the hopeless. Not an easy read, but special in its portrayal of a society of the walking dead.