LIONESS

An artist takes part in an act of ecoterrorism.

There’s a small but memorable coterie of novels in which a troubled narrator attempts to figure out what drove a loved one to an act of political violence. Paul Auster’s Leviathan (1992) is one such book, and Powell’s latest offers a distinctly 21st-century spin on the theme. David, the writer at the heart of this novel, is struggling in the aftermath of a host of harrowing events. One is his young son’s death as a result of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma; the other is his wife Mara’s involvement in the bombing of a water bottling facility, which may have killed her though her body was never found. As David looks back on the events that led up to these tragedies, he ponders Mara’s successful art career and his own work as a journalist and playwright. This also involves tracing their involvement in activism, which began in 2003 with “an affair built around private lust and public fury.” Another figure looms large in the book and in David and Mara’s relationship: an activist named Chris Bright who, David recalls, “lived with the discipline required of one existing outside the bounds of society.” David’s narrative moves backward and forward in time, circling different parts of his marriage to Mara, their respective artistic careers, the birth of their son, and the tragic end to it all. Despite this unconventional structure, Powell’s novel is never confusing; instead, it has a tragic force that propels it toward its destination. And while some of David’s own attempts to wrestle with the past and summon alternate explanations or endings for various events feel a bit overlong, the overall effect is emotionally wrenching.

This politically charged novel is haunting (and haunted) in the best possible way.