A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles

One question for all this home time is what on earth I’m going to read. Libraries are closed, and while I love ordering new books, I can’t do that every day. So one of the things that has made me very happy over the past few weeks is skimming over my bookshelves to find old favorites that will speak to this current strange time. This book was perfect.

A Gentleman in Moscow is the story of Count Rostov, arrested in Moscow mostly for the crime of his aristocracy and is condemned to live the rest of his days inside the Hotel Metropol. In these days of sheltering in place, I found so much wisdom and comfort from the way the Count dealt with his involuntary confinement, both in his physical and mental attitudes.

The first time I read this, I remember scoffing a little. Oh, poor guy. He’s stuck inside a luxury hotel, with its own delicious restaurants, and even if he is stuck in some attic rooms--really, it could be a lot worse. But now I understand better, now that I’m working from home, now that I can’t eat in restaurants or run out for donuts or hit Trader Joe’s on a Saturday afternoon, now that I haven’t seen my grandparents and my kids don’t get to see their friends. Confinement of any kind brings its own set of challenges.

On the Count’s first morning as a prisoner, he wakes early from a lovely dream of what he will do with his day, all the diverting errands and interesting people to see. There is a moment of misery as he realizes where he is and how everything has changed. He could roll over and return to his dream, but, as he thinks, “imagining what might happen if one’s circumstances were different was the only sure route to madness.”

Thus begins his series of decisions to bring delight and joy into his everyday life in the circumstances he now inhabits. 

This is where I admired the Count before and continue to admire him now. He orders small things to bring pleasure to his days--his favorite soap, the pastry about which he dreamed, a soft pillow for his new bed. He continues to read, to treat those he meets with kindness, to be courteous to the employees of the hotel. He takes his altered life out on no one.

When I think of the way I’ve handled the healthy at home mandates, I compare myself to the Count. Working from home is really hard. I feel wiped out at night, and putting on earrings and a necklace with my now-standard t-shirt uniform feels frivolous, as does lipstick, all things I love. I squirt a spray of perfume before a Zoom meeting, just to feel like myself again. I switched my closet from winter things to summer, but I try not to even look at the fun summer clothes just hanging, unworn, while I pull out another t-shirt over a clean pair of pajama pants and think what a waste it is to straighten my hair or wear jeans.

But as I look at Count Rostov, I see the way he puts on a snappy jacket to go downstairs for dinner on his one-year anniversary of confinement. I watch him open himself to wonder with Nina, a child living at the Metropol, who teaches him the secrets to be found in the hotel. And when the night of his one-year anniversary takes a strange turn and leaves him feeling lonely and depressed, he discovers another way to look at the world on the roof of the Metropol, drinking coffee and eating black bread under the familiar constellations with an old man whose class would formerly have been far beneath his.

Although it’s difficult to hold, both for Count Rostov and for me, that openness to wonder is the key. If I’m looking for God, I will find him, and his beauty in the overlooked and seemingly ordinary things will take my breath away. But if I”m not looking, I’ll miss the cool breeze that leads me out onto the roof and in sight of the stars.

Today I sat at my table, looking out into my front yard over the top of my computer, the same familiar view I have had every day while working from home. But at the end of the day, I went on a walk, and my daughter held my hand and told me what she was thinking, her sweet voice rising like music. The air had just a hint of a bite, and my husband and son bounced a basketball between them, and we waved at passing cars. My daughter smiled and put her hand back in mine.

It was enough. It was more than enough, my cup filled and overflowing.