The Luminous Depths by David Herter

When a paper covered with incomprehensible musical staves is unfolded, some of Czechoslovakia’s finest artists find themselves flung from the thriving, creative era of 1931 to the war torn nightmare of 1942. This is the premise of David Herter’s The Luminous Depths, which stirs together historical fiction, time travel, robots, Jewish mysticism, and the power of music. The resulting mixture feels truly unique.

Perhaps not entirely unique, as The Luminous Depths is the second novella in a trilogy, the first being On The Overgrown Path, in which Maestro Leoš J—. [revealed in the introduction to be the real life Czechoslovakian composer, Leoš Janáček] discovers the sčasování, the music of all living things—with the concluding One Who Disappeared forthcoming. The trilogy of novellas aims to examine the fragile respite Europe enjoyed between the two world wars through the eyes of the artists of Czechoslovakia. In Overgrown Path, the connection to the wars and to Europe at large was perhaps more subtle, more thematic; here, it is front and center, with the upcoming war serving as the center of the plot. This reviewer found the premise extremely powerful; a glimpse into a devastated future is common fare for time-travel and prophecy stories, but having that devastation be true history, whose horrors the reader is all too aware of, twists the trope around and lends many new layers of significance.

Our protagonists are the self-critical author and playwright, Karel Čapek; his lighthearted brother and set-designer, Josef; and composer Pavel Haas, a newcomer to artistic success. These three characters are lovingly drawn by Herter, who seems quite as interested in the simple interaction between the artists as he does in the supernatural plotline. The three are brought together to work on a new opera—based on Karel’s Rossum’s Universal Robots, where the word “robot” was first coined. When the entire company finds itself displaced in time, they naturally look towards these artists for leadership and guidance, just as they do during the production itself.

As a whole, The Luminous Depths certainly reaches the goals it has set for itself. The portrayals of Czechoslovakia, both free and occupied, are vivid, and the contrast between them is certainly powerful. The main characters are believable and memorable, and apparently the product of meticulous research. Herter has credibly brought these historical figures to life, even if they are somewhat flat. And Herter’s concept of the sčasování is very well done, gaining substance and resonance it lacked in the previous novella. In all of these ways, too, I think that The Luminous Depths is a distinct step up from Overgrown Path—a worthy novella in its own right but more restricted, less direct, and lacking substance.

There are, however, other, secondary goals, at which the novella may feel somewhat lacking. First among these is pacing. Though 1931 Czechoslovakia and our cast of artists are all quite charming, this reviewer marked the actual beginning of the plot to be at page 57, with the central premise of the piece revealed only at page 72. Moreover, the reader is given very little to anticipate. The plot seldom goes in a clear direction the reader can look forward to or has a conflict with a resolution to wait for. The plot seems somewhat drowned amid the richness of detail and the attention to historical accuracy; these are certainly very important, but so is maintaining attention and excitement. Instead, we never know quite what to expect next or where we should be looking, and by the time we realize that a tangent was actually put in focus, the story has moved on to something else. Sprawling is always a danger in longer fiction, and The Luminous Depths has more to back it up than many others, but it detracts nonetheless.

This reviewer found the cast of characters evoked mixed feelings. As noted above, the characters are lovingly drawn but feel flat. When they discuss the opera they are producing, they feel “in the zone,” as they are practically defined by their art. But when it comes to anything else—and the story throws plenty of “else” at them—they seem to accept it with little opinion or response beyond the most rudimentary surprise and desire to survive, resulting in an entirely one-note impression (the supporting cast lacks notes entirely, mostly serving as cardboard placeholders—which would be fine, up until the point the author clearly expects us to care for some of them). Here is one way Overgrown Path was perhaps more pleasing—there, Janáček’s character is crucial to the piece. His love of music is intertwined with the premise of “the rhythm of life”; his eccentricity of scribbling down notes to sounds and melodies around him moves the story forward in several different ways. Here, we have no such intertwining, and there is even a sense of disconnect—from the moment they are flung into the future World War II, the personalities of the characters fail to come into play in any way. Later, when the play is touched upon again, it seems almost divorced from the visions of the future the company has seen. It is almost disconcerting how the detail and characterization suddenly fade and become irrelevant when the author wants us to see the horrors of the war.

Lastly, The Luminous Depths cannot be reviewed without acknowledging the excellent job Herter has done with tone and atmosphere. The prose is rich and brims with the education and sophistication enjoyed by its characters. It conveys easily the excitement of the opera of the present but always with shadows and forebodings of the future. And when that future is arrived at, the descriptions of the city in ruin and the things our protagonists confront are powerful, evoking horror at the situation while preserving the soft sadness that things have come to be so bad.

In summary, The Luminous Depths has its flaws: the plot and characters are not all they could be, and, in general, the story is not terribly tight or well-constructed. But the ideas it brings are wonderful, the characters and setting are fresh and unique, and the novella demonstrates the inspiring power of combining fantasy with historical fiction.

Publisher: PS Publishing (March 2008)
Jacketed hardcover price: £25.00 [$50.00]
Trade hardcover price: £10.00 [$20.00]
Jacketed hardcover ISBN: 978-1-905834-60-9
Trade hardcover ISBN: 978-1-905834-59-4
Pages: 192