The question of what these historical passages actually signify is also troubling. They are clearly the result of considerable research on Trofimuk’s part, but are they the fantasies of the modern-day supposed “Columbus,” or some species of historical flashback? The significant part of the answer to this is that, whichever they are, they are ill-digested. And this, I think, is at the heart of the book’s shortcomings.
The historical matter is of course intrinsically interesting, though it’s a subject that has had more than its fair share of exposure. Had the author selected a less well-known event there might have been greater justification for the extensive attention he allots it. But maybe Trofimuk had an eye on sales and the almost limitless interest there is in Columbus’ voyage in Canada and the US.
Waiting for Columbus might have been better as a tighter, shorter thriller in the style of Georges Simenon, an extremely prolific writer who, according to legend, rarely took more than 13 days to compose a novel. Trofimuk would benefit from a dose of that attitude. It seems to me that he takes himself too seriously and probably devoted a year or more to his task. A breezier, more closely focused, matter-of-fact approach would have worked wonders.
So, read this novel only if you have time on your hands, don’t expect a thrill a minute, and don’t expect a literary masterpiece either. What you will find is a reasonably insightful work about psychiatric delusion, but one that is itself characterized by not inconsiderable delusions of grandeur on the writer’s part. There must be a moral here but, in the somewhat diffuse state of mind brought about by reading this meandering, rather self-important novel, I can’t at the moment work out quite what it might be.
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